Page 6

SIX

LOGAN

Despite my grandfather’s incessant matchmaking efforts, it had been two weeks and MJ still hadn’t called. Hell, it was probably for the best. We’d lost another game, and my performance had been lackluster, to say the least.

I’d been in a piss-poor mood ever since getting back from a match in West Virginia.

While my ego could handle a little rejection, it still stung that the most gorgeous woman I’d ever set eyes on wanted nothing to do with me.

It had been far too long since I’d had to work for a woman’s attention, and a sick part of me kind of liked it. I glanced over my grandfather’s shoulder, hoping to catch a peek of MJ at the nurses’ station.

“She’s not here,” Grandpa grumbled.

“What?” I tried to act like I didn’t know who he was talking about.

“MJ. She doesn’t work today. We’re stuck with the bratty one who sighs so much she’s starting to sound like a leaky tire.”

“Mr. Brown ...” a whiny voice sounded from behind us.

When I turned, a young nurse with too much makeup and a pissy look frowned at him. “You aren’t supposed to be wandering around.” She sighed, and I nearly cackled when it sounded frighteningly similar to a tire leak.

Her eyes flicked to me, and immediately her demeanor changed. “Oh, well.” She smiled wider. “I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced. I’m Beth.”

She held out her hand, and out of politeness, I shook it. “Nice to meet you. Logan.”

She giggled and smoothed down her straight hair. “Oh, I know who you are, Mr. Olympian.”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, please don’t call me that.” I laughed uncomfortably.

“Okay.” She rolled her eyes and giggled again. “Mr. Gold Medal.” She purred the words, and I stifled an eye roll of my own.

Her sticky-sweet perfume overtook the space between us as she moved closer. Her eyes stayed locked on me, and the look in them was more than appreciative but not appropriate for anywhere outside of a bedroom.

I moved away. “Hey, Grandpa. Let’s head out.”

Beth blinked, stunned a bit by my abrupt change in conversation, but I’d seen and heard enough to know a swift exit was the best idea.

Without so much as a backward glance, I braced my grandfather’s elbow and practically dragged him down the hallway.

Thankfully, Arthur Brown was still strong and nimble. When we rounded a corner, I stopped.

“Smooth moves, kid,” he teased.

I glanced over his shoulder, half expecting Beth to have trotted after us. “Just getting a little tired of all of the attention, that’s all.”

He scoffed. “Well, at least your head’s not up your ass. That one is trouble. She looks at you and sees nothing but dollar signs and Division One babies.”

A visceral shudder worked its way through me. Women and babies were the last things I needed, especially when I was struggling to keep my career from imploding.

All I needed to focus on was maintaining my performance and avoiding distractions.

Besides, there wasn’t anything particularly enticing about Beth. I’d seen jersey chasers ruin promising careers and athletes throw everything away for the attention of a woman.

I was far too focused for that.

MJ’s face flashed in my mind, and I pushed down the fact that the thought of her was becoming dangerously distracting.

Maintaining your focus took effort.

Oftentimes players were treated like gods—they could do no wrong. Many started at young ages, moving out of the house at fourteen or fifteen years old, like I did, to move to where a solid coach and team could elevate your skills. Many were given slack in school to focus on the sport.

A lot of men I had come to know in the sport had been brought up with inflated senses of celebrity and ego. They were used to getting everything they wanted ... including women.

I was also lucky enough to have a grandpa who had a knack for bringing me back down to earth. “Well, Mr. Gold Medal ,” he teased. “Come on.” He waved a bony finger toward the end of the corridor, toward the exit.

I smiled down at the man who had supported me every step of my career. Even the awkward days when I couldn’t hook the ball to save my life. He had been my first coach and the one to encourage me to find someone who could elevate my skills. He had stepped in when my father stepped out. Grandpa didn’t just teach me rugby; he taught me how to stand tall, how to fight for something I wanted. Even when Dad wasn’t around—and, honestly, even when Mom couldn’t be—I always had Grandpa. If he wanted to spend the afternoon dragging me around town, I owed him more than that.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I know your mother didn’t raise a liar, so you are taking me out. I’d like to swing by the bookstore and get Greta a new book, if that’s all right by you.”

Grandpa had been a widower for many years, and while I knew his love for my grandmother ran deep, it was nice to see him opening up to someone.

“Greta?” I teased. “Still striking out with the new girl?”

Grandpa smirked, and despite the lines on his face, it was easy to see that he had been a charmer in his prime. “Kid, you’re not the only one pining over a pretty woman who hasn’t called.”

