Page 30

CHAPTER 30

LOGAN

N ever have I regretted being a biker more than this moment, when I have a woman I’m attracted to as my backpack.

Somehow I behave well until the moment I stop at a light near our destination, and I catch the driver beside me watching Rose like he’s Roger Rabbit and she’s Jessica Rabbit. It’s like I’m damn chopped liver.

My hands move of their own accords and fall on her knees. The part I’m fully conscious of is that I slide them down to the back of her knees and tug her even closer, her entire front molding perfectly to my back until we’re basically glued.

And all throughout, I stare at the asshole.

He finally realizes that Rose isn’t backpack all by herself and all but jumps in his seat when he catches sight of me. Dude is probably a college kid and is smart enough to realize that I give off I-will-screw-you-up aura with my black helmet, my black T-shirt that shows off my tats, my black cargo pants, and boots. Not to mention the black gloves that would hide my fingerprints from around his neck.

He gets saved because the light turns green and I take off.

See, these two issues wouldn’t occur if I was man enough to drive us in a car with a roof over us.

First, that no one would see how mouthwateringly hot Rosalina Mena is in her high waisted jean shorts. Second, that I wouldn’t be feeling every one of her curves pressed up against me. My sanity’s slipping away the more we drive.

To my relief, we finally reach the neighborhood where the party is. Once again, Mike Brown and his narc wife ended up offering their sprawling home. It simply has the biggest pool and backyard out of everyone on the team, and now that the weather is almost like summer, the best way to welcome Miguel Machado into the team is by having a BBQ and pool party.

Credit to Rose for the idea. I’m absolutely dreading this whole thing.

Pool party means swimsuits. Which in turn means Rose in a swimsuit. I’m going to really have to exercise my acting skills if I don’t want her to see how much that sight is going to mess me up. The backpacking is definitely not helping.

I pull into the residential street and even though I slow down, for some reason she tightens her arms around my stomach. Maybe she’s nervous about also having to put up a front before so many people, because unlike the previous party, this one includes all the families. It’s gonna be a nightmare.

“You okay?” I ask over my shoulder as the manicured lawns of other rich people pass us by.

“What? Yeah. Totally fine.” Her helmet bumps into mine as she nods.

I almost tell her that if she hugs me any harder she’s gonna stay imprinted on my body, but I keep quiet. Probably not a good idea to bring up the subject of, well, our bodies.

I no longer know if I’m really relieved when I find us a spot a few houses away from Browns. The whole street is packed with cars of all makes and price tags, so we’ll have to do a bit of walking. And that’s great, because I have to do something first.

After setting the kick stand in place, I lift my left leg and twist over to get off from the right. Rose quickly catches herself by grabbing my seat with her hands, and before she can panic even more, I grab her by the waist to stabilize her.

“Ready?” I ask.

Her hands shift to my shoulders and she holds tight, enough that I feel it in every fiber of my being. She repeats the same motion with her left leg until she sits facing me. “Ready,” she confirms with more determination than necessary.

Good thing she can’t see how that makes me smile through my helmet. I lift her from the bike, lowering her carefully until her feet touch the ground. This is what she asked me to do when we started the ride, because even while sober she doesn’t feel comfortable with hopping off the bike all on her own, and I definitely don’t want her to get hurt.

Plus, I get to put my hands on her with permission. Win-win.

But now I let them slide off and step away. The hot breeze makes me more aware of the sweat trickling down my back. Her light purple T-shirt is glued to her chest and stomach, wrinkled too. And that reminds me.

“Give me the backpack,” I say, extending a gloved hand to her.

She stops fiddling with the strap of her helmet. “You do know how to use the word please, right?”

I do. It has come to mind a few times during this bike ride, but not precisely for family-friendly reasons.

“Please,” I add, my voice growing raspy.

Finally I get the backpack, and I set it over the bike seat. It’s a small-ish camping backpack that fits a surprising amount of stuff, but it’s pretty stuffed between her things and mine. I have to dig all the way to the bottom to find the rolled up garment I need.

