Page 8

EIGHT

MJ

I’m not entirely sure why I finally decided I would go to a match.

Maybe it was the random pep talk from JP about not fighting my feelings.

Maybe it was because I wanted him to prove he was just like Trent, despite how sweet Logan was with his grandpa.

Maybe it was because he looked so in his element when he was horsing around with those kids on the beach.

Maybe it was to prove to myself that I wouldn’t fall for another man’s false promises.

Maybe it was that damn dimple.

Regardless of the true reason, I had finally driven the two hours to Chicago to attend a rugby exhibition match.

Logan had informed me that during the offseason, he’d be playing game one of a doubleheader with the Western Wildhawks, a team located in the upper Midwest. My butt hurt from sitting in the car, and I checked my outfit. I chose a pair of jeans and a hunter-green Henley, pairing it with gold jewelry. I adjusted the gold scrunchie on my wrist. Finding gold and green to match the team’s colors was a bit of a challenge at the last minute.

I curled my hair and applied a little bit of makeup. I hoped that it was true and that there would be tickets waiting for me at the box office.

I also prayed that I sat next to people who liked to talk. I had zero experience with rugby, so if I didn’t have someone to help answer questions, I was sure to be lost.

I pulled a deep inhale through my nose, forcing a hit of bravery before climbing out of my car and heading toward the stadium. The Chicago wind nipped at me, and I pulled my jacket closed.

“ Shit ,” I muttered. I would have to buy a team blanket or something so I wouldn’t freeze to death before the first half.

Do they even have halves in rugby? I groaned inwardly. Why am I even here? Oh, that’s right ... a freaking dimple.

I walked across the busy parking lot. Much like I’d seen at football games, people were tailgating and celebrating before the game even began. Green and gold were in direct opposition to the blue and black of the Wildhawks’ opponents. Fans cheered and called me over, offering a hot dog or a chance to play a beanbag toss game. I smiled politely and kept on walking.

When I reached the box office window, my nerves were rattling. “Hi,” I said. “My name is MJ King. I think there might be a ticket for me?”

The woman in the booth smiled politely and typed into her computer. She paused, and then her eyebrows rose. “One minute.”

My hand tapped against my thigh as I waited. The woman picked up a walkie-talkie and hit the button. “Hey, Vince. I’ve got a special request from Brown. His guest is here.”

Special request?

Vince responded with something I couldn’t hear, and the woman smiled at me. “If you just wait here, someone will be down to fetch you in a minute.”

“Thank you,” I replied and stepped aside.

A few minutes later, Logan came into view. He was only half dressed in his uniform—protective shorts, socks pulled to his knees with slip-on sandals, and a white tank top that was sinfully tight. It showed off his thick arms and chest, which tapered down to a trim waist. My eyes nearly bugged out of my head as he jogged toward me.

For a split second, I thought about turning around and leaving. But then Logan smiled—that wide, boyish grin—and the thought dissolved into the cold September air.

“You came!” His smile was bright and wide.

I waved and pressed my lips into a small smile. “I’m here.”

Up close, Logan smelled like mint and a fresh shower. The tips of his hair were damp, and heat pumped off him despite the cold.

“Come on,” he said and gestured. “I’ll bring you to the box.”

“Box?” I asked as I followed behind him, sneaking a peek of his butt.

Logan had a perfect ass because of course he did.

In his uniform I could see how perfectly proportioned his thick thighs were with the round shape of his backside. A flash of me grabbing that ass as he settled between my legs startled me.

What the hell was that about?

Flustered, my steps faltered as we entered the small elevator.

Logan gripped my arm. “You okay?”

I hummed and nodded, trying to find my voice. He swiped a badge and pushed the button for the floor. Silence and tension filled the elevator. His masculine smell was all-consuming, and butterflies hammered in my belly.

Logan shifted and I was acutely aware of his every move. His forearm brushed mine, and warmth spread up my arm and across my chest.

“You were done thinking about it?” His voice was sultry and low.

I glanced at him and gave a soft smile. “Looks like it.”

He turned, no longer facing the doors, but looking at me. He was standing over me, and his hand moved up to gently grip my chin. His eyes were hard on mine before they flicked to my mouth.