A pain squeezed my side, but I shook my head with a grin. “You’re trouble, old man.”

We successfully dodged Beth, and I let Carol at the nurses’ station know I would be back later in the evening with my grandfather.

There was something that felt a bit wrong about checking him out of the assisted-living facility like some borrowed book, but he didn’t seem to mind.

My mother loved him, but she had grown accustomed to following my rugby career and enjoyed traveling as much as I did. When Grandpa could no longer safely live by himself, he had been the one to suggest Haven Pines. If I had learned anything, it was that when Grandpa set his mind to something, there was no talking him out of it.

That hadn’t stopped me from calling the facility behind his back to check on him as often as I could. I was sure I was a pain in the side to a few of the people who worked there, but I had done it all in the name of making sure my grandfather was comfortable and well taken care of. If it meant making a few enemies for his sake, well, then it was worth it.

On our way to town, we passed a sign for Sand Dune Art Barn. A beautiful old farmhouse with a large wraparound porch stood next to a gigantic old red barn that had been converted into what looked like an art studio. Signs encouraged tourists to stop in and create some art of their own.

Grandpa whistled as the art studio and the blueberry fields next to it whizzed past. “Sure has changed a lot around here over the years,” he noted.

“Did you spend a lot of time in Outtatowner?” I asked.

“Here and there,” he said. “Your grandma preferred a quiet country life, but I always thought the tourist towns had a buzz of energy that I couldn’t quite find in the country.”

I hummed in acknowledgment as we eased into the downtown area. Gone was the slow and quiet atmosphere of a small town shuttered down for the night. In the daylight, Outtatowner was bustling with people moving in and out of the shops and café and bakery. Even the local bar, the Grudge Holder, had an A-frame sign announcing its family lunch specials. From the lack of parking spaces, you would think it was still midsummer and not late September, creeping toward cooler autumn months. I glanced at the trees, whose tips were turning crimson and gold—the only hint of Michigan’s slow transition to fall.

“Where to?” I asked.

“You telling me you don’t remember where that bookstore is?” He raised one white, bushy eyebrow.

I shook my head and smirked, circling the block to try to find an open parking space. “Shit-stirrer,” I mumbled under my breath.

Grandpa huffed a laugh. “That’s what I thought.” He reached over to pat my knee, seemingly pleased with himself. “Good boy. That’s good.” He lifted a finger. “I told you hunting her down was the smart move. Mark my words.”

Once parked, I walked next to my grandfather down the sidewalk toward the bookstore, slowing my pace to match his and taking in all the people who flooded this small town.

“It’s kind of charming,” I noted as workers replaced dead summer blooms with vibrant bushy mums on the parkway.

We walked into Bluebird Books, and a flood of memories washed over me—MJ’s cheeks flushed pink. The way the warmth of her hazel eyes blazed with a ring of golden, radiating sunlight. That perfect pink pout frowning just so slightly in my direction.

I cleared my throat and shifted to avoid the uncomfortable swell behind my zipper. As we meandered, I flicked a finger over the spine of a few books. “So what are we looking for?”

“Greta likes true crime, domestic thrillers, some blood and guts, that kind of thing.” Grandpa scanned the racks.

“Well, that’s comforting,” I joked.

Grandpa shrugged. “She’s a tough woman with thick skin.” He pinned me with a knowing stare. “But underneath it all, she’s still a woman.”

I smiled and shook my head. The old bastard, still spitting game.

Grandpa spoke with a young kid who worked at the bookstore, and he directed us toward a newly released domestic thriller. I beat Grandpa to the register, paying for the book, and the employee was kind enough to wrap it simply in brown paper.

“I think I could go for a cup of coffee,” Grandpa announced, patting his still-flat stomach. While time may have robbed him of the bulk and muscle definition of his youth, he was still trim and well kept for his age.

I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “There was a place we passed. The Sugar Bowl, I think it was called.”

Grandpa nodded and led the way.

The bakery was busy, and as soon as we opened the door, the enticing scent of cinnamon and sugar filled my nostrils. My stomach growled. The whir and sputter of an espresso machine was the backdrop to the din of customers communing and laughing.

“Oh.” Grandpa stopped short, suddenly flustered. He dragged a hand across the wiry white hairs on the top of his head. “I didn’t expect to run into her so soon.”

I looked from my grandfather to the line of patrons waiting to order. His attentive gaze was settled on a tiny little thing at the register. She was petite and appeared to be about my grandfather’s age, with long silvery hair tied neatly in a no-nonsense knot at the nape of her neck.

