Logan falls silent, and my heart constricts, then swells, overflowing with emotion. This guy continues to surprise me. To awe me. He’s a better person than I am, better than he gives himself credit for, and if I wasn’t sure about it before, then I’m damn well sure of it now.
I love him.
31
Logan
“Beers at Malone’s?” Dean asks as we leave the arena after what might possibly be the worst game of my entire hockey career.
I grit my teeth. “I have plans with Grace. And even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be celebrating at the goddamn bar tonight, man.”
He runs a hand through his shower-damp blond hair. “Yeah, it was rough out there. But it’s done. Game over. No point in dwelling on it.”
Times like these, I wonder why he even plays hockey. For the pussy, maybe? Because from the day he joined the team, Dean has shown a lack of intensity about our sport, which is a damn shame because he happens to be an amazing player. But he has no interest in playing hockey after college, at least not professionally.
“Seriously, dude, quit scowling,” Dean orders. “Come to the bar with us. I set the freshman up with a fake ID, so I’m showing him some moves tonight. I could use my wingman.”
The “freshman”, of course, is Hunter, who Dean has taken under his wing and is well on his way to corrupting.
“Naah, I’ll pass. Grace and I are having a movie night.”
“Boring. Unless it’s naked movie night. Then I approve.”
I’m kinda hoping it is naked movie night. I desperately need to release all the pent-up tension that’s been plaguing me since we lumbered into the locker room after that final buzzer, leaving the sour stench of a 0-5 score in our wake.
Granted, it’s just a pre-season game, doesn’t count toward our standings, but if we’re to take anything from tonight’s loss, it’s this: we’re nowhere near ready—and our first game is next fucking week. Plus, we got shut out by St. Anthony’s, which only pisses me off more, because St. A’s team has a roster of dickheads and douchebags.
I’m still stewing about the game when I walk through Grace’s door a short while later, and she clucks in sympathy when she sees my face.
“Didn’t go well, huh?” She comes up and wraps her arms around me, her soft lips brushing a soothing kiss at the base of my throat.
“The team’s still not gelling,” I answer, aggravated. “Coach keeps rearranging the lines, trying to find a good fit, but he might as well be jamming random puzzle pieces together.”
It’s frustrating, especially since Dean and I are a well-oiled machine when we play on the same line. But we’re also the best D-men on the roster, so Coach split us up in the hopes that we’d help the other lines not suck so hard. I’m paired up with Brodowski now, who needs so much work I’m pretty much manning our defensive zone alone.
“I’m sure it’ll get better,” she assures me. “And I promise, I’ll be cheering for you in the stands next week.”
I grin. “Thanks. I know what a big sacrifice it is for you.”
Grace sighs. “The biggest.” She swipes a T-shirt off the floor and tosses it in the laundry basket. “I just want to finish tidying up, and then we can put on the movie. Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
I kick off my shoes and unzip my jacket, watching as she wanders around plucking random items of clothing—all belonging to her roommate, I realize. God, Daisy must love her. Awesome roommate and OCD-ridden maid all rolled into one cute package.
Grace bends over to grab a sock that’s wedged between Daisy’s desk and bed, and the sight of her round ass jutting out makes me groan.
She glances over her shoulder. “You okay?”
“Oh yeah. Stay in that position for a minute. That exact position.”
“Perv.”
“You’re right. How dare I enjoy the sight of my girlfriend’s sexy ass sticking up in the air?” My throat runs dry. “I want to fuck you just like that tonight.”
Her breath catches. “I can live with that.”
I chuckle at the teasing response. “Then get on the bed. Naked. Now. Bonus orgasms for speed.”
She gets rid of her top, leggings and panties in record time, and I snicker as I reach for my zipper. “Jeez, one would think I haven’t been meeting your needs.”
Her gaze tracks the movement of my fingers as I drag my fly down. I love the way she looks at me. Hungry and appreciative, like she can’t get enough.
A minute later, I’m naked and covered with a condom. No foreplay necessary for me tonight—I’m hard as a rock and raring to go—but that doesn’t stop me from playing with her for a bit.
I crawl between her legs and kiss her inner thighs. Her skin is baby-smooth, silky beneath my tongue, and when I lick my way up to her clit, her fingers tangle in my hair to trap me there. Chuckling, I give her what she wants. Soft, slow licks and gentle kisses, until she’s squirming on the mattress. I don’t let her finish, though. Her first orgasm is always the most intense, and I want to feel her squeezing my dick and hear her moan my name when she comes.
I plant one last kiss, then grip her hips and roll her over. “All fours, baby. Bring that sweet ass toward me.”
Bring it she does. Her firm bottom bumps my groin as I rise on my knees behind her, and then she rubs it against my shaft, sending a bolt of heat up my spine. Two months together and she’s still driving me crazy. Melting my goddamn brain with the pleasure she brings me.