Page 25 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

TWENTY

cam

I crack open my eyes the next morning, a deep breath filling my lungs as I wrap the soft sheets tight around me. Logan’s scent lingers in the air, tingling my nostrils and making my heart do a back handspring.

Memories from last night flood my brain—his demanding hands on my skin, his hungry lips pressed to mine, the way he took me apart and put me back together.

My body still hums with lingering aftershocks, but something else creeps in as I roll onto my side, brows furrowing at the empty space beside me.

Panic. Pure, unadulterated panic.

I shoot straight up, scanning the unfamiliar room.

The blinds are open a crack, thin slivers of light creeping in through the wooden slats.

My clothes are neatly folded and placed carefully over a chair in a far corner.

A piece of paper rests on the pillow next to me.

I grab it, aware that my fingers are shaking the slightest bit.

Had to go with Tessa for Ethan's follow-up bloodwork. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. - L

I blow out a breath .

Right. Ethan. His nephew. His family. The real world creeping back in.

I scrub my hands down the front of my face. What the hell did I do? I have a neat and organized system for hookups. Get in, get off, get gone. No sleepovers, no cuddling, no morning-after awkwardness. No chance for anyone to see beneath the surface.

But here I am, in Logan Shaw's bed, with a handwritten note telling me to make myself at home. My throat tightens.

Fuck.

I roll out of bed and grab my clothes from where they rest on the chair.

My body is sore in the most delicious way, but I can’t focus on that, or all the things Logan did to me, things we did to each other.

I can’t think about the way my heart swelled when he held me afterward.

I don't belong here, in his space, in his life.

Not really. Last night was a mistake, a moment of weakness for both of us.

I walk into his massive bathroom and stand in the marble tile enclosure while the jets douse me with hot water and relax my stiff muscles.

I should go. I should get dressed, grab my keys, and leave before he gets back.

I should avoid any chance to fall in any deeper than I already have.

That would be better for him. Better for his family.

But as I head downstairs, drawn by the scent of coffee, there’s an undeniable force urging me to stay here where it’s safe and comfortable and warm. Things I never experienced in my life. Things I don’t really understand how to embrace, but that doesn’t stop me from craving them.

The house is quiet. I wander into the kitchen. The coffee maker was left on, a clean Oakland Raptors mug next to it with another note on a yellow Post-It.

Made it fresh before we left. Back soon.

I pour myself a cup, steam curling over the lip of the white porcelain mug, and wander into the living room. It looks different as light filters in through the sheer curtains, casting a glow on a different set of photos that I didn’t see the last time I was in here.

Kneeling down, I peer at smiling faces in a set of photos on one of the sofa tables.

Logan and Tessa as kids, Ethan at different ages, and a formal wedding picture that must be Tessa and her late husband, Tyler.

Logan stands beside them in a tux, younger, less guarded, a genuine smile on his face. Gorgeous. Put together. Happy.

It's a glimpse into a life I've never known, one that’s stable, loving, full of connections that don't just disappear. The kind of life I tried to buy my way into when I was Connor, the kind I'm still chasing as Cam.

A car pulls into the driveway, jolting me from my thoughts. Shit. My flight reflex kicks into high gear but it’s too late. The front door opens, and Ethan's voice echoes in the foyer.

"Mom said I could have a dinosaur sticker if I didn't cry, and I didn't."

"Right, and you got the sticker, didn't you?" Logan's deep voice reaches my ears, sending chills scuttling down my spine. God, that voice pours out like syrup when he wants it to. "Pretty sure that stegosaurus is going to look great on your collection board."

Tessa and Logan stop in the doorway of the living room when they see me.

For a second, I feel like an intruder in their private space.

Then Ethan spots me and his little face brightens.

I can’t help but mirror his bright smile.

The kid’s so stinking cute and he’s genuinely excited to see me.

It’s nice to feel wanted, something I never take for granted because I never really had it growing up.

"Cam! You're still here. Did you see my dinosaur project? Can you sign my card now? I brought it down from my room last night."

Logan's eyes meet mine over Ethan's head, a mix of surprise and something softer in his gaze. "Morning," he says, voice rough in a way that sends shivers down my spine. Again.

God help me.

I should have left when I had the chance.

"Morning," I echo, clutching my coffee mug like a shield, already knowing his carnal super powers will crack any armor I try to put up around me.

