Page 18

CHAPTER 18

LOGAN

I don’t feel like garbage during this flight, for a change. My mind is busy with enough things that it has no time to latch onto the irrational fear that lives at the back of my mind.

Instead, I’m trying to rehash the key plays we had during the last series, jotting them down on my pocket notepad. I make special emphasis on the plays where we screwed up, so I can think about how we can avoid those mistakes during the upcoming away games.

It’s only been maybe ten minutes since being airborne, enjoying some peace and quiet while the seatbelt sign is on, and Starr and Rivera play chess behind me. They’ll make a fan of the game out of me because it keeps them quiet like no other. Yet the second I celebrate that in my mind, the seatbelt sign goes off and the place explodes—figuratively, whew .

“Okay who wants to check the mole at my back?” someone asks.

“Eww.” A pause. “I’m game, take it off.”

This is what pisses me off about my flavor of claustrophobia, that headphones exacerbate it. Otherwise I’d be canceling the hell out of these fools with a good pair of Beats.

I try to focus even harder on the play I’m recalling, the one where O’Brian made an error that cost us one run, when someone plops on the seat beside me and places something on my folding table.

It’s a can of ginger ale. I look up expecting Hope Garcia, who is the only one to have figured out the drink helps me when flying, even if she doesn’t know why.

Instead it’s Rosalina Mena. She unfolds the table before her and also places another ginger ale on top.

She turns to me. “Hi, Logan.”

“Um, hi?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. I motion at her ginger ale. “Hungover?”

“Tragically,” she admits, popping the tab and opening her can with a hiss.

“Isn’t this great?” a familiar voice comes from behind and I close my eyes, wondering what happened to their chess game.

Twisting on her seat, her knee bumping against my thigh, Rose asks Rivera, “What’s great?”

“You two,” he responds and I can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Sitting here together…”

“So is it official?” Starr asks, his voice coming above my head.

Meanwhile, Rose’s big brown eyes shift to me, clearly waiting for my response. I guess I’m bestowed with the official task of kicking off this weird fake dating exercise. I snap my pocket notepad shut, tuck the pen inside the spiral, and reach for my unopened can.

“It’s not official yet,” I mutter, feeling her stiffen. “We’re only getting started.”

“What?” the two stooges screech at the same time, very much in the fashion I imagine tweens at a pajama party would.

Starr then calls out, “Hey, Hope! Turns out you’re winning the bet.”

“What bet?” Rose asks sharply.

“Some of us think you two are getting together, and some others don’t,” explains Rivera in a quiet way, as if he’s actually capable of understanding that not everything has to be shouted at the four winds.

Far from getting offended—the way I feel, to be honest—Rose reveals all her pearly whites in a smile that makes her eyes glow from the inside. “Let me guess, you and Hope think we’re dating and Audrey and Cade think we’re not.”

“Damn, you’re good.” Rivera chuckles.

Sipping from my ginger ale, I narrow my eyes at the woman next to me and she gives me a little shrug. It’s not the first time that I get reminded of how shrewd she is, and I don’t know what to make of that. I’ve had enough women try to manipulate me in my life that I’m definitely wary.

Then again, if Rose was trying to play games with me she wouldn’t be so damn honest all the time, even when it makes me uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, Hope doesn’t modulate her voice when she appears on our hallway. “Wait, are Rose and Logan finally dating?”

In, I would say, less than a second—the whole airplane erupts.

“Aww yeah!”

“Wait, no! I had a crush on Rosie.”

“Rosie?” I mouth at her, watching as her cheeks darken.

“Does that mean I can invite you to my wife’s party with the other WAGs?” someone asks in the middle of the fray—Brown, I think.

“No—” I start to say.

But Rose slams a hand on my thigh and twists to glance back. “Of course, we would love to be there.”

I’m still staring at her hand all snug on my thigh, processing the shock of it. It’s close to the knee so it’s not like this is scandalous.

Actually, last night was even more so, when her chest was pressed up against my back and her thighs squeezed me tight. And yet…

She removes her hand and before she can see my face, I rearrange it to a mask of indifference. Like that little touch didn’t sear my skin through the fabric of my joggers and didn’t make me sweat at all. We’re adults— I am an adult, not a randy teenage boy whose engine gets going by a glance. Why the hell am I acting like one?

