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You hum, slurping on a milkshake as you sit behind the wheel, “I think you mean you should check the clutch,” you say, a teasing bite in your tone that makes his lips curve in a subtle smile, “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can,” he says, reaching up to grab the car hood. 

Logan keeps his hands up there, his undershirt riding up just enough for you to see his midriff skin. You can’t tell if it’s intentional, but if the smirk on his face is any indication, he knows what he’s doing, “It’s not like you to be the damsel in distress type.” 

You drag your eyes up again, “Yeah, but I don’t even know what a clutch is, so.” 

“Fair,” he says, slamming down the car hood. He barely cleans his hands before swiping them over his forehead, failing to get rid of the sweat, “Would you take it inside? I’ll drive it to the autoshop tomorrow, first thing in the morning— It’s just too fucking hot today.”

You shrug, putting the sweaty cup aside as you shut the car door closed, turning the key. The heatwave that has been terrorizing Massachusetts was the sole reason for you to beg Logan for him to check why your AC wasn’t working, and it’s making it impossible for anyone to be outside, especially doing handwork like he is. It’s only fair that you allow him the comfort of doing it later at the shop. 

So you wait for him to open the door for you and back into the boy’s garage, a room big enough to fit a bunch of boxes, training equipment, a little sink where Logan now washes his hands and all four of their cars, though right now only Logan’s pickup truck is there.

“You’re home alone?” 

Logan hums, “Dean’s in New York with Beau, Tuck and Garrett went to Boston for the weekend.” 

“Oh, Boston’s so nice this time of year,” you say, “Very windy. Didn’t you want to go with them?”

“Hm, I– Couldn’t.” he clears his throat, opening the passenger door, “Turn the AC on for me? I wanna hear the noise.”

“Yes, sir.” You say, watching the left corner of his mouth twitches slightly, just enough for you to catch it. 

It’s fun to flirt with Logan, you think. There’s a tension in the air between you two, always present. In your lingering touches under innocent hugs, sustained eye contact during casual conversations — always, always there, like fog surrounding your true intentions. But in moments like this, when you’re all alone and there’s no way around it, where you feel the hazyness clearing up and your feelings growing stronger, a pull from your guts in his direction. 

You keep thinking he feels it too, wondering if the raggedy noise coming from the AC is the only reason why he’s sitting next to you on the passenger seat.

“Oh, that’s fucked,” he says, eyes widening in a way that makes you bite back a laugh. He turns the AC off again, “Yeah, I’ll definitely check the clutch tomorrow.”

You groan, head dropping onto the headrest. “This is awful.”

He chuckles, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It's bad timing. Summer has just started— We have a new heatwave coming every other week.”

“And I’ll get it checked before Monday.” He says, his hand dropping on your shoulder, squeezing in a reassuring way, “Just chill, alright? I’ll fix that.”

You look up at him, eyes traveling up his arms until they find his face, his big eyes staring at you in all their glory, no hair falling on them since it’s all pulled back under a red bandana, a smear of grease right below it being the cherry on top. 

You smile, your own hand moving to his face, thumb pressing on his forehead to smudge it clean. Your fingertips move down to his under his jaw, “You look nice in a stubble,” you mutter, “Frames your face.”

Logan relaxes under your touch, his eyes closing, “I was going to Boston too,” he says, voice barely there.

“Hm?” 

“With Tuck and Garrett. I was going with them this morning,” he says, head moving so his chin rubs against your palm, a gentle tickling, “Then you called, and– Well.”

“Wait,” you feel your breath catching, “You stayed back just to help me?”

“Yeah.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing for him to do, because it might just be, “It’s you, y’know?”

Your thumb stops moving across his cheek, staying still as you process what he just said. It’s such a show of his attention towards you, that just like that, the fog that once hid your feelings has now lifted completely — you see Logan clearly in all his intentions, and you desperately want to kiss him. 

Your other hand moves to grab his face too, pulling him to you. 

Logan keeps his eyes shut, but he finds your mouth quite easily, like the image of you it’s printed on his memory. He bends over the console, pressing his lips to yours as his hand moves to the back of your head, keeping you close to him as you kiss, and kiss, and kiss, his mouth moving from your lips, across your cheek to your ear, “Baby,” he murmurs, “come here.”

His hands move to the small of your back, urging you to lift up from the driver’s seat and cross over the car center, your knees on the passenger’s seat astriding him. 

Logan wraps his arms around you, moving up to get his mouth onto yours again, desperate. 

“Been wanting this since forever,” he mutters against your lips, a line of open mouth kisses under your jaw and down to your neck. You throw your head back, mouth gaping as you let out a delicious groan. Logan smiles between kisses, “That good?”

“Shut up,” you answer through gritted teeth. 

Your hands drop to the hem of your shirt, quickly pulling it up under Logan’s stare, his rough hands caressing your sides. Your fingers move to the back of his neck, lifting his head for him to look at your face, “Just keep kissing me?”

He nods, blown eyes watching your every expression as he takes his own shirt off, the loose bandana falling off his hair with it. You giggle at his urgency, your laugh turning into a gasp as Logan runs his tongue against your collarbone, pressing kisses on your cleavage. 

Logan’s hands grab your waist, guiding your hips front and back, pressing you against his lap. He uses your jeans seams to his advantage, the friction nearly driving you insane, your moans driving him insane. “Fuck,” he murmurs, and you kiss him again, thrusting, “fuck, honey.” 

“Logan,” you pant, “Logan, please.” “Please what, baby?” He says, chin resting on your chest as he stares up, “Tell me what you need. I’ll give it to you, anything.”

You groan, his hips jumping up,  “Logan, ah– Please, fuck me?”

His head drops to your shoulder, a warm breath hitting your skin as he huffs, “Fuck, yeah. Yeah, honey. Lift up for me?”

You hover over his lap, his talented fingers finally to good use. Not any tools, not your stupid car engine, but quickly undoing your jeans and pushing them down, just enough for him to fit his hand.

Logan moves his thumb over your panties until he finds your clit, rubbing in slow circles as your eyes flutter closed, a raggedy sound coming out of your mouth, “Logan, babe–”

He shushes you, a quick peck on your lips, “Let me have you like this for a second,”

he mutters, “Yeah? Just watch you for a moment.”

You nod, head dropping to his shoulder. Logan uses his pointer to pull your panties aside, middle finger finding your slit, “You’re soaked, baby,” he says, and you whine.

“You’re such a fucking tease, did you know that?”

He chuckles, “I’ll stop,” he says, but god, you don’t want him to. 

You feel a tightness building your underbelly, a fire that moves down your body growing stronger with every one of his touches, and it all feels so fucking good, you think you could melt with it. 

Logan takes his hand out of your jeans, hand on your thighs to lift you again, “Gotta take these out, yeah?”

You hum, watching as he pulls your jeans and panties out, then moves to undo his pants as well, “You have a condom?”

“Uh,” he looks around, eyes widening, “In my wallet, but it’s inside the house, I think.”

You twist around to face the dashboard, opening the glove box. “I might have some.”

A surprised laugh escapes his mouth, “You keep condoms in your glovebox?”

“I keep hygiene utensils in my glovebox. It just happens that condoms are one too.” You answer, “What about a thank you instead?”

Logan presses his lips on your upperarm, “Thank you so fucking much, really,” he says, taking the condom out of your hands and ripping it open, “You sure you wanna do it?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “Yes, pl—”

He kisses you again, swallowing your plea. He won’t let you say it, there’s only so much teasing he can do. Logan presses into you, hands guiding you down slowly.

It’s like throwing gasoline into the fire in your pit. You moan against Logan’s lips, his mouth opening up to kiss you. You keep moving your hips while he helps you with your slow, steady pacing, until that won’t do anymore.

“Logan,” you whimper, “faster, please.”

His hands squeeze your sides, panting with you, “Oh, fuck, baby–”

“Faster?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, “Just— Fuck,”

Your hands go for his shoulders for balance, and you start moving faster and faster. Logan’s head drops as he lets out a moan, “Babe—”

“I know,” you say, lips pressing against his entire face in clumsy, wet kisses, “Please, I’m close too.”

