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I’m struggling at this point to manage the flowers and my phone when I realize that Logan is the only one who hasn’t arrived. The wait seems interminably long. Anticipation builds, making me feel like I’ve mainlined espresso mixed with Red Bull.
Finally, the door swings open. I have no business being this nervous. Or excited. Or both. I find myself biting my lip, waiting to see Logan.
Instead, the doorway is empty. “Sam?” I call to the security guard.
Nothing.
I take a step forward, about to check what’s going on, when a familiar frame fills the door. The sun around him is like some kind of whole-body halo. I squint as the door slams shut. My eyes take a moment to adjust, and when they do, Logan is striding toward me, looking utterly delectable in a charcoal suit, pink tie, and a devilish smile.
And an entire arrangement of pink roses in a crystal vase.
I stop filming and slide the phone in my pocket. “Logan,” I say, half scolding and half awed.
“You look like you’re about to say I shouldn’t have. Don’t bother protesting.” He stops in front of me, grinning.
“But why? I mean, why do all this?” I gesture to the flowers in my hand the guys brought. “This is soextra.”
Logan leans forward and brushes my mouth with his. “I think you mean extraspecial,” he whispers against my lips. “And that’s exactly what you are, Pete.”
With one more kiss—this one long enough to leave me reeling, Logan hands me the vase and continues on toward the locker room. Do I watch him go? Duh. The back view in a suit isn’t quite as good as the front view, but still fabulous. I also happen to notice Ramesh down the hall. Is he … filmingme?
“Ramesh?”
Smiling, he darts through the double doors leading to another hallway, totally avoiding me. Okay, what else is going on? There is zero time to worry about that when I now have a veritable rose bush in my arms. I carefully add the single roses to the vase, and then hustle back to my office.
I can’t keep the grin off my face. Yet again, Logan has shown me just how thoughtful he can be. Even on a day he needs to focus on the game, he’s thinking of me. And he roped all the guys into doing this, which demonstrates how much he’s connected with the team.
All of that is good.
What’s even better is the card I find tucked into the roses. It reads:I’ll have to revise my previous answer. My idea of a perfect night is hanging out with my girlfriend after the game on my new couch. In pajamas. With snacks. Watching a movie is optional. Kissing is non-negotiable. Discussing the future is essential. See you then? -Wolverine
Future, huh? And girlfriend—no pretend or fake qualifier added. Could we be about to move from the murky land of fake-ish to admitting it’s really real for us both? Please, ohplease, let that be the case.
I mean, I’ll still enjoy the luscious couch and hanging out in pjs and also the kissing, but … it would be nice to finally talk about the fake elephant in the room. I’m still smiling like an idiot when I spot Larry passing by my office.
Do I duck behind my desk so as to avoid the team owner? Why, yes—yes, I do.
But I need to get going, so I quickly follow him down the hall once I’ve made sure he’s far enough ahead. He’s also on a phone call, so distracted.
Was it my intent to overhear his side of the phone call?
Not even a little bit.
But when I hear Logan’s name, I can’t help the way all my attention swivels to Larry like I’m a satellite.
“I know—totally an asset. He looked great this week on the ice.”
I manage to stop myself from snorting. It’s no secret Larry doesn’t go to practices. He had Malik go a few times this week, then probably got a summary.
“Too bad it’s short-lived. But then, we knew that when he came in.”
Wait—what?
I come to a halt right in the middle of the hallway, my heart ramming against my ribcage and my ears ringing. When I realize Larry is moving out of earshot, I scramble to follow closely enough to hear him.
Then, I wish I hadn’t.
Because next, Larry says, “I have it on good authority he’s getting called back up after this game.”