Based on the rigidity of her shoulders and the wide-eyed stare of the kid behind the counter, the woman meant business.

My grandpa’s hand gripped my forearm. “How do I look?”

I smiled. “Like a million bucks.”

He nodded. “Now it probably won’t come up since we’re not townies and all, but if you’re pressed, it’s probably easier to just say that you’re with the Kings.”

I looked down at him, utterly confused.

“Old rivalry in town,” he explained in a whisper. “The drama is all but dead now, but Greta is a bit old-fashioned. It used to be if you were a townie, you picked a side, Sullivan or King. And Greta has always been firmly planted on the Kings’ side.” His eyes shot to mine in warning. “Don’t mess this up for me.”

I started to laugh but stifled it with a cough when his piercing gaze held mine. “Yes—yes, sir,” I muttered.

When the woman moved to the side to wait for her order, my grandfather stepped up, gathering his courage to greet her. “Well, Greta, it’s a pleasure seeing you here.”

The woman turned, and her hard features softened immediately. “Oh, Arthur, this is a surprise.”

Her smile widened, crinkling her eyes at the edges. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Spending the day with my grandson, Logan.” Grandpa’s hand thumped on my back.

“How nice,” she answered, holding out her hand for me to shake.

“It’s lovely to meet you.” I gently embraced her hand, surprised by her firm grip.

My grandfather stepped forward, holding out the wrapped book. “I happened to be in the bookstore and thought you might like this.”

She looked down at the book, and I swear the stern old woman actually blushed. Her hand fluttered to the golden locket around her neck.

“Oh my, Arthur. That’s so kind of you.” She accepted the book with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Tiny? Your order is ready.” A pretty blond woman with soft brown eyes held out a small white bag for her.

Greta nodded curtly and accepted the bag. “Thank you, Sylvie.” She turned back to my grandfather and me and smiled. “Arthur, Logan, have a good day.”

My grandfather watched Greta all the way out the door. I stared in awe of a lovestruck man.

I shook my head in disbelief.

I’d never been in one place long enough to worry about things like long-term commitments. Besides, there was nothing wrong with having a good time with a variety of people.

Live and let live— I’d learned there was a whole lot less collateral damage that way.

Finally, as Greta disappeared out of view, I cleared my throat. “Are you ready for that coffee?”

“Ah.” My grandfather swatted his hand in the air between us. “No need. I’m good. Let’s keep walking.”

The rest of the afternoon, I enjoyed some much-needed time with my favorite person. Slowly the tension and frustration of a losing offseason started to wane.

Grandpa shared stories about the friends he had made at Haven Pines, the hot gossip down the hall from him, and how he had met Greta when she was visiting her older sister at the facility. It seemed everyone in town called her Ms. Tiny.

We walked at a meandering pace, stopping when Grandpa felt tired, but it wasn’t often. I was pleasantly surprised at how much energy he still seemed to have.

“Are you seeing any friends while you’re around?” he asked. Grandpa knew that the offseason was often the only time I had to catch up with friends who weren’t my teammates.

“Trent, Max, and Billy are around. We might get a few drinks later,” I said.

He nodded. “That’s good. You should always make time for friends.”

I knew he was worried about my work-life balance, but what he didn’t quite understand was that I was able to be at the top of my game because of my lack of balance.

During the season, rugby was my entire world. To be the best, there simply wasn’t room for anything else. During this particular offseason I would have to train extra hard to maintain my skills while simultaneously giving my body a break—a feat that seemed nearly impossible.

When we reached the end of the lighthouse pier and turned back, he looked out wistfully at the beach.

It wasn’t as crowded as I imagined it was at the peak of tourist season, but there were still a few brave souls in the water and even people bundled in light blankets, sitting on the sand. Some kids were throwing a football and laughing it up.

“Come on, let’s live a little,” I teased.

We ditched our socks and shoes in a haphazard pile on the beach. I knelt to roll up the bottoms of my grandfather’s trousers and then cuffed my own. We walked along the sandy shores, letting the cold water lap over our feet. The water was brisk but refreshing.

As we walked along the shoreline, a football rolled in front of us. A young kid who looked like he should have been in high school jogged behind it.

“Sorry! Excuse me,” he called out.

“It’s no problem.” My grandfather reached down and picked up the ball.

The kid stared at me, stunned. “Oh shit, you’re Logan Brown.”