Right when I turn to her is when Rose finally figures out the helmet strap under her chin. She gives out a little “ah hah!” before removing it. The curls piled at the top of her head spring to freedom and I have to press my lips tight not to laugh. It’s the cutest damn thing I’ve seen in my life.

Clearing my throat, I offer her the prize. “Here.”

She watches the thing while tucking the helmet between her arm and her side. “What’s that?”

“It’s my team shirt.” I unfurl it and spread it open, the back facing her. “This is what WAGs wear at these things.”

Her eyes roam over the lettering at the back like it’s her first time seeing KIM 2. “Marking territory, of course.”

Damn freaking straight.

I don’t say anything though. Even as far gone as I am, I know that I have no legitimate claim over her.

“Hold this.” She gives me her helmet and before I can even process what’s happening, she’s tugging her purple T-shirt off her shorts.

“Whoa, what are you doing?”

“Changing.” Her voice is muffled as the T-shirt goes over her face and off her head.

And I stop breathing. My jaw opens—fortunately, the helmet strap is there to catch it. Pretty sure the one whose face now looks like a cartoon with heart eyes and a wagging tongue is mine.

This is a pool party , a helpful voice reminds me in my head. Of course she was wearing her swimsuit under her clothes.

The top is strapless, twisting in the middle at the front in a way that accentuates her attributes. Her um, generous attributes. I work my tongue trying to swallow, but I can’t. Something’s wedged in my throat.

Meanwhile, she’s completely oblivious to the crisis I’m in. Her soft bright skin gleams under the sun as she works her arms into the sleeves of my team jersey. She leaves it open, grabbing the ends at the front to tie them at her waist.

Of all the conspiracy theories I never believed, the one that I now know is true is human combustion. I can feel my body temperature go from normal to damn volcanic in a matter of seconds. And now I’m sweating all over.

With jerky movements, I turn my back on her to zip up the backpack and load it on my back, trying to take as long as possible to compose myself.

I’m a grown-ass man , I tell myself. I can control myself. I am not my hormones .

“Aren’t you hot?” she asks all of a sudden.

If it wasn’t for my elite athleticism, I’d have stumbled on my own two feet. “What do you mean?” I ask all choked up.

She points at her face while we walk up the street. “Or does your helmet have air conditioning?”

“Oh.” I unclasp my helmet in a second and pull the thing off. Rivers of sweat threaten my eyes and I wipe them with the back of my arm.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” She chuckles.

No, it isn’t because now I can’t face her. I’m too wired to trust that I’ll be able to mask how much I want her.

As the Browns’s house appears, we automatically reach to grab hands and I realize that I’m still wearing my gloves. After doing away with them and tucking them in my pocket, I clasp Rose’s hand in mine again and we make our way to the backyard, where all the noise is coming from.

I hang back as she greets every living creature that appears in front of us, from babies, to a dog, to more WAGs, and some of the players. I offer nods to everyone, which is as far as I can manage when my eyes keep going to my last name emblazoned on Rose’s back. That’s some heady shit.

We reach the dreaded scenario at last: the pool. Maybe not so dreaded because surely dipping in the water will cool down my torch.

I’m still staring at the water as Rose and Hope find each other. “Oh my word, finally someone normal,” Hope says in greeting.

“Hey, what about me?” Starr protests.

His girlfriend retorts with, “You’re the strangest of them all, Cowboy.”

“I’m sure Logan has him beat.” Rose laughs.

I slide a side eye at her. She’s not wrong, but she also doesn’t need to laugh so hard.

“Anyway, is there anywhere we can put our things so we can change? We’re so sweaty and gross,” Rose says.

She’s not gross though. That sheen of sweat on her skin is doing me in.

“Right here. Scoot over, Cade.” The guy grunts but sits up so that his girlfriend can sit between his legs, freeing the other pool chair for us.

“Perfect.” Rose turns to me, still grabbing my hand. “Logan, unload.”

