Page 3

Three

Logan

T he bar was packed when I arrived, the bass-heavy music pulsing through the room like a heartbeat. Colored lights flashed overhead, cutting through the dim haze and reflecting off the glossy surfaces of tables and glasses. The dance floor was a writhing mass of bodies, moving in sync with the beat, laughter and voices blending into the thrum of the music.

The air smelled faintly of spilled beer and citrusy cocktails, a heady mix that clung to the warmth of the crowded space. Servers weaved through the press of people with trays held high, dodging swaying dancers and tipsy patrons.

Jaymie waved me over from a booth near the back, already surrounded by a few teammates and their puck bunnies for the night. The women leaned in close, their laughter too bright, their smiles too practiced, while the guys soaked up the attention like it was part of the job.

I slid past a group clustered near the bar, brushing off an accidental elbow as I made my way to the table. By the time I got there, I’d already decided I wouldn’t be staying long. I plastered on a smile, but my attention wandered almost immediately. That’s when I saw her.

She was leaning against the bar, her white-blonde bob catching the strobe lights with every slight turn of her head. She wasn’t trying to stand out, but she didn’t have to. There was something about her, an effortless kind of magnetism that made it impossible to look away.

The black dress she wore hugged every curve, the silky material clinging to her in a way that had my throat going dry. It wasn’t flashy, wasn’t screaming for attention, but on her, it was lethal. The hem skimmed the tops of her thighs, revealing toned legs. The neckline dipped low enough to hint at the swell of her chest, her collarbones catching the light as she shifted. Under the glow of the neon, her skin had a golden warmth to it, like she’d been kissed by the sun despite the fact that it was the dead of winter.

She laughed at something the bartender said, the sound low and effortless, carrying over the hum of conversation. That laugh had a way of settling under my skin, curling in my chest like smoke, slow and consuming. She tilted her head just slightly, giving the bartender a knowing smile, and something in my stomach twisted. It was the kind of smile that pulled you in without trying. Sharp, confident, like she already had the upper hand. And damn if it didn’t make me want to close the space between us.

She tilted her head back slightly, her posture relaxed but deliberate, like she owned the space around her. It wasn’t just her looks, though those were hard to ignore. It was the confidence in how she moved, how she stood. She wasn’t waiting for anyone; she was content exactly where she was. I couldn’t help it, I was curious. About her. About the spark in her eyes. And about whether she was as interesting as she seemed from across the room. I didn’t realize I was staring until Jaymie nudged me.

“See something you like?”

“Maybe.” I downed the rest of my drink, then stood. “Back in a minute.”

She noticed me before I even said a word. Her hazel eyes flicked to mine, sharp and assessing, and the corner of her mouth curled into a smirk.

“Let me guess,” she said, her voice smooth and dripping with sarcasm. “Another player who thinks he’s God’s gift to women?”

I raised a brow, leaning casually against the bar. “That depends. Are you one of those women who assumes we’re all puck-chasing cavemen?”

Her smirk widened as she picked up her drink, swirling the amber liquid lazily. “I don’t assume. I observe.”

“Staring at me already, huh? Can’t blame you for being curious.”

She laughed softly, the sound equal parts amusement and disbelief. “Wow. That confidence is… something.”

“Thanks. I get that a lot.” I let my grin stretch wider, deliberately cocky. “But I’m more than just confidence. There’s charm too.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “The full package. Let me guess, you use that line on every woman who makes the mistake of looking at you?”

I feigned offense, pressing a hand to my chest. “I don’t use lines. I prefer meaningful conversations.”

Her brow shot up. “This is meaningful? Wow. Guess my standards are too high.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re quick. I like that.”

“And you’re persistent. Not sure how I feel about that yet.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but then she tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as something clicked. “Wait a second, you’re Logan Bennett, aren’t you?”

Ah, shit.

The playful spark in her eyes vanished, replaced with something colder, sharper.

“Well, this just got more interesting.”

I straightened, the easygoing grin sliding off my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She took a deliberate sip of her drink, savoring the moment before speaking. “It means I didn’t realize I was talking to the NHL’s most salacious player.”

I exhaled sharply. “If you’re looking for a soundbite, sweetheart, you’re wasting your time.”

“Sweetheart?” She laughed, the kind of laugh that said she was enjoying this more than she should. “Wow, the charm is alive and well. But don’t worry, Bennett. I’ll get my soundbite eventually.”

“And if I don’t have one to give?”

“Oh, you’ll have one,” she said, shooting a sly wink before stepping away.

“You always do.”

She was gone before I could stop her, leaving me standing there, equal parts irritated and intrigued.