Page 11

11

LOGAN

Q uentin’s hand rested on the small of my back. My crop top left a few inches of exposed skin between my jeans and shirt, and that was where he placed his palm when we arrived at the bar, and he hadn’t moved it once.

Having him near me, touching me, not only sent a flurry of nerves through me, but it also made me feel safe. Gage was a big dude too, but I’d never felt this protected. Quentin would never let anything happen to me.

“You doing alright?” he asked, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. The place was packed, the two of us pressed close together as more and more people jammed their way in.

My body trembled at his proximity, but he mistook it for nerves. “I think so.”

“Hey, there’s a stool. Come on.” He took the lead and intertwined our fingers as he dragged us through the crowd. It smelled like beer and cologne and wet summer. It wasn’t the best scent, but it was particular. I’d never be able to smell this and not think of Quentin, that was for sure.

“Here we go,” he said, using his body as a shield to help me onto the barstool. We were on the far left of the bar, since every other spot was taken. Shades of orange and blue were everywhere. I recognized a lot of football players. Gage’s friends were there, but they hadn’t spotted me.

It was absolute chaos. People laughed and talked, and the servers carried four beers in each hand as they weaved through the people.

“This is wild.”

“I know. It’s a legend here though.”

Quentin was so close to me. It wasn’t like he had a choice, but there was just the one stool free, so he positioned himself between my knees, an arm behind my chair, the other on the bar. Warmth radiated from him, and it made me dizzy. He wore his backward hat again, a faded blue one that matched his shirt. The hint of a necklace peeked out, and it took all my power to not trace the line of the chain. The hand on the back of the chair moved toward my shoulder, where his thumb ran small circles over my collarbone. This had to be for show. It had to. My breathing spiked, and my stomach tightened with lust. The way Quentin stared at me…his lips parted, and his green eyes were darker than normal. Plus, he smelled so damn good.

“What can I get ya?” a bartender asked, pulling me from a dangerous train of thought.

He blinked and removed his hand from my neck. “One of the blondes and a… hm.” He studied me. “A summer shandy. We’ll need the scorecard too.”

“You got it.”

Quentin set a bill on the bar, leaning even closer to me to do so. “I know you don’t like beer, but the shandy has lemonade in it. Might be sweeter. Don’t drink it though if you don’t like it.”

“Wait, you don’t have to buy my drink for me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, really, it’s okay.” I grabbed his forearm, waiting for him to look at me. “I can pay you back.”

“Logan,” he said, his voice firm. “I’m buying my girl a damn drink.”

“Your fake girl,” I whispered, needing that small but mighty reminder that this was staged. That he didn’t really think of me as his girl.

His nostrils flared once before he smirked. “Fake or not, forever or temporary, I’m taking care of you. That’s not up for debate.”

“That was a little bossy of you.” I sat up straighter and crossed my arms. The movement caused my barely-there cleavage to be more on display, and my stomach bottomed out when Quentin’s gaze moved from my eyes to my mouth then to my chest. Heat tingled and grew all over my skin from his perusal, that he did it without shame or worry.

“I want to treat you a little, that’s all,” he said, his voice softer and gentler. “You work hard, and I dragged you to this place, which isn’t your scene. The least I can do is buy you one drink and get you the bingo card for memories.”

“So sentimental and sweet,” I teased, poking him in his hard chest. “If only the hockey world knew you were actually a softie.”

“That’s the thing, I’m not.” He somehow moved closer so his thighs rested against mine and my knee rested between his legs. Only a few inches remained between our torsos. “It’s just you.”

Those three words shouldn’t have made me blush head to toe, but they sure did. The sting of the blush hit me, but Quentin chuckled. “Your blush gets me every time.”

“Ugh, embarrassing.” I leaned onto the bar, putting my face in my hands. “I’m not sure I like how well you can read me now.”