I mumble, “Yes, ma’am.” Releasing her, I take the backpack off and dump it on the damp chair.

With a tug, the knot at the front of the jersey comes off and she removes it, tossing it over the backpack. I watch as she unbuttons her shorts. Of course, that’s what was going to happen next. Of course. And somehow I’m transfixed as she reveals a matching bikini bottom, which as far as it goes, isn’t even the most revealing kind.

And yet I’m still roaring on the inside.

I manage a heavy swallow.

“Cat got his tongue,” Hope whispers none too softly, considering that there are squealing kids on the shallow end of the pool, pop music blares from speakers somewhere, and dozens of voices surround us.

“No,” Starr says with laughter in his voice. “I think he just swallowed it.”

Their observations—wholly accurate as they are—remind me that I need to freaking behave. I grit my jaw and bend down to undo the straps of my boots. I need that dip in the pool right yesterday. It’s getting urgent.

“Need help with sunblock?” Hope asks.

“No,” says Rose. “We were riding the bike so I put it on at home.”

Damn it. I’d have liked to lather her up?—

No, stop this shit, you jerk .

I chuck my boots under the pool chair, my socks balled up inside of them. Then I make quick work of peeling off my shirt and removing my cargo pants. I’m also wearing my swimming trunks already, and I barely stop to say, “Going for a swim. Later.”

I don’t even care where my clothes fall, or that the poolside concrete is hot enough to burn. I speed walk toward the shower for a quick rinse. The water feels absolutely freezing against my skin, which is good. I need that. In fact, an ice bath would be way better.

“Wait for me!”

I rake my hair away from my face and sure enough, that’s Rose jogging over to me.

“Stop!” I raise my palm up. She all but screeches to a halt. “Walk slowly.”

“What, why?” Lowering her head, she looks all around her. “Is it slippery?”

“No.” I clear my throat and jerk my chin at her. “Your, uh—your chest.”

We stare at each other, her blinking really hard. She wraps her arms around herself slowly. “I guess this may not have been the best choice of swimsuit.”

I grunt. It’s a heart attack waiting to happen, that’s what it is.

I step away from the shower and motion at her to take it. And because I have zero trust in that top, I stand guard in case any perv is waiting to see if the shower will induce a wardrobe malfunction. No one’s paying attention to us, though.

Unfortunately, now Rose is wet when she stands next to me again. I’m sure I’ll never be able to function in front of her again.

“Shall we?” she asks, pointing at the deep end that is clearer of people. “Let’s see who can make the biggest splash!” Her sentence ends in a squeal as she launches herself into the water.

Thirteen out of ten splash. When she emerges wiping water off her face, I note that her top is still in place. If that didn’t send it flying, nothing will. My lungs start working again.

I pump my legs a few times and land the biggest cannonball in history. This pool is way deeper than I expected and it takes a moment to pull myself up. Rose’s body underwater brands itself into my mind before I break the surface. Ironically, my hair tie was defeated by the cannonball and now my hair is everywhere.

“That was amazing,” she’s giggling. “I think you splashed even the roof of the house.”

“We had a massive pool when I was a kid. It was the only place where no one in the house bothered me,” I volunteer, shocking myself.

“Really?” Her head tilts, the tips of her wet hair sending droplets down her face. “Wasn’t that dangerous for a kid?”

Oh, yeah. But it was the least dangerous thing in that house.

The fact that I’m even able to string a sentence now means that the water is helping. Except that the ripples seem to push her closer, and if we collide I don’t know what I’ll do.

But then a little voice talks. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Both Rose and I turn to find a girl standing by the edge of the pool. I give her around ten years old, and a fifteen out of ten for the floatie around her that has a giant flamingo head.

“Teach you what, sweetie?” Rose asks in a very different voice from what she uses for me. This one is all kind and calm.

“Not you, him.” The kid points at me. “I want to make a big splash like that.”

“Do you know how to swim?” I comb my wet hair back from my face.

She raises her chin defiantly. “Yes, I do.”