He starts thrusting harder, arms wrapping around your waist to keep your bodies joined completely, nose pressed against your neck. You feel the warmth overtaking you, your legs faltering as you wail out Logan’s name, mouth sinking down on his, a deep kiss as he follows you down the fire.

It takes a more gentle touch from him to pull you from your blissed out state, “Baby,” he mutters against your skin, “You okay?”

You hum, cheek pressed to his shoulder, “Fucking great.”

“Yeah?” Logan’s half-moon eyes stare down at you. Laying down on the car seat, he maneuvers you to join him, pulling you in an improvised cuddle on such a limited space. 

Logan brushes his fingers over your cheek, a peck here and there, “If you want to,” he starts, “We can go inside, maybe take a shower.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still greasy,” you answer, and Logan laughs, rubbing his face against your arms as if to pass it to you. You yelp, pushing him gently, then saying in a softer tone, “In a minute, yeah? I’d like to lay here for a minute longer.”

His lips turn into a smile, “Yeah. I’d like that too.” He says, resting his chin on your shoulder, “Stay the night too?”

“Yeah. Of course,” you say, pulling his hand for a kiss, “But we’re driving to the shop in the morning. Next time I want the AC on.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He mutters, then lifts his head a little, “Do you still have that milkshake lying around? I could use a sip.”

You giggle, thinking the poor thing’s probably all melted now. Not that you’re much different.

notes: thank you for reading! i'm still a bit stiff with writing smut so please be nice to me. requests are open, likes reblogs and thoughts are appreciated! <3

You hadn’t come around to changing it. And if you’re really being honest—something you only do on Wednesdays at 4 pm with your therapist—you hadn’t changed it because you hoped that you wouldn’t have to.

You hoped that maybe keeping him as your hockey boy meant that he’d come back into your life and stay that way.

Now, as the sky continued to rumble and weep above, you prayed that Logan’s generosity was not limited to your relationship. And tonight, you were going to test that.

The phone rang three times before the call connected.

“Hello?” His voice was raspy, laced with more perplexity than anything else.

You closed your eyes. You hadn’t heard his voice in a year. “Hey, Logan?”

He could hear the faint yet rhythmic thuds of rain hitting your car window through the speaker. You had gone back inside your car to make this phone call.

“Is everything okay?”

He sounded concerned. That’s good, you thought. That means he cares.

You took a deep breath, “No, I…I’m not okay. My car stopped working and I’m stuck in the middle of this rain storm.”

“You’re in Hastings?” He asked.

You swallowed. “Boston.”

The line went so quiet you had to check your screen to make sure you hadn’t been disconnected.

Then, “You’re here in Boston?”

You bit your bottom lip, “Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Boston Common.”

You heard the soft metallic jingle of keys and your heart skipped a beat at the implication. You almost wanted to take it back, undo this call, pretend it never happened.

“Listen, Logan, I don’t know where you live. You could be miles away from where I am, but I didn’t know who else to call—”

“I will be there in 10 minutes. Do not leave your car, alright?”

Your heartbeat spiked. For a moment, you felt like a selfish monster—making him leave his home, reopening a chapter in his life he might’ve wanted to close, clawing your way back in on your terms. Logan had always been too kind for his own good.

He called your name softly and you snapped out of it.

“You hear me?” He repeated.

“Yes, I won’t leave my car.”

“And lock your doors.”

You pressed the button on your car door.

After he hung up, you did nothing but stare out your window. You put the windshield wipers to tedious work, watching as they slid water across the glass in futile efforts.

You didn’t notice the time passing. And you certainly didn’t notice Logan’s figure until his knock on your window made you jump out of your skin.

You quickly unlocked and pushed your door open. Logan was drenched. His cotton t-shirt clung to his torso, catching the ridges enough to leave an imprint of his abs. Droplets of rain dripped from his brown locks, falling and sticking to his forehead. He looked like a vision.

Logan helped you out your car, guiding you with a strong arm behind your back—not touching—towards his jeep. He opened the passenger door and made sure you settled inside before closing it and going around to his side of the car.

You were breathing heavily, still recovering from the heavy downpour. When Logan got in and shut the door behind him, you looked over.

He threw his head back to push the wet strands of hair out of his face. When he turned to face you, you felt a dip in your stomach.

“I’m really sorry,” you said right away.

He held his hand up to stop your apology. “Are you alright? Did you leave anything important in your car?”

You shook your head. Phone, wallet, keys. All tucked safely—albeit sodden—in your deep coat pockets.

He shifted the gear out of park mode and drove the two of you away from the street.

The car ride was silent. The ambience of the outside storm filled enough gaps that should have been packed with conversation.

God, when was the last time you had a conversation with Logan?

It must’ve been junior year for you. He had just moved to Boston after being drafted by the Bruins, got a place of his own, playing hockey professionally like he always wanted. And you were back at Briar, studying hard, doing long distance with him, sharing dreams whenever he came to visit you on campus.

“It needs to be a loft apartment.”

“Why a loft?” Logan furrowed his brows.

“Fun downstairs, cozy upstairs,” you replied.

He smiled and nodded along, “Okay.”

“With floor to ceiling windows, so we can always have a view.”

His arms wrapped around you, “And what view is that?”

“Fenway Park.”

Logan rolled his eyes and buried his face in your neck, making you squeal. “You baseball brat! I can’t believe you’re choosing that over hockey.”

The stubble on his handsome face made you ticklish, squirming in his hold. “I never even heard of the Bruins before I met you!”

He gasped in mock betrayal, “Oh you’re gonna pay for that, Red Sox masshole!”

Your laughter filled the air as Logan attacked your neck with kisses and tickles.

It had been going so well.

Until it wasn’t.

Long distance was hard. It wasn’t gracious or patient, not easy on fragile hearts such as yours. It wasn’t the type to harbor kindness that saved you from the rain despite everything.

No, it was cruel, and you never wanted your love for Logan to be that. He was a rising star in the hockey world. He deserved so much. So much more than a college girlfriend who lived away, more than FaceTimes every night and short weekend trips whenever your schedules aligned—like the sun and moon trying to meet.

You blinked out the passenger window when Logan drove onto a familiar freeway. “Wait, why are we—”

“I live down the block.”

You finally tore your gaze out the window and towards him for the first time since he started driving. Logan’s eyes remained steady on the road ahead, his grip on the steering wheel unwavering.

You didn’t say anything else as he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, or when the two of you walked into the lobby where the doorman greeted Logan with ease, or when you took the elevator upstairs to the 21st floor where he lived.

When he unlocked his door, he held it open for you to step in first. You entered with hesitant steps, like an elephant finding home inside a mouse’s hole in the wall. You pulled your coat off—now damp thanks to his car heater—and hung it up on the coat rack.

Logan’s apartment was beautiful. Polished with exquisite furniture—from the fine leather couches, to the shiny marble island, even the brick veneer fireplace in the living room. The deeper you ventured in, the more you were left in awe.

The floor to ceiling windows.

Your footsteps paused as you reached the far end of the room. You peered out the glass, coming face-to-face with the same Fenway Park the pair of you just drove by on the way here. The one you almost asked Logan about.

You turned around and met his eyes. He stood behind the couch, holding onto the cushions to keep him upright.

Your eyes glanced to the side of the apartment, where the floating staircase led to his quaint upper deck bedroom. Your eyes flicked back to his.

An unspoken exchange lingered between you.

“How’d you know where my car was?”

Logan pursed his lips before shrugging, “I just looked for the blue Toyota Camry.”

You nodded, “Of course you did.”

Logan walked over to his open kitchen, pulling out a bottle of something. “Reliable car,” he remarked.

You let out a huff of amusement, “Oh, for sure. Except when it’s pouring, right?”

Logan popped open the cork, “Cars don’t like water. They’re like cats.”

You sauntered your way into his kitchen. “Wish I knew that before I bought it.”

“I told you that when you bought it.”

