Page 13

Chapter 13

Evie

It's been a week since Logan and I talked on the phone. The team lost their first game the day before. Not by much, but they lost it, and the vibe feels different in the Thunderdome today.

That's why I'm at the main doors to the building, waiting for Saint's private chef, Amelia. After coordinating with my superiors and with Ames, we decided to bring a treat to cheer everyone up at the end of the day.

Ames and a staff member from her kitchen park a van at a service spot in the parking lot. I've met Ames a few times. She's known Saint since they were in college, and she and I have crossed paths every once in a while.

She gets out of the van and I approach her. Ames has wavy hair down to her shoulders, and dresses in jeans and a black linen shirt that suits her really well.

"Hey, Ames! Thanks so much for accommodating my sudden request."

I greet her and her staff person, named Jo, who wears a graphic eyeliner in a way that highlights her epicanthal folds.

We go to the back of the vehicle, where Jo and Ames load a cart with a hundred cupcakes .

"I'm glad to help!" Ames says. "This is the best start to a season they've had in years. Must be extra hard to lose when you've been winning so much."

She grins at me while she works, while Jo's long ponytail swings from side to side as she gets through the task.

I nod in agreement with Ames. "Yeah, but it's to be expected. I just want them to cheer up, you know?"

"And a treat is a great way to do it."

I guide them through the building toward the locker room. I explain that I need to announce our arrival and, once everyone assures me all private parts are covered, I bring Amelia and Jo in.

"Surprise!" I say. "I cleared a little something with management to put a smile on your faces."

"Ames?" Saint exclaims and jogs our way.

I catch a new look on his face when he looks at his friend, and I store the tidbit of information away. Interesting.

He reaches us before everyone else, but soon cupcakes with happy faces are being passed around the room.

Saint kisses Amelia on the cheek. "Ames, I didn't know you were coming."

She shrugs. "I thought it would be a nice surprise. We don't see each other as much these days."

"No, we don't." A small wrinkle appears between his eyebrows.

I already plan to ask him about it as soon as I get a chance but for now I let him be. Damián and Bear are grinning my way in thanks, and I go through the room patting shoulders and sharing words of encouragement. I chat with several people, before I notice Logan isn't among them.

I take a full turn of the locker room and still don't find him.

"Hey, Bear." I gaze up at him. "Have you seen Logan?"

"Him and Dom were still in the weight room. I think Dom was going to get in a pool. He took a beating yesterday. "

I nod in thanks and steal a couple of cupcakes. One of them goes to Dom's locker, wrapped in a napkin. I'll text him if I don't see him, so he doesn't miss out.

The other cupcake, I take with me.

The clinking of metal reaches me before I enter the weights room. With most everyone gone, the sound echoes throughout, unencumbered.

Only one of the machines is occupied, and it's easy to recognize Logan's form in it. He sits on a bench while pulling down from a bar. From my limited knowledge it looks like he's exercising his shoulders. I approach him from the back. I can't see his face, and I don't know if he's listening to music or not, or how concentrated he is—

"If you're hoping to record a thirst trap, Miss Moreno," he says, "I'd appreciate a say in the final take."

He doesn't stop working out. Our reflections catch my eye. He saw me appear on the large glass doors that open to the field, closed now for the evening.

I don't respond right away. A machine just like the one he uses stands next to him, empty, and I sit on the bench. He steals a glance at me, but mostly focuses on his routine.

He wears his usual shorts and shirt combo to train. He got a haircut, but didn't chop a lot. The straight strands curl softly to his temples and down the curve under his ear. Mild sweat shines on his forehead and down the thick cords of his neck. The frown he's famous for gives him a look like an assassin training for a hit.

My body immediately responds to it. It's something ancient, the kind of thing that has kept humanity alive, because it led to procreation.

It's a base instinct. I don't have to act on it.

I clear my throat.

"I could film a thirst trap." I make my voice sound technical, despite the havoc rising inside of me. "They always do well. "

They add spice to the shots of his skills on the field, and it makes a certain fan demographic really happy to have that kind of content. As for me, it doesn't hurt to film it… or edit it… or watch it a few times to make sure it looks professional.

He stops the rhythmic movements of his arms and takes a break. Both hands land on his thick thighs, and his gray eyes fix on me.

"But that's not why you came to the weight room?" He arches an eyebrow.

"Nope. I came to bring you this." I offer him the cupcake.

He takes it and, when he sniffs it this time, I don't take offense.

I read that people with a highly sensitive sense of smell and taste can struggle with flavors and bitterness in foods more often. Some of them will be really picky eaters or at least cautious with food.

"I organized a treat for the team," I explain. "Just to lift everyone's spirits a bit."

"Miss Fix It strikes again." He takes a bite, frowns, then eats the rest of it fast.

"You're welcome."

He snorts. "Is this something you did before I came to the team, too?"

"No, I've never done it before." I lower my voice so it sounds like I'm confiding with him. "If I did it in past seasons, with their track record before you joined the team… well, I would have had to do it too often and that's not how treats work, am I right?"

He stares at me, and the ghost of a proper smile slants his mouth. A spark of humor shimmers in his blue eyes.

They should really work harder at settling on a single color.

"Are you trying to lift my spirits?" he asks.

"Why does it sound like an accusation?"

"I don't need to be placated. I need to work it off and I'll be fine by Wednesday."

"Work it off. Eat the cupcake. Grin and bear it. You don't have to choose."

"I thought you'd want me pushing harder for the win. It's all about the team and making Selena happy. I thought we're here for the same thing. "

"You're doing well, Logan. Selena is happy. The fans are happy. Ticket sales are at an all-time high. Did I tell you that I got an email from Melanie? The network is very happy with your answers these days."