I inhaled, parting my lips, unsure of what would happen next.

“I’m glad you came.” His husky voice was pure silk over gravel.

Mine was barely a whisper. “Your grandfather is very convincing. He told me how even when you’re traveling you call every week, despite the time differences. I thought that was very sweet.”

“I’m not always so sweet ...” His thumb dragged across my cheek, igniting a path behind it. “But I can be.”

My throat was parched and raw.

His fingers tilted my chin, and the world narrowed to the heat of his hand and the quiet hum of the elevator. His eyes flicked to my lips, and my breath caught, the moment stretching like a taut wire.

Was he going to kiss me? Did I want him to?

I stared up at him, waiting. Willing him to make the next move so I wouldn’t have to.

The elevator dinged, and when the doors opened, I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

Beside me, Logan cleared his throat.

He’d felt whatever that was too.

When we stepped out of the elevator, my jaw dropped open. The entire floor was private and opulent. In front of me was a large, open room with a bar and various tables, chairs, and couches in comfortable seating arrangements. Beyond that, suites with walls of glass looked out onto the field. A few servers were talking at the bar and looked to be organizing trays of food and beverages before the game. Men and women dressed in team colors chatted and walked in and out of the suites.

He led me to a large, open suite. His hand pressed to the small of my back. “Here’s where a lot of the WAGs hang out.”

“Wags?” I asked.

“Wives and girlfriends.”

My brows rose.

“Friends and family. That kind of thing,” he said quickly. Logan dragged a hand through his hair and chuckled. “Everything is complimentary, so eat and drink whatever you want.”

I looked through the glass, out onto the field, and frowned. The suite was almost too much—glass walls, plush seating, and an endless supply of food and drinks. It felt miles away from my reality, like I’d stumbled into someone else’s life. Maybe I had. Maybe I’d stumbled into Logan’s.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing.” I faked a smile. “This is great. Thanks again.”

He stepped forward. “What is it?”

My shoulder bounced and my nose scrunched up. “It’s just really far from the field. How does anyone see anything?”

He chuckled. “I guess a lot of people up here would rather have free drinks and a warm room than be close to the action.”

“Oh.” I laughed. “Right.”

His green eyes narrowed. “You’re not happy.”

I shook my head. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt his feelings or seem ungrateful. “I’m happy. This is by far the coolest thing I’ve done all year. Thank you for inviting me.”

Logan playfully rolled his eyes and gripped my hand. “Come on.”

He gently pulled me out of the suite but didn’t let go of me. My hand was swallowed by his, and the warmth of his touch flowed up my arm, spreading heat across my chest.

“You want front row? You’re getting front row.” With a determined line creasing his brow, I struggled to keep up with his long strides as he stomped down the hallway. Players nodded in greeting, but Logan was a determined man.

When we reached a lower level, he stopped in front of a security guard. “Tony, can you get her close? One of the open family seats, preferably. And please send down a team blanket to make sure she isn’t cold.”

Tony smiled at Logan and then at me. “Of course. That’s no problem, sir.” Tony stepped aside to make a call on his radio.

Logan turned to me, gently placing his hands on my shoulders. “I’ve got to get ready, but Tony will take care of anything you need. If you get chilly, head back up to the suite level. Otherwise, there’s a server here for food and drinks. Anything you need. Understand?”

My mouth popped open. “I—this is?—”

Logan grinned. “It’s what you want, and it’s perfect. Have a good time.” With a gentle squeeze on my shoulder, he turned and jogged down the hallway until he disappeared.

“All set, miss?” Tony asked, gesturing at the doorway that led to the field.

I nodded in awe and followed. His massive frame shielded the sun as we walked toward the field. The area at this level was protected by a low wall. The seats were on swivels, and small, half-moon tables provided a place for food or drinks to be set down. There were even small screens to allow viewers to see close-ups of the action.

Tony caught the eye of a small group. “Got room for one more?”

A beautiful woman with long black hair wearing a green-and-gold jersey smiled and waved. “Of course! Send her over.”

I pleaded at Tony with my eyes, but he just smiled. “You’re in good hands.” He stopped by the small group. “Maria, this is Logan Brown’s guest ...” He waited for me to respond.

“MJ,” I said.