Right. Logan had been the one who accompanied you to the dealership when you finally saved enough money to put a payment down for a car. He had spoken to the salesperson, checked out everything, told you all that you needed to know about cars. He was the reason you got a Camry because he said it wouldn’t let you down unless you let it down.

Perhaps that applied to more than just cars.

He held out a glass of wine towards you. You accepted it with a grateful smile, taking a sip.

Logan watched you over the rim of his own wine glass. “I’d give you the house tour but…this is pretty much it.”

“No, it’s nice,” you responded, looking around.

He nodded, “I’m glad you think so.”

Neither of you were willing to acknowledge his influence on your car preferences and your influence on his architectural choices.

You cleared your throat, “Thank you. Really. For saving me. You didn’t have to.”

Logan tilted his head, “No, I kinda had to.”

Your smile faded away.

He leaned against the kitchen island, “I told you if you ever had car troubles, I’m your guy.”

Your guy.

“Yeah, I know.” You replied. “I just…I wasn’t sure if you still meant that. After…everything.”

Logan looked away, finding sudden interest in the ceiling chandelier. “I’m gonna change out of this,” he pointed to his clothes.

You nodded, putting your glass down.

“You’re welcome to stay.” He told you, meeting your eyes once again. “We can go get your car in the morning—if it isn’t still raining—and I’ll fix it up for you.”

You wanted to decline his benevolent offer. Why was he so nice to you after you broke up with him? You didn’t deserve this—

Logan tugged you by your hand, his touch was electric after all the time apart. “C’mon, let me get you a change of clothes, too.”

He led you upstairs to the loft bedroom. The room was warmer, literally and figuratively. It wasn’t as chic as the downstairs, but definitely more homey.

Logan pulled open his dresser drawer and took out a t-shirt and pair of boxers. “These should still fit you,” he commented as he tossed them over to you.

You held them up. It was your favorite shirt of his, the one you always stole because of how soft the fabric felt. And the boxers, they had hockey sticks on them, something you bought him for his birthday one year.

He pointed to the en suite bathroom, “You can change in there, wash your face, whatever you want.”

You watched him for a moment as he pulled out his own change of clothes. Your mouth ran out of apologies and words of gratitude, so you simply nodded and made your way inside his bathroom.

By the time you stepped out in his apparel, Logan had already dressed in a fresh set of sweatpants sitting low on his waist and a white wife beater.

He paused when he saw you, needing to reintroduce the image of you in his shirt and boxers, as though it were a long-lost language he once spoke fluently.

He cleared his throat after a moment, “You can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, Logan, it’s your place.” You argued.

“It’s fine, you’re my guest—”

“No, really, you should—”

“I insist—”

“But I—”

“Babe.”

You both froze when the word slipped out Logan’s lips so effortlessly. Your eyes met in a loaded exchange, but at least it got you to shut up about the bed. He cursed himself internally for allowing that to happen, and even more so when it felt so right doing it.

Logan let out a sigh and picked up a pillow and blanket, “Just…sleep on the bed. Please.”

This time, you didn’t shoot out a retort. You simply observed as Logan went down the stairs with his bedding.

You tried.

You really did.

But sleep would not find you no matter how many times you tossed and turned on Logan’s smooth sheets. Your mind replayed memories of him instead of dreams.

“Why are you doing this?” Logan’s voice was equal parts exasperation and anguish.

You sniffled, “Logan, I want what’s best for you. That’s all I want.”

“You’re what’s best for me!”

“No, I’m not—”

“You don’t get to decide that!” He held your arms with a desperate grip. “I’ve been making hard decisions my whole life. And this? You? It’s the easiest choice I ever made; it’s the only one I know that’s right.”

“You’ll change your mind, you’ll meet so many wonderful people in Boston. And I don’t want you to resent me for keeping you.”

“Resent you?” He repeated. “I love you. You’re it for me, baby. Don’t you get that?”

You sat up on his bed, your heart beating faster than normal. When you stood up and leaned forward on the loft’s railing, you spotted Logan sitting by the tall apartment window, staring out into the nighttime view.

“Since when do you like baseball?”

Logan turned his head and saw you at the bottom of the staircase. He huffed, “Boston brainwashed me.”

You smiled and sat across from him, your knees brushed against each other but neither of you pulled away. You followed his gaze out the window and towards Fenway Park.

“You been to any of their games?”

“One or two,” he answered.

“You a Red Sox fan now?” You teased.

“I have to be or else I’d get beat up on the streets,” Logan quipped.

You chuckled quietly. “What a waste of real estate.”

His expression sobered. He fiddled with his fingers before looking at you. “I only got this place because it’s what you always wanted.”

Your eyes darted to him.

He shrugged like the confession was helpless, inevitable, even. Logan wasn’t ashamed nor did he regret it.

“Logan,” you called softly.

“What do I have to do to show you that I want this? That I want us.”

Your chest tightened, “Logan.”

“It’s been a year, baby. I haven’t seen anyone else. I can’t. They’re not you.”

“Logan—”

“And you can try to tell me that this is what’s best for us, or whatever bullshit mature answer you have, but I won’t buy that. Nothing you say will change how I feel about you. I meant what I said when I told you that you were it for me.”

You kissed him.

He wouldn’t shut up if you hadn’t.

Neither of you complained.

Logan groaned against your lips like you were the first drop of rain in the midst of a drought. His hands buried themselves into your hair, pulling you closer until you settled onto his lap.

You found purchase on his broad shoulders, bringing your chests flush together. Your fingers tips brushed against the hairs on the nape of his neck, remembering what it felt like to tug on them.

As if he could read your thoughts, Logan pulled back enough to ask: “Please, baby, can I eat you out? I haven’t tasted you in so long.”

You must’ve looked pathetic when you nodded so quickly.

Logan pushed you to lay on your back. He lifted your shirt up enough so he could admire your bare chest. The sound that escaped him was even more pathetic than your eager consent.

His lips latched onto one of your nipples, flicking the bud and wetting it with fervor. His free hand kneaded your other breast with ample attention.

Your breath came out in shaky puffs. You closed your eyes and sighed, “Fuck, Logan.”

Your voice went straight to his groin. He switched to the other breast and showered it with the same affection.

You blinked down at him in a daze, weakly tugging at his top. He sat up immediately and pulled it off his frame, chucking it aside. Your eyes wandered over the bare expanse of his torso. His defined pecks and abdomen, the blooming bruises he earned from hockey slowly fading into yellow-green patches.

You didn’t have time to admire him in the way he deserved because Logan impatiently hooked his restless fingers under his boxers that you wore.

“Raise your hips for me, baby.”

You complied without hesitation. When your bottom half was left exposed, Logan sat back on his haunches and stared. His eyes glazed over with a subtle sheen and you almost worried that he’d start crying.

“You’re unfair,” he mumbled with softly arched brows. He reached down and propped your legs over his shoulders.

You cried out when his tongue slid between your folds in a tantalizingly slow glide. You weren’t sure if the sound you heard came out of your own mouth or Logan’s.

“Tastes better than I remember,” he said.

His lips left a small peck on your clit before he sucked on it. Your hips flinched upwards, but Logan’s strong arms held you down.

“Reactive, huh? Did you miss my mouth?”

You huffed, “Yes.”

He smirked. So smug.

“Yeah, I bet you did. I can tell.” His fingers swiped against you and gathered your slick.

“You’re so wet for me.”

“Don’t tease.”

Logan’s smile widened. He leaned forward so his face hovered over yours. “I can do whatever I want, baby. I earned it.”

Fuck was he right.

He devoured you. He left your legs shaking and heart racing. His tongue prodded your hole so skillfully, just the right amount of pressure that made you yank at his hair.

“Right there,” you gasped out.

Logan doubled down on his ministrations. His hands lifted your ass up so he could bury his face deeper between your thighs.

Your eyes rolled back, “Baby, I’m close.”

Baby.

Logan hadn’t heard that name of endearment from you in a year and it made him grind down on his erection to relieve some tension.

“You’re so pretty when you’re about to cum,” he said, admiring the view of you. He could always tell when you were close to finishing.

