Page 9

NINE

LOGAN

Were there other hotels? Probably.

Did I care enough to check? Definitely not.

When we finally made it to the hotel room, the storm was still raging outside, a steady rhythm of rain against the window. From the door of my hotel room, we stared at the one bed sitting in the center of the room, mocking us both. It was just sitting there, all big and smug, like it knew damn well this was going to be a problem. I scratched the back of my neck, throwing a glance at MJ.

She lingered by the door, her arms crossed, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips as she looked at me with those watchful eyes, like she was waiting for me to make the first move.

“Just so we’re clear, there’s no way I’m sleeping on the floor,” I said, keeping my tone light, though I could already feel the heat between us, humming like a live wire.

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.”

I chuckled at her calling me Princess.

MJ sighed. “So far you seem like a gentleman.” She eyed me. “I hope you’re as sweet as your grandfather.” She walked in and dumped her purse on the desk before slipping off her shoes. “The bed is big enough ... probably.”

“Probably,” I echoed, giving her a small grin as I set my bag down. She stayed at the edge of the room, her fingers toying with the blanket in her arms, clearly hesitating.

“I’ll keep to my side. Promise,” I added, raising my hand in mock solemnity. But, truthfully, I was already feeling conflicted. MJ had this pull that felt half dangerous, half irresistible.

I wanted to know her—she was guarded, always holding back something just beyond my reach—but I wasn’t about to pry. There were enough barriers in my own life to keep my head spinning without adding hers to the mix.

The bed felt softer than any hotel mattress should as I lay back, arms folded behind my head, sneaking a glance at her as she moved around the room.

“No plans to celebrate your win?”

I grinned. “The guys will go out, but not usually before a game day. We’ll celebrate when we win again tomorrow.”

A soft, disgusted noise rattled out of her nose. “So cocky.”

I placed my hand on my chest. “I like to think of it as healthy confidence. Besides, us princesses need our beauty sleep.”

MJ lingered by the edge of the bed, glancing down at her rain-soaked shirt, and I couldn’t help but notice her hesitation. She pulled at the fabric a little, her eyes scanning the room.

“You could ...” I started, my voice low, already wondering if I’d regret this. “You could wear my shirt if you want. Probably more comfortable than sleeping in that.”

Her gaze snapped up to mine, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. I grinned, maybe a bit too satisfied with myself, and stood. Reaching behind me, I pulled off the fresh team-branded shirt I’d tossed on after my shower. My name was printed across the back, along with the team logo, and something about offering it to her felt ... oddly personal.

Still, I pulled it over my head in one motion, watching her reaction as her eyes darted over my chest and shoulders, pausing just long enough to tell me she noticed. She swallowed, her gaze dropping, but not before I caught her reaction.

Her lingering gaze sent a spark of satisfaction through me. For a moment I felt the air between us shift, heavy and charged.

I held the shirt out, and she reached for it, her fingers brushing mine in a quick, warm touch. “Thanks,” she murmured, not quite meeting my eyes.

MJ slipped into the bathroom, and as soon as the door clicked shut, I let out a slow breath, scrubbing my hand over my face before walking toward the bed.

This was going to be rough. Sharing a room with her, sleeping in the same bed, all while pretending I could keep my cool? Not likely. She had a way of getting under my skin, and tonight I could feel it in every nerve. I was too aware of her, too drawn in by everything she was—and wasn’t—saying.

And the thought of her in there, slipping into my shirt, her body wrapped in it ... or, hell, maybe even my actual jersey, the fabric barely reaching her thighs—let’s just say it wasn’t helping my case to stay focused or relaxed.

My cock ached.

I shook my head, trying to push the image out of my mind, but the visual kept creeping back in.

Focus, Logan.

I heard the bathroom door click and looked up. When she stepped out of the bathroom, I forgot how to breathe. My shirt hung loose on her, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs. It wasn’t just that she looked good—she looked like she belonged in it, like it was made for her.

And damn if that didn’t do something to me.

I cleared my throat, turning back to fluff a pillow, hoping she hadn’t noticed the way I’d frozen for a second there.

“It ... uh, looks good on you,” I managed, keeping my tone casual, though my pulse was anything but.

She shot me a quick, almost shy smile, tugging at the hem and tucking a lock of soft brown hair behind her ear. “Thanks.”

We stood at the center of the room, neither of us acknowledging the empty bed. “So,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “Why aren’t you playing in the Sevens? Maria said it’s what most of the pros do.”

I felt the question settle in my chest, a familiar weight of pride and frustration. There it was—the thing I couldn’t shake, gnawing at the back of my mind every time I thought about the team, about my body. I took a breath, choosing my words carefully.