He grabs a towel hanging from one of the metal bars on the machine, and he dries his forehead and neck. "Are we having an impromptu not-a-date?"

"No, we're still on for Friday. I only wanted to check on you."

"Sounds like you care."

"I care. Professionally."

I have to be careful about not caring much more than that.

He gazes at me for a while. It's less scrutiny, and more understanding this time. I've seen hints of this look on him before. As recently as when I called him on the phone, and I was in my pajamas, and he may or may not have been naked.

I don't know why I called him that night, but I think it brought us closer.

I'm approaching dangerous territory. If I learn to care about Logan as a person, I might go too far. He might assume I'm here for anything he needs. I might end up wanting to do what he needs, because caring means wanting him to be happy. Suddenly, there are more people to take care of. I have too much on my shoulders to add another commitment like that.

He takes a deep breath and stands. I don't immediately imitate him, and cast my face up at him.

He purses his lips. "I'm going to guess we still need more with the fans? I think you called it social credit?"

"Of course. Always."

He nods. In the next movement, he takes off his shirt, opens his water bottle, and splashes his hair, face and neck.

I thank whatever guardian spirits may still be on my side that his eyes are closed and he can't see the way my mouth hangs open at the sight.

Good lord, the man is gorgeous. Better than I remember from years ago, and that's saying something. He's sculpted like a Greek statue of old, depicting the best Olympian of the nation. It is a double-edged sword that I remember his cock is much better than those carved into marble thousands of years ago.

I close my mouth with a snap when he dries his hands with the towel. Only one of us has an excuse to be wet, and that person is not me.

"So about that creative license for sexy content," he says.

I blink a few times and stand. It takes all the strength I possess not to follow some of the drops trailing down his skin. Eyes, fingers, even tongue would enjoy the privilege.

Stop it, Evelyn Moreno.

At least this has nothing to do with feelings. Arousal I can deal with. It's all about denying myself until I am home alone and can take the matter into my own hands.

He stares at me. I don't know if he's aware of the strain he's causing me, but I hope he isn't.

"I hate the cameras," he says.

"I've heard," I croak.

"But I know I'm helping everyone if I call a truce and play nice."

"It would certainly help me."

He tilts his head down, eyes on mine. "So how about I work out for another five minutes, and I let you record it as you will?"

"That would work well." I take a deep breath. Professionalism is the right move. "If you want to splash some more water on yourself that would be amazing, but you know I don't like to push you too hard."

Oops. At least my tone sounds technical and I can pass it off as expert PR advice.

He scoffs, but humor is back to him. The water bottle is nearby and he drenches his hair, allowing the liquid to drip onto his shoulders.

I scramble to get the phone from my pocket and start recording.

"How close can I get?" I ask.

He stares into the phone. "As close as you want. "

I bite my lip and film a close up of his clavicles and shoulders. This is going to go viral, I'm sure.

He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. He dries his hands on the towel once more, then takes chalk and slaps his hands together to spread the white powder across his palms. It creates a cloud.

In slo mo with a good song, this section will be a fan favorite.

Just as is, it will engrave itself into my memories for the rest of eternity. I can barely breathe, because if I do, he might see how much this affects me.

For the next five minutes, while he uses the same machine, I film him from different angles. I record his face, then the working muscles of his shoulders and back. The grooves, hills, and cords of his anatomy, with drops still pooling and sliding down his skin…

I wouldn't be surprised if it makes its way into my dreams tonight.

He stops soon after and gets on his feet. I stand in front of him, my phone between us.

"Logan, what would you like everyone to know?"

"I want you to know me." He stares deep into the camera again. "I want you to remember me."

I gasp.

I freeze.

He smirks, takes the phone from my hand, and stops the recording. "I'm of half a mind to film the look on your face right now."

I shake my head. "I'm not made for the spotlight."

"You'd steal it, Evie."

"Stop." I chuckle, because I need to pretend he's joking.

If he isn't, then I might believe he was talking to me when he said he wants me to know him, and that he wants me to remember him.

I'm not available for that, but the public will love every second of it.

I have to make it about the public .

"That was great," I say before he can add anything else. "Thanks for being such a good sport these days."

He's not as serious as he usually is, though he continues to track my movements as if he's studying me.

He lifts a still-uncovered shoulder. "Good practice for the ad you want me to do."

"It's not like I directed you much or asked for a hundred takes."

"But admit you objectified me."

I laugh and gaze up at him. "If it's going to put a smile on your face."

He runs two fingers down my cheek. "We both know I don't really smile."

"You're still around?" Dom shows up from the pool area. His hair is wet, and a towel hangs from his shoulders, but he's dressed in the usual shorts and shirt combo.

He gives us a curious look, one eyebrow raised high.

"I'm done for now," Logan says. "On my way to the showers."

I have to shake my head to put my thoughts back together.

"I'll walk with you to the locker room." I fall into step with them. "I need to make sure you get your cupcake, Dom, and I need to see Amelia is all good to go."

It hasn't been that long since I came in search of the quarterback, but a third of the people have left when we make it there. Bear reassures me that Saint took care of Amelia and, after chatting with a couple of the other players for a few minutes, I go to my office, reply to a couple of emails, and finally leave work.

It's not until I get home and go to take off my makeup, that I see the chalk lines his fingers left on my face. Everyone saw me, but no one said a thing.

It keeps me up at night. If I didn't know better, I would question if Logan was flirting with me.

It's territory that is too dangerous to entertain for long.