“It’s cute as fuck.” He moved a hand to rub my back, a low laugh coming from him. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

My muscles tensed. That sentence was never good. Alarms blared through me as I prepared for the worst. He wanted to end this. He was moving out. God, I didn’t want either of those things. I liked him, as a friend, slightly more. We talked every day, and I saw him every day. I was used to it. If he left… I would be devastated. I faced him, my eyes probably bugging out. “You can’t move!”

He blinked, surprise coloring his face. “Move? I’m not moving. What?”

“Oh.” I sighed in relief. “The sentence ‘I want to talk’ is never a good one, and I assumed worst case scenario and yeah.”

“Worst case scenario is me moving out?” Half his lips curved up, one of his dimples teasing me like a little devil.

That damn dimple would cause me to do stupid, silly things someday.

“Yes, Quentin.” I blushed, again, just as the bartender dropped off two cards and two beers.

“One blonde, one shandy. I stamped them on the card. Holler if you need more,” she said, then she was off to another patron.

“See the mark?” Quentin leaned closer to me, his chest resting on my back as he held the cardstock. “Once you mark all forty of the choices, you get your name on the plaque and a T-shirt. But you have to try all forty on Thursdays, that’s it. Or it doesn’t count.”

“And people… do this?”

He gently nudged my head toward the back wall where tons of names were on wooden plaques. “Yes.”

I swallowed, aware that he kept touching me. In the few weeks we’d been together, we never touched like this. It had to be because the football team was here. I took a shaky breath, tilting my head to the side to stare at him. His face was right there, his lips mere inches from mine.

Focus.

“So, uh, what did you want to talk to me about?”

His eyes darkened as he breathed faster, almost like he too was struggling with how close our lips were. He said I was beautiful, so he had to be attracted to me somehow. It’d be foolish to act on it though when we both were not fully available.

He licked his lips, and my stomach swooped. Everything faded around us, the crowd, the sounds, the smells, and it was just us in our corner of the bar. Without meaning to, my fingers moved toward his forearm resting near me, and I gripped his thick muscles, not sure what I was asking from him.

To kiss me?

To touch me more?

To propose being friends with bennies for a bit?

My skin felt too tight, and my mouth watered, and my stomach clenched with want. It was like if I didn’t kiss him I’d die.

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing before he cleared it. “Tutoring.”

I frowned. Tutoring was not sexy. “Hm?”

He blinked, and some of the heat there disappeared. I had no idea how he did that, but I should follow his lead. A gentle smile crossed his face, like he totally knew the struggle I went through right now. He cupped my face, his tough fingers grazing my jaw for a beat before he dropped his hand. “You mentioned picking up shifts at the library for extra cash. The hockey team is refocusing on grades, and we now have those study hours. I spoke to our captain if we can set this up, but if it is…if we paid you, would you want to tutor some of the guys? It’d be at a higher rate than the desk.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“I know your friend said hockey wasn’t your thing,” he said, his tone sharpening. “But the guys are solid. It’s a good group. Our captain, Liam, is making grades a priority, and you’re so organized and brilliant that it made perfect sense to have you help. Only if you want it though.”

“Quentin,” I said, absolutely touched that he thought about me for this. That he went out of his way to help me and called me brilliant. Gage never spoke about me this way. He said I was cute, that I’d be perfect for an elementary school with my quirky facts and playlists. Brilliant? Organized? I was charmed.

Quentin gripped the back of his neck, a slight blush on his cheeks. “I know it’s a stupid idea. You’d never want to do that. It’s… forget it.”

“Wait, no!” I grabbed his shoulder, not letting him turn away. “It’s so thoughtful. Honestly, you called me brilliant, and I have never been called brilliant in my life, and my mind got stuck on that. Yes. I’d love to do this if it’s a possibility. It’d not only be great on my resume, but extra funds would be really helpful. I need to buy a bus pass, and I’ve been avoiding it.”

Quentin’s jaw tightened, and his gaze moved from one eye to the other, then to my lips. It was a repeated triangle of focus, and his green orbs almost glowed. “You’re absolutely fucking brilliant.”