He dove back in, rapidly shaking his head from side to side, resulting in a crude squelching noise to echo in the air. You shrieked, arching up towards him.

“Let me have it, angel. I need it. I deserve it.”

His words were enough to send you over. When you came, you both let out a moan. Logan held you through it, working his tongue to ride out your wave of pleasure. You had to shakily push his head away when it became too much to bear.

Logan threw his head back and sat down. You both panted, forcing air back into your lungs, holding eye contact. When your gaze dragged downwards, you spotted the dark stain on the crotch of his sweatpants.

Your eyes widened.

Logan let out a small chuckle.

“It’s been a while,” is what he said.

“Since you ate a girl out?” You queried.

His adam’s apple bobbed, “Since I came.”

The room went quiet.

The thought of Logan being celibate since the two of you broke up did dangerous things to your heart. It weaved precarious hopes that you feared would blossom into something neither of you could promise.

Logan pulled one of your legs into his lap and started caressing your foot. He stared down at your skin, allowing the moment to settle. You watched him, biting your lip in thought.

“Let me take care of you,” you offered.

“It’ll take a while,” he said.

Your eyes automatically glanced between his legs.

Logan let out another amused laugh that faded into a deep sigh. His expression shifted into something more thoughtful as he looked at your face.

“Come back to me, baby.” He murmured.

Your heart ached at the pleading tone.

“We can live here,” he gestured around the apartment. “Sleep in our loft, have dinner on the kitchen island, make love on the couch, look out at Fenway Park at night…”

That was the life you wanted with Logan.

It was perfect.

He was perfect.

He did everything perfectly.

And you had let your fears ruin that.

But not anymore.

You reached for his hands and pulled him closer. Your foreheads rested against each other. He closed his eyes for a second before looking deep into yours.

“You’ll have to go to every Red Sox game with me,” you whispered.

Logan’s chuckle came out sounding like a breath of relief. He nodded slowly.

“Whatever you want,” he murmured.

You tilted your head, “You. I want you.”

Logan squeezed your hands, “You have me.”

And that was the easiest decision you ever made, too.

Garrett was standing too close to you, whispering something in your ear that made you glance around with careful eyes before leaning into him again.

What were you talking about, anyway? You and Garrett were from two different worlds. Was he your type? But no, Garrett and Hannah were—

“Careful, any more and you’ll cut glass.”

Logan’s eyes flicked away from you and towards the sound. Jules.

He raised the beer bottle to his lips, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jules raised their brows in amusement, “Really? We’re playing this game?”

Logan looked away from his sibling and back to where you were, except now, Garrett’s hand wrapped around your wrist and he led you up the stairs, disappearing out of sight.

Logan’s jaw ticked again.

Hannah stepped out of the kitchen, holding a can of berry soda in one hand, and a red solo cup—probably containing a concoction of Tucker’s design—in the other.

She blinked around, “Hey, have you seen Garrett?”

Logan placed his beer down on the closest table with a soft clink, his eyes not once wavering away from the staircase.

“I’ll go find him for you,” is all he said before pushing off the wall and making his way upstairs.

Logan’s legs carried him every step of the way, his mind too hazy from the alcohol and scattered with jumbling thoughts to trust his own judgment.

Garrett was with Hannah now. Supposedly. He wouldn’t do that with you…right? But his best friend’s words echoed in his head with mocking cruelty:

“We’re not exclusive or anything.”

Logan wouldn’t put it past Garrett to fuck around with another girl. But this is you. You wouldn’t do that.

Right?

He was too distracted to notice he reached Garrett’s bedroom until his body stopped him. He could back out. Right now. Leave whatever this was between you and Garrett up to his imagination, give you both the benefit of the doubt.

But his hand reacted faster than his brain, his grip on the door handle already turning it open before he could decide if forgiveness was a quality he deemed himself noble enough to procure.

But the sight that awaited him made him wish he was saintly enough for absolution.

You were pinned against Garrett’s dresser, in your bra and jeans, Garrett’s hand was on the dresser behind you, right by your head. You both turned your heads so quickly towards the door you might’ve gotten whiplash.

Garrett backed off immediately, clearing his throat and looking at the floor. You glanced between the two men before yanking Garrett’s dresser drawer open and pulling a shirt out to wear.

Logan seemed to snap out of his daze, moving aside from the door. His jaw clenched, “Garrett, Hannah’s looking for you downstairs.”

The hockey captain nodded, looking at you one more time, searching for something in your eyes. You shared a loaded look and only then did he leave, exchanging a hesitant glance at Logan as he walked by.

Then it was just you and Logan.

He didn’t want to look at you, didn’t want to see Garrett’s shirt on your body. The article of clothing was insulting to him.

“Logan,” you called.

His eyes finally flicked up to yours. He stepped inside and closed Garrett’s door behind him.

“Does Hannah know?” Logan asked quietly.

Your face dropped a little. “No, it’s—it’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

You bit your lip.

Hannah had left Garrett’s side to get drinks. He was left alone by the bottom of the staircase. You made your move then.

You came up to him, “Hey, Graham.”

He played uninterested, “‘Sup.”

“No need to act like that, Jules isn’t around to write a gossip piece.” You responded, sipping on your drink.

Garrett turned to you in silent panic. He looked around before moving closer so nobody would hear the conversation.

“What does that mean?”

You looked up at him, “I don’t know what you’re doing exactly, Graham. But you’ve got my best friend involved and I don’t like it.”

Garrett tilted his head to the side, “Wellsy’s a big girl. She can handle herself.”

“I know she can. But I can handle you myself.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes slightly, “I’m not doing anything wrong with her.”

“I don’t know that yet. You and Hannah started dating out of nowhere. And she won’t tell me anything. That’s not like her—that’s not my best friend.” You told him.

“So what do you think this is, huh?” He asked.

“I think you’re using her to get on Jules’ account,” you answered.

Garrett let out a laugh, “Right. Like I need the publicity.”

And you hated how he wasn’t wrong. He was Garrett Graham, everybody on campus knew who he was. He didn’t need Jules to broadcast him to gain popularity.

You glanced around before leaning in to whisper, “Then tell me what’s going on.”

Garrett looked at you and he knew you wouldn’t let this go. He sighed, grabbing your hand and dragging you away from the crowd.

When you reached his bedroom, Garrett closed the door and turned so abruptly that he spilled your drink over your shirt.

You groaned, “What the fuck, Graham?!”

He sighed and looked at the material of your shirt slowly soaking up the liquid, turning see through. He cleared his throat and went to his dresser to get you something new to wear while you took your top off before it could stick to your skin.

You came between him and his dresser, “Just tell me. Don’t bullshit with me.” You demanded.

Garrett sighed, still holding onto his dresser behind you. “If you really want to know, why don’t you ask Wellsy?”

“She keeps telling me you guys ‘hit it off’ during tutoring.” You shrugged.

Garrett raised a brow, “And you don’t believe that?”

“I’ll believe that once I stop spotting you looking out for Jules every time you and Hannah stand next to each other.” You rolled your eyes at him.

Garrett could tell you really cared about Hannah. He leaned closer, “Look, I promise you? I’m not using her.”

If anything, she’s using me to get Justin, he wanted to say but didn’t.

Before you could shoot back a retort, the door creaked open and the two of you snapped towards the entrance where Logan stood, frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

Garrett stepped back, and when Logan told him Hannah was searching for him, he shared a pleading look with you as if to say ‘don’t tell Logan’.

You gave him a brief nod.

And now, back to where you left off with Logan.

“We’re not like that, I just needed to talk to him,” you explained to Logan.

“Why him?” He stepped closer. “Talk to me.”

You looked up at him. “It’s not about you, I—“

“No, I get it,” he stepped back and you hated how you needed him closer like it was oxygen.

“We can’t all be Garrett Graham, right?” He said with a self-deprecating smile.

You closed the distance, “I don’t want Garrett.”

He looked down at the shirt you were wearing, you followed his gaze. The name Graham—bold in bright capital letters on the fabric seemed to painfully taunt the two of you.

