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What the fuck are you doing, Logan?
There’s no one around to kiss like this for. One devoid of the lust-filled need we can write off as hormones gone wild. I need to wake the fuck up. “Okay, enough, gorilla. Carry me out of here if you must.”
He lifts me and I wrap myself around him again. “You’re a brute, and you have to stop interfering with Scott. I like him.”
If I emphasize that enough, it’ll erase whatever that kiss was or I’m going to start reading into it in a way I shouldn’t.
His lips form a line, and he exits the locker room, carrying me to the rink, scooping my skate up from the rubber floor on the way by. There’s no way Scott missed my abandoned skate with tangled laces on his way out of here.
Rhett sits me in the stands and kneels to slide my skate onto my foot. I can’t help feeling a bit like Cinderella, which is fucking stupid. I’m so not a Cinderella guy, even though I wear dresses. But damn it, my heart skips a beat as he nestles my foot just so, nice and snug in the skate. It feels like it’s gonna pound through my chest while his practiced fingers lace my skate.
“There,” he says.
I stare into his perfect face. Maybe he does feel something for me…? It’s hard to believe there’s nothing at all when he looks at me like that.
“Lo, hey, Lo! There you are. I was so worried,” Jack says. Shit, he was picking me up today.
All Rhett’s energy snaps to Jack. For me, it’s the equivalent of a cloud moving over the sun.
Right. I’m not who Rhett’s obsessed with, Jack is. Even if I were his type, no one chooses me. They never fucking choose me.
Not even my own mother could choose me.
The Rhett that’s smitten for me doesn’t exist. The real Rhett is a shadow eternally in love with the sun, willing to become invisible to bathe in its light for even a second.
I can’t watch it anymore. If he wants to pine over Jack, fine, but I’m outta here.
“Yeah, just grabbing my stuff,” I call. “Move, Elkington.”
That wins some of his attention back, but not the kind I want, his face near-to-snarling. “Logan?—”
I push past him and scoop up my bag without bothering to slip into my skate guards.
* * *
Fuck. These’ll need to be re-sharpened. Walking on cement in your skates is ill-advised. I’m into my flip-flops and safely stow my maybe ruined skates in my bag in time for Jack’s slow saunter out of the club. He kisses Stanley’s head, eyeing me and then he unlocks the van.
Jack’s a relaxed sort of guy, easygoing. He’s … the opposite of those things right now, apprehension swirling around his body. I get into the passenger side while he buckles Stanley in. Fuck, he’s going to make me talk, isn’t he? I can’t even ignore him or Mercy will have my head.
“Logan—” he starts when he’s finally pulling out of the parking stall.
“Please don’t. Please.”
“Sorry, man. I’m gonna. I just watched Rhett punch the plexiglass until his knuckles were bleeding.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, and then he stormed into the locker room.”
“Not surprised. He’s Rhett and can’t stand not having his way.”
“Nuh-uh,” he says, adjusting his ratty-old hat, his face shifting into the same stern demeanor I’ve seen on the captain. “I know Rhett too well. It’s not easy to make him lose his temper like that.”
“Then maybe he’s changed. He’s always like that around me, one spark short of an explosion.”
Jack laughs. “You don’t see it, do you?”
“I don’t have the patience for guessing games right now, Jack.”