I beamed. “Okay, say it again. Just for fun.”

He laughed, the sound landing somewhere near my heart, and I leaned into his chest, weaving my arms around him in a hug. “You are so kind. Seriously. I love how thoughtful you are. I’ve seen it with Em, with me… you are such a good guy, Quentin. You have a good heart.”

He stiffened at my words, but I held on tighter.

“Nah, I’m not that great.”

“Hey, yes you are.” I glanced up, our gaze meeting, and something buzzed between us. We both had our own shit to deal with, but it made me feel good to be able to help heal a wound I never created. “You’re a good human.”

Something like disbelief and shock crossed his face. Then, for the first time, he seemed nervous. This hockey star with body of a Greek god looked nervous . Smiling, I squeezed his back, like that would make my words even more impactful. “I mean it, pookie, you’re the best fake boyfriend a girl could have.”

He sucked in a breath and lowered his face, almost like he was going to kiss me. I froze, praying with all my soul that he connected our lips. I wanted to feel his, know what it was like to kiss him and be consumed by him.

Time stopped. Our breathing synced, our chests moving faster than normal as I leaned an inch forward.

“Logan?”

Noooo. Who dared interrupt us?

The person neared, and Quentin snapped out of his trance first, blinking away the shared lust before placing his arm around me. He smelled spicy, like cologne and summer heat.

“What is this?”

Shit. I knew that voice. I’d been so distracted by Quentin my brain didn’t compute that Gage approached us. Delayed reaction for sure, but my stomach sank all the way to the floor, guilt consuming me.

His brows furrowed, and an almost tangible sadness came from him. He frowned hard at Quentin, then me. “Are you two together?”

“Yeah, we are, dude.” Quentin’s grip on my arm tightened. His voice was even, but I could hear the undertones of warning.

“Why?” Gage asked me. “I thought… I thought you were waiting for me to prove to you I changed, that I’d make it up to you.”

Someone bumped into him, some of the beer in his hand spilling over and landing on my leg.

“Shit, sorry—” He reached over with a napkin just as Quentin slapped his hand away.

“Do not touch her.”

Oh shit.

Goose bumps formed down my neck and to my core as Quentin’s voice turned to ice. “You’ve done enough damage, don’t you think?”

“Logan.” Gage’s voice cracked. “Are we really done?”

I nodded. “I’ve told you this so many times. There is no miscommunication about this.”

Gage swallowed. “I thought you were joking.”

“I wasn’t, Gage.” I took a breath, but instead of the guilt, I felt powerful. Gage never listened to me or took what I said at value. Just like this, he’d dismiss what I said and do what he wanted anyway. Quentin rubbed small circles on my wrist, the one out of view, and that little gesture gave me extra strength and confidence. “I’ve been explicit and clear every single time. You cheated on me when I thought we were solid. You slept with someone you told me to never worry about. To me, there’s no coming back from that. Please don’t delude yourself into thinking I’m waiting for you. I’m not.”

Gage’s gaze turned dark as he glared at Quentin. “Enjoy her while you can. I’ll get her back.”

“Not sure you will, pal.” Quentin pulled me tighter against his chest, then cupped my jaw and gently turned my face toward his. His breath tickled my nose before he pressed the sweetest, lightest kiss on my mouth. “Logan is one of a kind, and I’m not foolish enough to fuck it up.”

The kiss lasted one second, but holy balls. His lips were perfect and tasted slightly like the beer. They were so full and determined, and it was an explosion of sorts, fireworks booming every direction. His lips were so soft, softer than I would’ve guessed. And he was so damn gentle. The way his fingers grazed my jaw, the way his breathing quickened when our lips touched. My eyes stung with how badly I wanted more of that, but Gage cursed before storming off.

That left Quentin and I, our lips still a breath away from each other. “Quentin, I?—”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed and pushed away, putting distance between us. “I shouldn’t have done that. I-I need a minute. Excuse me.”

Then he left. He left me at the bar, alone, after kissing me.