“And would your parents give the same answer?” I ask, and this time she falters.

Rose wades over to the edge, keeping her eyes on me. She mouths smart at me before addressing the kid. “Who are your parents, sweetie? We should talk with them before Logan can give you the tutorial.”

My eyebrow twitches. Rose is trying to haul herself out of the water, too far from the ladder but too proud to admit how her arms tremble.

Tucking my tongue against my cheek, I reach for her waist again. Despite the water, it’s still a shock to touch her bare skin. It’s even more of a shock when I lift her and gain a front row view of her perfect butt.

“Marty! Marty.” A new voice joins, and I watch as Miguel Machado breaks through a group of people to come over. His eyes are set on the kid. “I told you not to get out of my sight.”

The girl stomps her bare foot and her expression turns into grumpiness personified. “But I want to swim. I don’t want to talk with boring adults.”

Rose now sits by the pool next to the girl, but her attention turns to me as I pull myself out of the water. I kneel to stabilize myself before sitting down half facing the pool, half facing everyone else.

And Rose’s eyes are still on me, everywhere at once. Blatantly.

Okay, so… I affect her some. Good to know.

Or not. Maybe it’s worse to know.

It takes herculean effort to shift my attention from her to my new teammate.

“We’re going to swim after the conversation ends.” Machado kneels in front of the girl, the massive gold chain and crucifix around his neck swinging with the motion. He grabs the kid’s shoulders and looks into her eyes all serious. “Did I also not say to keep out of the deep end?”

“You did.” The girl scrunches her face.

“She wants to learn how to cannonball like Logan,” Rose supplies, grinning as the kid turns her glare on her.

I tense as Machado glances at Rose. But then something interesting happens. His eyes stay on her face, and there are no funny sparks even as he grins in return, like maybe he’s nowhere as interested in her as I am.

On the one hand that makes him a fool. On the other hand it means he can stick around.

“Thanks for ratting her out.”

“I hate you,” the girl hisses at Rose.

I snort, and this pulls their attention to me.

“Hey, Kim,” Machado says before pointing his lips at the girl. “This is my daughter, Martina. She prefers to be called Marty.”

“Machado.” I tip my head at him and then at his daughter. “Machado.”

The girl narrows her eyes. “Isn’t Kim a girl’s name?”

Rose chokes.

Machado’s light brown eyes grow dangerously wide. “Marty, that’s ru?—”

I interrupt him and say to the kid, “My name is Logan Kim, and that’s a common Korean last name.”

“Oh.” Her expression changes, not because she’s realizing her mistake but because something has clicked with her. “I ate at a Korean restaurant once. It was yummy.”

I can clearly see Rose trying to suppress a laugh behind Machado’s kid.

Meanwhile, her dad cringes. “I’m sorry, Kim. Marty never means ill, she’s just very direct. Like, very .”

Rose loses the battle to her giggles, but somehow manages to speak at the same time. “Just so you know, so is Logan.”

My lips twitch.

“Good to know.” The man slides a slight look of concern at me, before focusing on his child again. “Let’s go, Marty. I’m sure Miss Rosalina and Mr. Logan have other things to do.”

The girl accepts her dad’s hand, yet doesn’t wipe the grumpy expression from her small face. “When you say let’s go it means to go swim and not to keep talking, right?”

“Yes, yes.” Machado sighs and pulls to his full height. He’s a pretty tall dude and has to bend slightly so not to stretch his daughter’s arm too wide. I don’t know why but that’s the thing that makes me stop being wary about him. He seems like a pretty decent person.

“You’re good with kids.”

I turn to Rose. “I wasn’t exceptionally nice.”

“No, but you knew exactly how to deal with her.” A corner of her lips stretches into a lopsided smirk. “How about you teach me that cannonball?”

I contemplate it all of one second. The busier we are, the less time I’ll spend in the dangerous quarters of my head. So I nod and pull myself up to my feet, offering my hand to her. “Let’s go, I’ll teach you how to make a big splash.” And that makes Rose laugh.