“The thing is,” I said, dragging a hand through my hair, “the body doesn’t always bounce back the way you want it to. And when you’re thirty-four, people start whispering about when you’ll finally hang it up. I’m not ready for that.”

She waited and I found myself opening up more.

“During the Olympic Games, I got a concussion,” I said. “And I tweaked my knee. Didn’t quite bounce back like I thought I would. Now I’m doing exhibition games instead. It’s a temporary gig, just to stay sharp.”

She was quiet, her gaze turned away, and I wondered if she could feel that tension in me. This was the reality—thirty-four years old and I was one of the senior players, no longer able to just shake off the wear and tear. The next Olympics would probably be my last run, but even that felt like a gamble now.

I’d lost count of the times I’d asked myself, How much longer can I keep doing this?

“Want me to take a look?” she asked.

I paused, considering her offer. “Is this within the realm of blood-pressure medication and enforcing visiting hours?” I teased.

She shot me a pointed look. “Very funny.” MJ gestured to the chair tucked in the corner. “I’m an RN with an orthopedic nurse certification. I can show you my résumé, if you’d like.”

“I believe you,” I chuckled as I sat in the chair and pulled up the leg of my sweatpants.

MJ crouched in front of me, her eyes assessing my knee while I assessed her. A soft furrow creased her forehead, and her lips flattened.

“Hmm,” she said. Her fingertips hovered over my bent knee. “May I?”

I nodded.

MJ’s fingertips brushed the outside of my knee, sending tingles buzzing up my leg. Her touch was soft, yet efficient. Her eyes never left my knee as she extended my leg, then bent it again.

When she gently pressed on each side, I hissed.

She sat back on her heels, and I already missed her touch. “It’s a little swollen. Feels a bit stiff. You should probably get it checked out to make sure it’s nothing more serious.”

I pushed my pant leg back down. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll be fine by tomorrow’s game.”

MJ’s eyes lifted, her expression softer, like she’d picked up on more than I intended to let slip. “Sure seems tough on the body.”

“It’s part of the game,” I said, shrugging, trying to sound nonchalant as she stood. “You either keep going or you find something else.”

She tilted her head, her eyes meeting mine, and I felt a jolt, that electric awareness between us kicking up a notch. “You don’t seem like the type to just walk away.”

“Is it that obvious?” I chuckled as I stood, but there was an edge to it, a heaviness. “It’s hard to let go when it’s all you know.”

Our eyes held, and for a second, I forgot about the storm, the cramped room, and the fact that there was barely a foot of space between us. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken things. I tried to ignore the way her shoulder brushed mine, the warmth of her body radiating across that small, shared space.

It was distracting as hell.

“So what about you?” I asked, steering the conversation away from my troubles. “What’s got you so guarded?”

She laughed, but it sounded strained. “Guarded? I’m not guarded.” Her voice wavered, like she didn’t quite believe it herself. Then she smiled, quick and practiced.

“Right.” I let my gaze linger, daring her to challenge me. “If you say so.” I slid into the bed, making sure to give her plenty of room on the other side.

She rolled her eyes, shifting to face away from me, but I saw the hint of a smile, the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket.

I wanted to know more, to press her on it, but I could tell from her expression that I wouldn’t get anything real from her tonight. And maybe that was just as well.

We were strangers—strangers sharing a cramped hotel room during a storm.

MJ slipped under the covers, leaving me staring after her, my thoughts anything but innocent.

She pulled the covers up to her chin, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The storm outside roared, the sound making the room feel smaller somehow, more intimate. Her breathing was soft, steady, but I could hear every inhale, every exhale. The faint scent of her shampoo lingered between us, and I had to focus hard to keep my hands on my side of the blanket.

When she settled back against the pillow, the edge of her foot brushed mine under the covers, and she froze, glancing at me, her cheeks just barely flushed.

“Sorry,” she murmured, pulling back, but the tension between us only thickened, that accidental touch lingering like an invitation I couldn’t quite ignore.

I chuckled, lifting a brow. “Relax, MJ. I’m not gonna bite.”

She gave a dry laugh, but I saw her lips curve. “I don’t know ... you seem like the type.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I shot back, half teasing, half serious, and there was that smirk again, the one that drove me a little wild. She laughed, genuinely this time, and the sound made something twist in my chest.

“By the way,” I said, adjusting my head on the pillow to get a better look at her. “I’m still deciding on the right nickname for you. You don’t seem like a ‘Kitten’ ... and ‘Thunder’ didn’t quite fit either.”

She gave me a skeptical look, her lips pressing together like she was fighting a smile. “Why do I even need a nickname?”

“It’s just a feeling,” I said, shrugging. “Like I need something that suits you, something ... perfect.”