You took the offending shirt off and casted it aside.

Logan’s breath hitched, his adam’s apple bobbing in tandem with the spike in his heartbeat.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the jealousy rearing its ugly head, or the close proximity between the two of you. Whatever it was, it was enough to compel the both of you to launch forward and share a long overdue, and very messy, kiss.

There was no finesse, all tongue and teeth. Neither of you minded. It had been a long semester of friendly exchanges and desperate pining, this was an inevitable outcome both you and Logan craved.

You should’ve felt bad for fucking on Garrett’s bed, but you couldn’t bother enough to care. Nor did Logan, it seemed. He had your legs hooked over his shoulders as he pounded into you in a fervor.

“Do you love me more than him? Tell me you never loved him,” Logan demanded through gritted teeth.

It was a miracle that you could hear him at all, let alone reply, “Never. Only you, only want you, Logan. Please.”

Your needy voice did things to him. His pace quickened, “Yeah? Only I can fuck you like this, right? Nobody can make you feel this good.”

You shook your head, nails digging into the muscles on his back. “Just you, I swear.”

He buried his face in your neck, “Fuck, you’re amazing. Perfect girl for me, perfect pussy made just for me.”

Goosebumps crawled up your skin at his words, it didn’t help that he left wet kisses on your skin. “Logan, I’m close…”

He bit your earlobe, “Yeah? Cum for me, baby. I wanna hear you say my name when you finish.”

Your cheeks flushed, part of you worried about the people downstairs, the other part of you ready to throw caution to the wind.

His thumb rubbed your clit in circles, helping you get there. Your eyes screwed shut and you screamed his name when the waves of pleasure took over your body.

Just the sight of you losing yourself made him finish. He grunted and held himself up over you, being mindful not to crush you with his body weight.

He brushed away the wet strands of hair that stuck to your forehead, wanting to look at your face. He admired you silently before kissing you deeply, much gentler than before. Your fingers tugged on the little hairs on the nape of his neck.

“Garrett’s gonna kill me,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, “He’ll live.”

He smiled and pecked your lips once more before getting off you, “Come on, let me get you one of my shirts to wear.”

You and Hannah, in much need of a girls’ night, and of course, determined to help your friend recuperate after the messy separation, took it all with an easy stride and a mischievous craving for tantalizing fun.

Hence why the three of you were now stumbling outside the theatre post-show. All giggles and airy thoughts.

Logan arrived not long after your first call of distress.

Distress, perhaps, was not a fitting word for someone who so willingly submitted to the promising rush of the three pinkity drinkities you consumed.

“Hello?” You had hiccuped.

Logan could hear the knowing smile you had on your face even through the speaker.

“I take it girls’ night was a success?” He asked, already getting up from bed and putting on a jacket.

“A slam dunk, a home run, a goal in the net,” you replied with a breathy laugh.

“Where are you?”

He heard some rustling, your voice getting fainter as you presumably turned to speak to your friends. “Allie, where are we?”

Allie squinted at the sign, “It says Lexington and 6th Street.”

You returned to your phone, “Between Lexington and 6th.”

“By Rockside theatre and arts center!” He heard Hannah’s voice chime in.

Logan nodded despite you being unable to see it. “I will be there in 15 minutes. Are you girls outside or inside?”

“Outside,” you replied, watching as Hannah had to wrestle Allie’s phone away before she broke the 36 hour rule with Sean.

“Can you go back inside for me, please?” Logan asked nicely. You could hear the rumbling growl of his jeep’s engine starting.

“Back where the shirtless boys are? Tempting.”

You could practically picture the fond eye roll he probably made at your remark. “Back where it’s safe, gorgeous.” He clarified.

“The place is closed now, silly.”

He hummed in thought. “Okay. Sit tight. Don’t wander without Allie and Hannah.”

True to his word, he arrived 15 minutes later. You raised your arms up in celebration at the sight of the familiar car pulling up in front of you three.

He stepped out the jeep and rounded around to you. Your arms remained upright, awaiting your welcome hug. “Logan!”

He pulled you in with a soft kiss on your head. His eyes quickly assessed your whole body, silently running a prompt diagnostic to evaluate what level of tipsy you were currently exhibiting. His conclusion? A solid 4/10. Manageable.

His gaze turned to the other two musketeers; Hannah at a 3, and Allie at a striking 9. Not so manageable.

“Come on, let me get you guys back to the house,” Logan said, gesturing his head to the jeep.

Hannah shook her head, “Garrett’s coming to take Allie and I back to our dorm.”

“Guess I’m all yours,” you said in the sexiest tone you could muster in your state, running a finger down Logan’s chest.

Logan let out a huff of amusement and looked at the girls. “He say when he’s coming?”

“Should be another 10 minutes,” Hannah replied, now holding Allie’s head that kept lulling off to the side.

Logan, being the responsible and excellent man that he was, planted himself right there against the wall of the theatre and waited until Garrett arrived. He was not leaving Hannah and Allie to wait alone, in the dark, at night. Over his dead body.

“Aww, thanks, Logan,” Allie cooed, swaying in her step.

“Do you wanna wait in the car, Al? You’re moving very precariously,” he suggested, glancing at her from top to bottom with caution and care.

She shook her head, “Fresh air soothes me.” Though Logan didn’t think her statement was entirety factual, he let it slide, nodding politely.

You giggled, “You should’ve seen her on stage, Loge. She was a star.”

Logan raised his brows, “Oh yeah?”

Hannah nodded with an impressed smile, “Allie gave those boys a run for their money.”

Logan always knew Allie belonged on a stage, so hearing this was not shocking at all. He gave a supportive smile, “I bet.”

Allie raised her head off Hannah’s palm and looked at you and Logan, “Your girlfriend was the real stunner. Two of the dancers wanted her to come up for crowd work, but she declined both times.”

Logan froze.

He had to remind himself that he was not a possessive man so easily threatened by other males. Yet, Allie’s slurred comment raised alarm bells.

“Yeah?” His eyes settled on you.

Your cheeks warmed a little, and you shook your hand dismissively. “Audience participation is a big part of these strip shows. I was probably just the most convenient target since I sat by the aisle.”

“Once is convenience, twice is favoritism,” Allie sang.

Hannah looked at you, “I sat by the aisle too and they didn’t ask me,” she reminded.

“Face it, babes. You’re hot stuff,” Allie said with a wink before nearly tripping on her own feet if Hannah hadn’t been holding her arm.

This was all such useful information for Logan.

You hummed, appreciating the compliment and reveling in the flattery. “Thanks, Allie baby. But like I told you during the show, I don’t need a shirtless guy grinding up on me.”

Logan’s jaw ticked.

He was now leaning his arm on a spot on the wall that was by your head. You looked up at him through your lashes. Your wandering hand didn’t think twice before your palm settled on his abdomen. “Unless it’s you.”

Hannah and Allie giggled in that way only girls did when they were truly giddy.

Logan’s lips tugged into that easy smirk he mastered; not cocky enough to be a douche, but definitely not humble enough to pass for innocent.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, keeping your hand right where it was. “Yeah?” His voice was lower, dangerously charismatic.

“Mhm, we got Magic Mike right here,” you responded, and he did not stop you when you lifted his cotton shirt up to reveal those glorious abs of his, sculpted from relentless hockey mornings and restless nights at the garage.

Logan had to bite his bottom lip to stop his mouth from splitting into a smug bastard’s grin. He shook his head in unserious exasperation, but really it was an excuse to lock in.

The girls and you chuckled freely, high off the drinks and fun night. Suddenly, the idea of Logan being a Magic Mike dancer seemed to be the most hilariously entertaining thing the three of you could imagine.

And because Logan was Logan—and what is Logan if not a devious charmer in sheep’s clothing—he put his free hand on the wall by the other side of your head, caging you in. The girls’ laughter doubled with accompanying squeals of hysteria.

You giggled too, feeling very much content and fine with this strapping 6 ft something hockey player holding you hostage against the wall with his fit body. You did not need any saving here.