“She wanted to be closer to the action,” Tony finished.

Maria patted the seat next to her. “That’s my kind of girl. Have a seat.”

Relieved, I exhaled and sat next to her. “Thank you.”

“So ...” She smiled. “Logan Brown, huh?” Her eyebrows waggled, and I could feel my cheeks heat. “We were shocked he wasn’t competing in the Sevens, but having him on the exhibition team has made all these extra games much more exciting.”

Sevens? I had no idea what she was talking about, so I simply smiled and nodded. Soon, a woman delivered a plush wool blanket in muted Wildhawks colors. Seats around me filled quickly with friends and families of players from both teams. I watched in awe at the friendly camaraderie of the fans. It was apparent that there was a sense of family and community that I didn’t expect.

Maria wrapped an older woman in a fierce hug, and when she sat down, I leaned in. “Aren’t we supposed to hate the opposing team?” I asked.

She smiled and laughed. “We let the men on the field do the battling. Around here, we’re one big family.”

One big family.

I liked that.

With a smile, I settled into my seat, wrapping the Wildhawks blanket around my shoulders just as the announcer started speaking.

* * *

“LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOO!” My voice was raw from screaming. Beside me, Maria was jumping up and down with her fist in the air.

The energy in the stadium was electric.

From this vantage point, I had a clear view of Logan as he prepared to go on the field again. He was rubbing his hands together, but his eyes were on me. He watched me scream from the seats before he tore his gaze away. His attention was laser focused, his jaw tight.

Fire raced through me.

In subtle ways, Logan had watched me the entire game.

I was surrounded by die-hard rugby fans who’d been more than happy to explain every detail, play, and position. It was way too much information for me to remember, but I loved feeling like I was a part of the crowd. The rush of adrenaline was unreal—like spinning out of control at the edge of a cliff with your arms spread wide.

Chills ran down my back, but I wasn’t cold. I’d taken pictures and videos and asked Maria hundreds of questions. The grunts and slinging mud only added to the rush of the experience, and this was an exhibition match. I couldn’t fathom what it was like during a seasonal game, let alone the Olympics.

Logan was unstoppable. A beast on the field. When the opposing team scored, it was like a switch was flipped. His intensity darkened and when he pointed and barked orders, I couldn’t imagine a man or woman alive not listening.

He was sweaty, covered in mud, and the corded muscles of his thighs were one of the most impressive things I’d ever seen, but the team was struggling.

The score was against them, and every time they lost ground, Logan seemed to push harder, directing his teammates with quick, decisive gestures. Maria explained that in his position as fly-half, he was in the thick of it, constantly moving, setting up plays, and orchestrating the line.

It was like he could see the entire game three steps ahead of everyone else. He read the field as though every move was planned and rehearsed, even as the game moved faster than I could follow. He’d take the ball in hand, sidestep, pass, and slip through tackles, keeping his balance with a raw, honed power that seemed to pulse through him. The crowd was electric, roaring with every near miss and cheer, but I barely noticed them, too caught up in the way Logan took control of every play.

And yet, despite his best efforts, they were still down. I could feel his frustration. He wore it like an extra layer of sweat, jaw clenched, eyes focused and unyielding. Then, the moment he broke free with the ball, I couldn’t breathe. Logan charged forward, cutting through the defenders, his determination blazing like a dare to anyone who could reach him.

He darted past one defender, then another, his moves almost impossibly quick for someone of his size. The opposing team closed in, bodies slamming into each other as they scrambled to close the gaps, but Logan slipped through each time, twisting and pivoting with an ease that left his opponents a step behind. Just when it looked like he was about to be taken down, he spun, offloading the ball to his teammate with a perfectly timed pass, setting them up for a break down the line.

The crowd roared, and I found myself leaning forward on the half-wall and screaming, heart pounding as I watched the play unfold. Logan was back on his feet instantly, racing up to support the drive as his teammate bolted toward the try line, defenders rushing to intercept. A tackle hit hard, sending Logan’s teammate sprawling, but Logan was right there, scooping up the ball with hands that seemed remarkably steady amid the chaos.