“ Hooker wasn’t good either?” she teased.

A genuine laugh cracked out of me.

She laughed with me and rolled her eyes, but I saw the slight blush rise on her cheeks. “You can call me whatever you like, Princess.”

I grinned, loving that feisty edge in her. “Noted. But I can’t make any promises, Peach.” I looked at her and we both laughed. “Definitely not.” I thought again. “Maybe ... Lightning. Something powerful and impossible to ignore.”

Her laughter was soft, but the tension grew only heavier, like neither of us wanted to break this thread connecting us, pulling us closer. We settled back, the silence between us charged, and every so often, I’d catch her glancing my way, her eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite read—like there was something she wanted to say but kept holding back.

And I felt it too—that awareness, the electricity humming in the space between us. I’d never shared a bed with someone where not touching felt more charged than anything else.

Finally, I rolled onto my side to face her, my hand brushing hers as I shifted. Her breath hitched, and she went still, her gaze meeting mine with a spark of challenge and something deeper, something that had my heart racing.

“Stay on your side,” she murmured, her voice low, teasing.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” I replied, feeling the grin stretch across my face.

She shrugged, her lips quirked into a half smile that was equal parts daring and shy. “More like a warning.”

And there it was, that dare, the unspoken test hanging in the air between us, charged and almost electric. She looked away, but not before I caught the slight flush in her cheeks, the way her pulse flickered at her neck.

The tension lingered, neither of us willing to break the silence, and I could feel my body tense, every nerve lit up by the closeness, the warmth radiating from her.

For the rest of the night, we barely moved, both holding ourselves carefully, but every breath felt deliberate, every tiny movement loaded with something I couldn’t put into words.

* * *

When my alarm sounded and I opened my eyes, she was gone.

The bed was empty beside me, and I felt an odd pang of disappointment. Shaking it off, I got dressed and headed down to the field, ready for game two of the doubleheader, my thoughts still half on her as I warmed up. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that lingered from the night before—that spark, that sense of something unfinished.

I shot her a quick text, making sure she’d gotten home okay.

The game was intense, faster than usual, and every time I caught the ball, the adrenaline surged, propelling me forward. My moves were quick, reflexes on fire, and everything clicked into place, like I could see the whole field with a clarity I hadn’t felt in a long time. The roar of the crowd was thunderous, each play feeling like a surge of energy.

When we finally won, I couldn’t help but search the stands, looking for her. The rush of victory surged through me, and I barely noticed my teammate, Jack, clapping me on the back with a smirk.

“Man, whatever you did last night, do it again. You’ve got some serious lucky charm energy today,” he joked, flashing a knowing grin.

I brushed him off with a laugh, but the idea started to take root. I showered, and at the first opportunity, before I even knew what I was doing, I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick text to MJ.

Not saying you’re my lucky charm or anything, but just played one of the best games of my life. You sure you weren’t in the stands somewhere?

A moment later, my phone buzzed with her reply.

MJ

I had to get back early. Maybe your luck is because I’m NOT there. Ever think of that?

I chuckled, unable to keep from grinning as I typed back.

There’s no way. It’s all you. I swear, you’ve got this weird magic going on.

MJ

Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming, hotshot. Maybe you just needed a confidence boost from someone who doesn’t even understand rugby

I could practically see the smirk she’d have as she typed that, and it hit me.

Maybe MJ wasn’t so much a distraction as the lucky charm I needed to get through the offseason. Jack had already proved himself the most superstitious on the team. He hadn’t washed his socks a single time all season, and we were all suffering. He’d called it lucky charm energy, but the only change was her .

So that was it—I would need MJ to bring me luck.

The future of my career depended on it.

The drive back to Outtatowner was quiet, the hum of the truck’s engine the only sound breaking the stillness of the night. As I turned onto the outskirts of town, something caught my eye—an old warehouse set back from the road. I eased off the gas, my gaze snagging on the boarded-up windows and peeling paint. It wasn’t much to look at, just a weathered shell of what it used to be. But there was something about it, something that made me wonder what it could become if someone had the guts to try.

I shook my head and hit the gas, dismissing the ridiculous thought.

As I drove, I thought back to the game. The energy from the crowd, the adrenaline pumping through my veins—it was why I played. But something was different. When I’d glanced at the stands and saw MJ sitting there, her arms crossed but a faint smile tugging at her lips, it had felt like everything I’d worked for mattered in a way I hadn’t realized before.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, replaying the match in my head. Every tackle, every sprint, every moment the ball was in my hands—MJ was there, lingering in the back of my mind.

She was a distraction, but if she was also somehow a lucky charm, maybe I didn’t need to shake her.