Hannah snapped a quick photo that she would most definitely be sending into the group chat once morning comes.

Logan dipped his head down, teasing you by not kissing you, but staying right there in the crook of your neck. You felt his soft breathing against your skin. Goosebumps rippled through you, and you felt yourself squirm in place. Such sweet torture.

“Did they do this in the show?” Logan whispered by your ear.

You shook your head, “No, but now I wish they did.”

Logan pressed a kiss below your ear and pulled away, just in time, too, as Garrett’s black car pulled up right next to them.

Hannah and Allie sighed, “Our savior!” Allie breathed out in relief.

Garrett shot a curious and amused look Logan’s way, but did not ask follow-up questions. He simply guided his girlfriend and friend into his car. In similar fashion, Logan walked you over to his jeep with a hand on the small of your back.

Logan left you on aux duty, and he regretted his decision immediately when you played Pony by Ginuwine.

He shot you a look, but you were too busy dancing in the passenger seat to the music. Your eyes met his and you played oblivious to his reaction. Defeated, Logan simply shook his head with a smile and clipped his seatbelt on.

You were so getting it tonight.

You were neither a Puck Bunny or a sorority girl, not that there was anything wrong with either. You just didn’t have time for all the events and social standards they lived by. Instead, you worked double shifts on weekends and studied your butt off for the rest. Luckily, you made friends with the same point of view early on during your time at Briar U. Your roommates, Hannah and Allie, quickly became your rocks. Without them, college would be miserable but Hannah’s positive attitude and Allie’s adventurous tendencies kept you on your toes.

In your sophomore year, Hannah threw you for a loop. Suddenly, Hannah and Garrett Graham, star hockey player and known fuckboy, were attached at the hip. While you quickly learned of their scheme to pretend to date in order to boost Hannah's social status in order to catch the attention of Justin, Hannah’s longtime crush, that didn’t stop you and Allie from being dragged into the world of hockey. Without warning, you were at parties and the Hawk’s House nearly daily.

John Logan noticed you as soon as Hannah became Garrett’s tutor. He found your reluctance to fall for his charms endearing. Your ambition to succeed and make something of your life was even more endearing. As he was oftentimes surrounded by dreams of the NHL or girls with dreams of marrying a guy in the NHL, seeing you so determined to become your own person made you more attractive than you could ever know. Logan could never seem to get you alone. You clung to either Hannah or Allie at parties, or just didn’t show up.

His first chance to truly talk to you came about completely randomly one night while he drove home from his chemistry study group. It was already dark outside, the sun setting extra early as November entered and the cold had begun to worsen. His headlight caught sight of something ahead, a girl walking with a bike on the side of the street, pulling her jacket tighter with the wind rushing past her. Logan pulled over just in front of her.

“Need some help?” He called out, hopping out of his truck to help the stranger without thinking twice.

“My chain broke.” You grumbled, your lovely face coming into Logan’s view as he approached. 

Logan’s breath caught. What were the odds that the damsel in distress on the side of the road would be you? You, the ever allusive best friend of his best friend’s girlfriend. You, the girl who didn’t even humor him with a scoff when he made dumb joke at a party. You, the girl who was clouding his mind without even knowing it. 

“Oh,” You spoke, cocking your head as his large frame approached you. “It’s you.”

Logan smirked at that, unsure if that was a good or bad thing. “It’s me.” He held your eyes for a few moments, as though daring the other to speak next.

A strong gust of wind breezed past you, making the fallen amber leaves around you flutter. You shivered, tucking your chin into the collar of your jacket like a turtle. Logan was brought back to reality, stepping forward to grab your bike.

“I’ll drive you home.” He declared, picking up your bike like a toothpick and heading towards the bed of his truck.

You spluttered, you mouth agape. “You don’t have to-”

“And what,” Logan placed your useless bike into the bed of his truck. “Leave you here to freeze? Be rational, babe.”

You gulped at the nickname, a blush staining your cheeks that you could write off as being from the persistent wind. Logan didn’t give you anymore time to protest, opening his passenger side down expectantly. 

You scurried forward, plopping into the seat. As Logan shut the door, you whispered, “Thanks.”

He paused, giving you a genuine smile. “Anytime.”

After that night, Logan saw more of you. When Hannah or Allie weren’t available to cling to at parties or Malone’s, you hung around him. To Logan, it was an honor. He learned more about you, finding himself lost in your eyes nightly. Suddenly, you were willing to hang around longer at parties, Logan always volunteering to drive you home once you were tapped out. 

You realized that Logan was not that bad. There was more to him than just a devastating smile, superior hockey skills and glorious hair. He loved his family, even if they weren’t perfect by any  means. He ran a side hustle as a repair man as he didn’t receive any monetary help from his parents, unlike the other hockey guys. You respected his willingness to work hard, never one to give up easily or at all. 

In January, Briar Hockey had a huge win against Yale. The party was massive, taking over the Hawk’s House before the players could even arrive. You had attended the game alongside Hannah and Allie, finding the neck-and-neck win exhilarating and it was only logical to move over to the after party with the amount of adrenaline pumping through your veins. 

In the past, Hannah was your sober buddy, but since Garrett became her guard dog she had left you high and dry. In the spirit of the night, you decided to partake in a few beers and a couple of shots of tequila with Allie. Soon, you were tipsy and breaking it down on the dancefloor with Allie.

You felt a warm, strong hand grip your shoulder. You glanced back, a wide grin splitting your face. “Logan!” You spun around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug. “You were great tonight!”

Logan grinned, a beer in his hand, “You are sloppy drunk.”

You pulled back from the hug and booped his nose, “You bet!”

Logan laughed, officially joining you on the dancefloor. At first, he seemed apprehensive to dance with you in your drunken state, letting you do your twirls and hold his hand as hopped around. 

The song changed. “This is my song!” You shouted, a huge smile on your face. Without warning, your ass was pressed against his groin. Logan’s hands naturally fell to your hips, but you noticed his lack of movement and rigidness instantly. 

“What’s wrong, Logan?” You teased, batting your eyelashes at him in a way that made his breath hitch. “Where are those world famous hips all the puck bunnies talk about?”

Logan knew he shouldn’t, but the few too many shots from earlier were clouding his judgement. His hands tightened, and he bent down so his lips aligned with your ear. 

He spoke gruffly in your ear, making a shiver fall down your spine. “I don’t think you’re ready for all of that, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything back, just let your body take over. The music and heat of Logan’s hard body behind you took over your mind. You reached back, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck making his groan into your ear. His hands explored, experimentally squeezing your hips and running over your abdomen just below your breasts. 

“Logan…” You breathed, as lips ghosted your ear and down your neck. You turned in his arms, facing him fully and gazing into those big, brown eyes. “More.” 

Logan smirked, his hands finding purpose on your ass, squeezing encouragingly, “I’m gonna need you to be more specific.” 

You blinked up at him, and before you could lose your courage, you sprung up on your tip toes and pressed your lips to his. He responded instantly, moving one hand to your neck to pull you in further while the other remained on your ass. He tasted like beer and spearmint gum. You moaned as his tongue forced its way into your mouth, making you whimper with need. The heat coursing through your veins was made worse by a soft slap to your bottom as Logan broke the kiss to nip at your neck, leaving behind an array of multi-colored bruises in their wake. 

“God, you don’t know what you do to me.” Logan groaned, wanting nothing more than to take you to his room. “I’ve wanted this for a while.”

You breath hitched, tugging at his hair as his lips made their way to your chest where your dress exposed your soft skin. At this point, the music and fellow party goers had faded into just muffled noise. To you, Logan was the only one there.

“I’ve wanted this too.” You admitted, scraping your nails against his scalp. “But I don’t do hook ups.”

Logan pulled back slightly, looking at your eyes. “You’re not a hook up. You never will be.”

You smiled, gently running your thumb over the stubble on his jaw. “Good, but I’ll need a date before we go any further.”

Logan grinned. “Are you asking me out?”

You rolled your eyes. “If that makes you feel special, princess.”

Logan laughed, holding your waist and not letting go. “It does, actually.”