I smiled, shook my head, and held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

He eagerly gripped my hand in his and shook. “I’m Seth. I’m a running back at Midwest Michigan University. Coach Sullivan has us review all your game tapes. Your in-game calls are absolutely unreal.”

“No kidding? Thanks, kid.” Rugby wasn’t as widely recognized in the States as football or other mainstream sports. While being the fly-half on my team was kind of like a quarterback, it was fun to have someone else know what the hell it was.

Seth gestured toward the two other young men, who stared slack-jawed behind him. “You want to go for a round or two?”

I looked at my grandfather, who wrapped his leathered hand around the ball.

“Should I give it a go?” I asked him.

His mischievous smirk spread slowly as he gestured with his chin for me to get going. “Give him hell, son.”

My grandfather pitched the ball sideways to me in a perfect rugby pass. The three kids cheered as they ran after me. My toes dug into the soft sand, and my calves burned as my legs pumped. My heartbeat thumped in time to their cheers.

I blew past their efforts to stop me, laughing when I reached the end of the beach. I had forgotten how fun it was to just let it all go and fuck around for a while. I wasn’t winded, but I had to breathe through the slight pinch in my left knee.

It had still been giving me problems, and running through sand certainly didn’t help matters. I braced my hands on my hips to catch my breath.

My heart thunked harder when I looked up and saw a smiling MJ standing next to my grandfather near the water, her hands planted on her trim little waist, mirroring my stance.

Her brown ponytail whipped in the breeze, a few loose strands catching the sunlight like they’d been kissed by fire. She listened intently to whatever yarn my grandfather was weaving as he pointed in our direction.

“Want to go again?” Seth asked.

I shook my head. “I’d love to, but ...” I gestured with my head toward my grandfather and MJ. “I’ve got to go see about a thing.”

Seth grinned. “Oh, I get it. No worries, man.” He held out his hand to shake again. “Thank you, really.”

“It was a pleasure.” I shook his hand one last time before slowly jogging toward MJ and my grandfather.

As I got closer, my heart thunked harder. MJ was dressed in a loose pair of soft green sweatpants that swayed with the breeze. Her matching top was a quarter-zip sweatshirt. The zipper was undone, revealing tanned skin and the ties of a black bikini top. I imagined untying it with my teeth and reveling in the quick inhale of her breath as I took my time doing it. Her casual sweats made her look too relaxed, like she wasn’t the single most infuriating person on the planet.

She was smiling as she spoke to my grandfather and pointed to a small group of women who I assumed were her friends.

Sisters, maybe?

I shook the thought from my head. I had no idea why suddenly I wanted to know everything there was to know about the mysterious MJ King.

As I got closer, MJ started to slow clap.

“Very impressive,” she said. “Annihilating a bunch of teenagers must do wonders for your ego.” The teasing glint in her eyes forced my grin wider.

“They’re in college,” I said. “They’re at least twenty.” I glanced back at the young boys. “I think. What are you up to, Kitten?”

One eyebrow shot up. “Kitten?”

“You’re the one who didn’t like Thunder.” I shrugged. “Just trying something else on for size.”

“I like that less.” Her eyes playfully rolled, and I could tell she was fighting a smile.

Damn, she was cute when she was trying not to give in.

MJ placed a gentle hand on my grandpa’s shoulder. “Mr. Brown here was telling me you two have had quite the adventure today.”

I grinned, loving the breeze and the crisp autumn air and the way the late-afternoon sun made her hazel eyes a riot of blue, brown, and earth tones.

“It’s been a great day,” I said. “Even better now.”

A soft flush creeped up her neck. “Well.” She cleared her throat. “I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Hey, do you know what time it is?” I asked before she could run away.

MJ’s brow furrowed slightly before she reached into her pocket to slip out her phone. “It’s almost four.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” I gestured toward her phone. “I was worried that thing was broken, since I hadn’t heard from you yet about coming to a game.”

A soft, teasing ooh from my grandfather only spurred me on as I rocked back on my heels.

MJ straightened her shoulders. “My phone is perfectly fine.”

I tucked my tongue into my cheek. “I’m glad to hear it. We should get you back before dinner, old man,” I said. “I’ll see you around, MJ.”

“Yeah,” she replied softly.

Grandpa and I walked back across the sand. My phone buzzed, and when I saw an unknown number flash on the screen, I knew it was her. My grin stretched wide enough to hurt.

Four little words. Four words that shouldn’t have felt like a win, but god, they did.

Unknown

I’ll think about it.

And just like that, my piss-poor mood evaporated. She was thinking about it. About me. And it made my whole damn day.