He charged forward, now just a few yards from the line, and the crowd went wild. The tension in the air was palpable. Every breath I took seemed to catch in my throat. Logan’s eyes narrowed, his focus laser sharp as he barreled toward the try line. Two defenders closed in from either side, but Logan didn’t falter. He surged forward, muscles straining, teeth gritted as he pushed through, diving just as the opposing players slammed into him.

He crossed the line, the ball clutched in his hands, and the whistle blew. Cheers erupted all around me, the noise deafening, but all I could hear was the fierce, victorious shout he let loose as he hit the ground. The team swarmed him, lifting him up, clapping him on the back, but even amid their celebration, his eyes found mine across the field. A flicker of something intense passed between us, an unspoken current that left me breathless.

Maria’s arms wrapped around me as we screamed and celebrated.

The Wildhawks won, but it felt like more than that. Watching Logan on the field was a rush I’d never experienced before. After the final whistle blew, the team gathered in a line, shaking hands with their opponents, exchanging brief nods and claps on the shoulder. There was a camaraderie in it, a respect that lingered even after all the tackles and hard hits. As the Wildhawks turned to leave the field, Logan glanced back, his eyes sweeping over the stands until they landed on me. I felt the thrill of his victory radiating all the way from the field, igniting something deep and undeniable.

He jogged toward me. Something in his gait was off, and my nursing instincts screamed at me that there was something wrong.

Logan came to a stop in front of the wall that separated us. “Meet me outside the locker room.” He glanced at Maria. “Can you show her where?”

Maria’s smile widened. “Sure can.”

He exhaled and winked at me before turning around to join his team. I turned to see Maria grinning. She gathered her blanket and flipped her long, black hair over one shoulder. “Well, you heard the man. Let’s go.”

My stomach bunched as I followed her out of the stands and through a long corridor. Muffled cheers and excited chants echoed through the door.

“After their showers, he’ll come out here. Want me to wait with you?” she asked.

I swallowed and shook my head. “I’m good. Thanks for everything today.”

Maria leaned forward and wrapped me in a hug. “My pleasure. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around.”

We said our goodbyes, and my palms started to sweat as I waited for Logan. I checked my watch. It took two hours to get home, and it was getting darker by the minute.

When the heavy door opened and Logan appeared, my breath caught. Freshly showered, he looked just as intense as he had on the field, but now there was a softness in his eyes, a quiet pride that made my heart stutter. His damp hair fell just slightly over his brow, and he wore a hint of a smile, like he was just as reluctant to say goodbye as I was.

“Heading out?” he asked as we walked down the ramp toward the parking lot. His eyes landed on my car parked under a flickering light.

I nodded, wrapping the team blanket around my shoulders to hide my nerves. “It’s a long drive, but I can listen to a podcast or something. I’ll be fine.”

But before I could even think about leaving, a loud crack split the sky.

Fat raindrops started slowly, then quickly turned to falling in torrents, coming down so hard I couldn’t see past the first row of cars. “Shit.”

Logan’s face shifted instantly, protective and tense. I pulled out my phone, checking the weather app to see how long the storm was expected to last.

“I should get going.” I showed him the screen on my phone. “It’s supposed to last all night.”

“You’re not driving in this, not in the dark,” he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. He turned to scan the parking lot. “Wait here. Let me see if we can find you a room for the night.”

I bit my lip, glancing at the sheets of rain pounding against the concrete, but before I could protest, he was already talking to the stadium staff.

A few minutes later, he returned, frustration flickering in his eyes.

“The team hotel is completely booked,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. “I’ll drive you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Maria said you have another early game tomorrow. Besides, how would you get back?”

A heavy silence settled between us as he met my gaze, his expression unreadable.

His green eyes met mine, searching, as if he wasn’t sure what I’d say. “You could stay with me.” His voice barely rose above the sound of the rain, the words deliberate, quiet, and almost careful.

My pulse stuttered, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe.

Staying with him in his hotel room was an option, one that sent a fresh surge of adrenaline through me. The rain blurred the parking lot into a smear of shadows and light.

Sure, I was more than capable of driving home in a rainstorm in the dark, but there was a part of me that didn’t want to.

“Um. Okay, sure.” I swallowed hard, my pulse racing as I tried to keep my expression steady, but every nerve in my body buzzed with anticipation.