You rolled your eyes again, laughing at his stupid comment. Logan tugged you through the crowd of dancers towards a more quiet spot.

“I’m going to tell the guys I’m going to bed. You’re coming with me.” He asserted and you opened your mouth to protest. “Not for anything like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

You blushed, crossing your arms and snorting. “I can call a cab.”

“That will take forever. You can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the floor.” Logan stated, and you opened your again to protest but he shut you down by holding up a hand. “No choice, sweetheart. See you in a second.”

With that, he disappeared in the crowd to find the boys. You leaned against the wall, trying to will your heartbeat to return to a normal pace. 

“I can’t believe you hooked up with Logan in the bathroom.” A girl’s voice wafted up to your ears, you caught sight of her and a brunette leaning against a wall near you. You recognized them as puck bunnies from the games.

“He needed a reward for playing such a good game.” The brunette giggled, sipping on her drink.

The blonde girl laughed, nodding in agreement. “I might try to hop on that later.” 

The brunette smirked. “He’s probably down. You know how easy he is after games. All adrenaline and testosterone. He’s like an animal. He’ll fuck anything with a pulse.”

Your heart constricted at their conversation, your digging your nails into your palm to refrain from saying something to them. It wasn’t their fault that Logan was an animal, as they said. If their words were correct, his willingness to kiss you wasn’t due to genuine feelings, but a want to put his dick into something with a pulse. Although, according to the brunette, he had already done that earlier in the night. You felt red hot anger taking over as you pushed off the wall, heading for the door. He kissed you after hooking up with something merely an hour or two ago. He was willing to go out with you with some over girl’s nail marks probably in his back. 

You ignored all of Logan’s calls and texts over the next few hours. You walked 20 minutes in the cold back to your dorm, angry tears stinging your eyes. 

Him: Where are you?

Him: I went back to the spot and you were gone

Him: Did you go back to dancing lol

Him: I’ll wait for your upstairs

Him: Why are you ignoring my calls?

Him: Please answer the phone I’m worried

Him: Did I do something?

You refused to answer him. Not even giving him the relief of knowing you got home okay or where you went. You continued to ignore his texts and calls into the next several days, choosing to lay on the couch and eat Hot Cheetos while Allie and Hannah got ready to go to Malone’s with the boys.

“What is going on with you?” Hannah asked, plopping down next to you. “You’ve been super mopey since last Friday.” 

“Nothing.” You lied, pausing 10 Things I Hate About You. “I’m just not in the mood.”

Hannah paused, gnawing at her lip like she was building the courage to ask something. “Did something happen between you and Logan?” 

You couldn’t hide the surprise in your eyes. While Allie and Hannah knew of your mutual affection towards Logan, neither knew about your steamy encounter at the post-game party. They most definitely didn’t know about your overheard conversation between the puck bunnies or that you were attempting to mend a broken heart that somehow managed to be cracked by someone who was never your boyfriend. 

“Why would you think that?” You asked, trying to seem nonchalant, but just coming off like a cornered animal. 

“Logan might be super down too and asks about you everytime we see him.” Hannah admitted, waiting for your reaction. 

You stared at her, shocked by the news. You assumed Logan was continuing to call and text you because you were a new conquest that he hadn’t completed. Maybe he was bored when would call and text you. He without a doubt was still hooking up with other girls, that was given. Despite his willingness to go out with you, John Logan was not a boyfriend, he was a hook up. And you? You were a girlfriend. The two of you would never work, you had accepted that until Hannah informed you of his out of character attitude. 

“He’s been laying around all day, missing shots at practice and just not like himself at all. Garrett said he hasn’t left the house for anything but class and practice since Friday.” Hannah explained further, leaned towards you to ensure you were really listening. “He’s been clinging to his phone like a lifeline and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you’re both seemingly heartbroken at the same time.”

You bit your lip, casting your eyes to the ground. It didn’t seem like Logan was hooking up with anyone after all. Instead, he seemed as devastated as you were. 

Hannah continued, “I think you should give him a second chance. Whatever he did, I bet he would be willing to fix. Have you tried calling him?”

You shook your head. You couldn’t lie to Hannah. With a sigh, you spilled your guts, telling her the entire story. Hannah listened, nodding and holding your hand supportively. 

“I just don’t think he’s capable of being a boyfriend.” You admitted at the end of your story. “If he can’t be serious, I’m wasting my time.”

Hannah nodded, eyebrows crinkled like she was thinking too hard. “I get that. But it seems like he is really serious about you. I mean, even Garratt is worried about how he’s been acting. He said Logan has never been like this before. That has to say something, right?”

You shrugged, pulling the blanket on your lap up to your chin. “Maybe, but I’m not sure I’m willing to get hurt by him to find out.”

Hannah frowned, kissing your forehead as she stood. “I think you should give him a second chance. He might surprise you.”

“So Logan made a big fuck up.” Garrett nodded, pacing his bedroom as Hannah explained the whole story of what happened between you and Logan.

“Massive.” Hannah nodded. “But I think with the right moves Logan can fix this.”

Garrett paused, raising an eyebrow at his girlfriend perched on his bed. “Go on, Wellsy.”

“We need to get Logan to show her that he can be serious. A romantic gesture? Something that gives boyfriend material.”

Garrett fell backwards onto the bed, landing next to Hannah and staring at the ceiling in thought. “She’s super into romance movies, right?”

Hannah nodded, “Her favorite is 10 Things I Hate About You.” She paused, thinking and then gasped. “I know what he’s going to do!” She squealed, hopping off the bed and running to Logan’s room, Garrett in tow looking very lost.

Somehow Allie and Hannah had convinced you to leave the confines of your shared dorm to go out three days after Hannah had spoken to you about Logan. Your heart still ached. Everything reminded you of Logan. The strength of his arms around your waist. The feeling of his soft lips brushing your neck and chest. The taste of his tongue against your own. It was all too much. Yet, you were now shoved into a tiny top from Allie’s closet and some “fuck me” boots and placed into the backseat of Garrett’s Jeep.

When you arrived at Malone’s, you were begrudgingly disappointed to not see Logan. A little part of you wish he was here. You missed him, even if you were mad at him. 

Garrett brought you and the other girls drinks, seeming ansty. In fact, so did Hannah and Allie, who were glancing at the door every few minutes.

“What’s going on?” You spoke up, making all three head whip towards you.

“Nothing.” Allie spoke way too fast. She was an awful liar.

You scoffed, placing your beer down on the table and crossing your arms. “All three of you have been watching that door like you’re waiting for crime to take place. What is going on?” You repeated the question.

They shared nervous glances and as Hannah opened her mouth, the door of Malone’s opened and in walked none other than John Logan. You stared, surprised and unable to help the flutter of your heart as he walked in, a plaid shirt over his broad shoulders and his stubble more prominent than normal, like he hasn’t been shaving.

“Oh thank god.” Garrett breathed a sigh of relief, seeing his best friend enter the bar.

“Is this a set up?” You asked, an edge of annoyance in your voice.

“Well-” Hannah didn’t get to explain as John Logan made long strides to the stage. 

Logan grabbed the karaoke mic, speaking into it, “Hello, fellow Hawks.” A few people in the bar whooped and clapped. “I am going to do something that is meant to prove that I am willing to do anything, even humiliate myself, to get you to forgive me and know I am serious.” His eyes held your own. 

You sucked in a breath. “Hannah, what is this?” Despite addressing your friend, you didn’t take your eyes off Logan.

Music started playing. The beginning of “Can’t Take My Eyes off You” by Frankie Valli began to play, making you involuntarily snort and throw a hand over your mouth. Just like in your favorite movie, Logan began to sing the line of the song with the same passion as Patrick did for Kat. Garrett clapped and hollered for his friend while others laughed and cheered. Logan’s face was pink with embarrassment, a huge smile on it as he held your eyes the entire time. As the song ended, he approached you in the audience, held out a hand and you grasped his without a second thought. The laughter coming from you was uncontrollable as your eyes shined with mirth. 

“You are something else, Logan.” You spoke as he placed the microphone down.