"How'd it go?" I ask.

"It was just a blood draw," Tessa says, helping Ethan take off his jacket. "The doctor wants to keep a closer eye on his levels after the last results. We should know more in a few days." She turns to me. "Are you hungry? Logan makes a mean omelet."

"I'm more of a cereal guy," I grin. “I’m a carb loader.”

"Of course you are." Logan shakes his head with a chuckle. "Give it a few years and you’ll be picking protein over sugar. Come inside. "

I sit on a stool at the island, watching as Logan moves efficiently around the kitchen. There's something mesmerizing about the way he chops vegetables, the methodical precision of his movements. Everything in its place. Everything under control.

As promised, the omelet is delicious, probably the best one I’ve ever had.

Although, since I’m not really an egg guy, I don’t have much to compare it to.

Breakfast is pretty much what I’d expect any normal family to experience, filled with light conversation and some laughs.

Ethan talks about his dinosaur project, and every once in a while he asks me questions about hockey and my favorite players growing up.

“Your uncle was one of my favorite players,” I say before scooping a big bite into my mouth. “He was one of the reasons why I worked so hard to go pro.”

Ethan’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Really? That’s so cool.”

“Well, he’s pretty cool.” I grin, my eyes flicking over to Logan to find his heated gaze on me.

Tessa looks between us like she knows exactly what’s going on, but she doesn’t call us out on it. Publicly, anyway. When Logan stands up to grab the empty plates, she leans over to me and murmurs, "It's been a while since I've seen Logan bring anyone home."

I nearly choke on my multigrain toast. "We're not…I mean, it's not really?—"

"Relax," she says with a little laugh. "I'm not interrogating you. Just making an observation."

After breakfast, Tessa glances at her watch. "Ethan, we need to finish that book report before your playdate with Mason."

"But, Mom?—"

"No buts," she says, winking at Logan and then at me. "Come on upstairs."

Ethan lets out a deep sigh but follows his mother. Over his shoulder, he says, “Oh hey, Cam, I left your rookie card on the counter.”

I smile at him and give him a little salute. “I’ll take care of it, little man. Have fun with your homework”

Ethan lets out a huff and trudges upstairs.

Once they disappear up the stairs, Logan turns to me and leans against the cabinets. "So," he says.

"So," I say, because silence has never been my strong suit. "That happened."

"Yeah, it did."

"Was it... I mean, do you...?" I stop talking, hating how unsure I sound. This isn't me. I don't do insecure. But I also don’t do feelings, and Logan has my mind and heart in knots right now.

"I don't regret it, if that's what you're asking."

"Good. Me neither." I trace patterns on the table top with my finger. "But, uh, what exactly was it?"

He pours more coffee into his mug. "Does it need a label?"

"No," I say quickly. Maybe too quickly. "No, definitely not."

He nods, turning back to the sink, and I feel the familiar distance creeping in. The wall going up. But then he speaks again, voice low, as he slants me a look over his shoulder.

"I meant what I said last night. About not thinking less of you. About none of this being your fault."

A lump forms in my throat. "Thanks."

"And whatever this is," he continues, gesturing between us, "it's not just..."

"Not just what?" I prompt.

"Not just sex," he says before turning on the water, his focus on the frying pan in his hand.

My heart does a dance in my chest, my mind trying to wrap tight around the implications of his words. "Okay."

"Okay," he echoes.

"I should probably head out," I say, pushing my chair back, the sharp squeak of the legs scraping against the floor making me cringe. "Got packing to do for the game. But first…"

I walk over to the counter where Ethan left my rookie card. I sign it with a flourish, adding a little sketch of a dinosaur with a hockey stick. “Make sure he gets this.” I pat it with my fingers and Logan nods, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

He walks me to the door. The morning sun casts long shadows across the porch as we stand there, awkward silence hanging over us .

Jesus, I can’t take it. I don’t know how to be this guy. I always keep shit simple and this is anything but. I need to leave. Now.

"I'll see you at the airport tomorrow?"

He nods. "Seven AM sharp."

I shift my weight, searching for words that don't come easy. "Thanks for, uh, letting me stay."

He grins. "Best brownies you ever had, right?"

"The brownies were definitely memorable."

His gaze drops to my lips, and for a moment, I think he might kiss me again. But he doesn't, just reaches out to squeeze my shoulder briefly.