Don’t tell me… is it because her knee is still pressed against the side of my thigh?

Yeah, Rose is hot, but it usually takes a lot more than this to get my blood pumping.

“Oh wow, so it’s official- official , huh?” Hope leans against the seat in front of Rose. “When did this happen? How?”

“Like he said, we’re just feeling things out for now,” Rose responds, smiling. “Now, if y’all don’t mind, I actually wanted some alone time with Logan.”

“Oh la la,” Rivera sings behind us. “Let’s go to a different row, Cade. We may not want to hear what happens next.”

“Good point, I don’t wanna barf my breakfast. Grab the chess.”

This is followed by shuffling and some bumps.

Hope shakes her head at them, her mouth twitching with a barely restrained smile. Then she sets her attention back to us, pointing at our faces. “Don’t forget, kids. I walked so you could run. Don’t get too handsy or you’ll get in trouble with the top dogs.”

“Roger that.” Rose salutes.

And finally, we are alone. I chug more ginger ale.

“That was an interesting show,” I mumble once the mini can is empty, placing it back on my folding table.

“You don’t say.” She snorts through her nose. “But I do have something to talk about with you.”

“What now? Should I fake marry you?” I ask in a deadpan.

Her lips press tight. “No, but we do have to discuss terms and conditions.” I just stare at her, waiting for more information before I even consider engaging. She checks our surroundings once more, before hunching over to whisper, “It’s just that I was thinking?—”

“Oh, shit ,” I say in a heartfelt way that earns me a smack.

“I was thinking that couples do things that you and I of course haven’t done.” After a pause, she adds, “Nor want to.”

I feign ignorance. “Oh yeah? Like what.”

“Like kissing. Definitely nothing beyond that.” Her head tilts forward, eyes skewering mine as if to say right?

“Forget the rest, but kissing?” I scrunch up my face. “Who is going to believe you’re my girlfriend if we don’t kiss?”

“Good point, let’s start by not calling me your girlfriend. You were smart in keeping things vague earlier.”

“I’m always smart.” I fold my arms and like last night, her eyes divert to them for a moment.

“Logan, the point is that this isn’t real so we shouldn’t be making out just because.” She mimics my exact posture down to the incredulous facial expression. “Or are you telling me you’re one of those guys who has the emotional intelligence of a gnat, and can only show the bare minimum semblance of connection in the bedroom?”

Like her ex, Ben Williams?

I have enough tact not to ask, but by the stubborn set of her jaws and the hurt flashing in her eyes it’s pretty clear that he’s who she’s thinking of.

I turn away, refusing to witness that any longer. I can’t believe that someone as smart as her could’ve fallen for a douchebag of the category of Williams. But to be viewed from that same lens pisses me off more than I imagined possible.

“Of course not. I don’t use women for my own satisfaction.” Or anyone, for that matter.

I grit my teeth. I may be the son of two narcissists—and I may also carry some of their manipulative traits—but I’m not trapped in a constant quest to advance myself at the detriment of others, whether that be my career, or my physical needs or whatever.

“I’m glad.” Rose actually relaxes against her seat for the first time since she sat down. “That’s what I was most afraid of. I’m just… I’m not ready for that level of intimacy again.”

Yep. This is all because of her garbage ex.

“You set the tone.” I lace my fingers together, watching my forearm muscles jump under my tatted up skin while I grab my own hands tight. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to, so you take the reins and I follow,” I finish.

Silence, except for some clowns on the team who are very loudly discussing who else is available to date from the beauties in staff. Their words, not mine.

Frowning, I lift my eyes to Rose.

She’s stunned, that’s the only way I can describe it. Mouth agape, eyes wide, eyebrows up—completely frozen in the act of bringing her ginger ale to her lips.

“What?” I grunt.

“I—Uh.” She blinks several times. “So if I want to, like… hold your hand or hug you, you’ll be fine with that?”

“Sure.”

“And also you’ll respect my boundaries?”

I pull my eyebrows together even harder. “Of course. What kind of question is that?”

Her breath shakes, but she offers her hand like we’re just closing a contract negotiation. “Deal.”

“Deal.” I twist to grab her hand, so much smaller, softer, and colder than mine. “Do you need all this in writing or what?”

“No.” She shakes her head, eyes still dazed. “I trust you.”

And now I’m the one who’s reeling.