He grinned, shrugging his shoulders. His hand refused to leave yours, like letting go would mean losing you forever. “What do you think?”

You laughed, standing up to face him fully. “I think you’re a dork.”

Logan rolled his eyes and chucked. “I get that, but do you think I’m serious now?”

You stared at his face, eyes full of hope and sincerity. “I believe you, Logan.”

Logan gave you a stupidly large grin, lifting you from the ground and making you yelp in surprise. He spun you around, kissing you with a smile still on your face.

“But!” You spoke up, making him freeze. You held his face, making him look you in the eyes. “No. More. Puck. Bunnies.”

Logan chuckled. “Trust me. I’ll never think of them again.”

Your eyes went straight to the fridge.

Hannah’s post-it was still there, bright yellow and impossible to ignore.

logan — if something leaks, breaks, explodes, or you panic. do not let him flirt his way out of doing the job.

You stared at his name for a long second.

“No,” you said to the empty kitchen.

The pipe sprayed again.

You grabbed your phone.

It rang twice before he answered.

“Please tell me this is the part where you say you need me.”

You closed your eyes. “I need a wrench.”

There was a small pause, and then Logan laughed under his breath. “That is a devastating downgrade.”

“I might need a plumber,” you said, looking at the water spreading across the tile. “Or an exorcist.”

“Which apartment?”

“Hannah and Allie’s.”

“Yeah, figured. Hannah told me she left my number.”

“She also told me not to let you flirt your way out of doing the job.”

“She wrote that down?”

“In pink ink.”

“Wow.” You could hear the grin in his voice. “She knows me so well.”

“Can you fix a sink or not?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I haven’t seen the sink yet.”

“Logan.”

“I’m five minutes away.”

You looked down at your wet shirt clinging to your chest, then at the puddle near your feet. “Make it four.”

His voice softened slightly, though the amusement stayed. “You okay?”

“I’m wet, annoyed, and my kitchen is flooding.”

“That sounds like a yes with attitude.”

“It’s a yes with a time limit.”

“I’m on my way.”

He was there in four.

When Logan showed up, you were standing in the kitchen with damp socks, a soaked shirt, and the deeply unfair feeling that the apartment had chosen to embarrass you in front of the one person who would enjoy it.

He knocked twice before you opened the door.

John Logan stood in the hallway in sweats and a dark T-shirt, hair slightly messy, mouth already tilted like he knew the night had handed him something good.

His gaze flicked over you, quick enough to almost be polite, then lifted back to your face.

“Bad sink?” he asked.

You stepped aside. “Evil sink.”

He walked in, glanced at the towels on the floor, then at the bowl under the cabinet. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I had it under control for about twelve seconds.”

“That’s longer than most people.”

You looked at him.

He held his hands up, fighting a smile. “That was supportive.”

“It sounded judgmental.”

“It was both.”

Despite yourself, you almost laughed, which annoyed you more than the leak.

He crouched in front of the sink and opened the cabinet, leaning in with one shoulder braced against the counter. The easy joking faded just enough once he saw the pipe, and that was somehow worse. He was still Logan, still too relaxed in your kitchen, but now he actually looked like he knew what he was doing.

You passed him the wrench when he asked for it, then a dry towel. His fingers brushed yours both times, and you told yourself it was only because the kitchen was cramped.

“So,” he said from under the sink, voice muffled. “Boyfriend couldn’t come save the day?”

You leaned back against the opposite counter. “That would require having a boyfriend.”

He paused with his hand still under the sink.

Not long. Just enough.

“Good to know.”

Your stomach dipped, and you hated that he probably heard the silence that followed.

“That was not an invitation.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

He turned the wrench again, but there was a smile in his voice now, low and pleased and impossible to miss.

You looked down at the towel in your hands instead of at him. “Fix the sink, Logan.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A small laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

Logan glanced back at you like he had caught something he wanted to keep, and that annoyed you more than if he had actually said something about it.

You busied yourself with the towels, wringing one out over the sink while he went back to the pipe. The kitchen settled into the sound of water dripping into the bucket, his hand moving against metal, and your own very poor attempt at not watching him work.

After another minute, he reached out without looking. “Towel.”

You handed it over.

He wiped beneath the pipe, then adjusted something near the valve with a focus that made you regret how much you were watching his hands.

“You sure this is fixing it?” you asked.

“No faith in me?”

“I met you through a post-it on the fridge.”

“That post-it had my number for a reason.”

“Hannah also warned me not to let you flirt your way out of doing anything.”

Logan looked up at that, grin slow but not overdone. “Smart girl.”

“I meant her.”

“I didn’t.”

Your stomach dipped, and he ducked back under the sink before you could come up with anything decent to say.

After another turn of the wrench, he said, “Relax. I’m good with my hands.”

You almost dropped the towel.

He noticed without even looking directly at you.

“That came out exactly the way you meant it,” you said.

“Did it?”

“Logan.”

“What?” He glanced up, all innocence and none of it believable. “I’m fixing your sink.”

The worst part was that he really was fixing it.

He joked too much, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself every time he made you stumble over a response, but he was not just poking at pipes for show. He knew where to look, what to tighten, when to stop and check the leak. Every few minutes, he asked for something, and every few minutes, you found yourself looking at his hands before you realized you were doing it.

It was getting irritating.

Not because he was annoying.

Because he was annoying and attractive and actually helping.

That combination felt personally unfair.

When he finally told you to turn the faucet on, you did it slowly, one hand on the handle and the other ready to shut it off if the sink decided to attack again.

For two seconds, everything was fine.

Then water burst from under the pipe and hit Logan square in the chest.

“Shit.”

He reached under the sink while you scrambled for the faucet, twisting it too far in the wrong direction before finally getting it right. The spray stopped all at once, leaving behind a dripping cabinet, a wet floor, and Logan kneeling in front of the sink with his shirt plastered to his chest.

He sat back on his heels, water running down his neck, and pushed a hand through his hair.

You meant to look at the pipe.

You looked at him instead.

His shirt clung to him in a way that made the kitchen feel very quiet. You could see the shape of his chest beneath the wet fabric, the way his stomach tightened when he breathed, the water caught along his jaw before it slipped down his throat.

Logan’s eyes lifted to yours.

For once, he did not say anything immediately.

That was worse too.

He stood slowly, reaching for one of the towels on the counter. “That part was not supposed to happen.”

“I figured.”

“You look a little too satisfied about it.”

“I’m deciding whether I should still trust you with the sink.”

He dried his face with the towel, but his eyes stayed on you. “That what you’re deciding?”

The question was simple. The way he asked it was not.

You shifted your weight, suddenly aware of your own shirt sticking to your chest.

“Yes.”

His gaze dropped for half a second, then came back up.

“Okay,” he said, quieter. “Decide.”

The kitchen seemed smaller than it had a few minutes ago. Water dripped softly into the bucket under the sink. Your shirt clung to your skin, and his clung to him, and the space between you felt thin enough to snap.

You looked at the towel in his hand, then at his wet shirt, then at the way his fingers tightened around the fabric like he was stopping himself from reaching for something else.

“You told me you were good with your hands.”

Logan’s expression changed.

The teasing did not disappear, but it settled into something heavier.

“I did,” he said.

A second passed.

Then he stepped closer.

“Was that just about the sink?” you asked.

His eyes dropped to your mouth.

“No.”

That was all it took.

He crossed the space between you in one hard step, and then his mouth was on yours.

It was not sweet. It was not tentative. It was a wet, hungry kiss that shoved the breath out of you and made your back hit the counter before you realized he had moved you. His hands went to your waist, firm and hot through the damp fabric of your shirt, and you grabbed his shoulders because he was already kissing you like he had been thinking about it since he walked in.

Maybe before that.

His tongue slid against yours, and the sound that left you made his fingers dig into your waist.

His hands tightened on your waist. He stepped between your legs, caging you against the counter, and the feel of his body pressed to yours sent a hot, dizzy rush through you.

His shirt was cold and wet against your chest, but underneath it he was warm, solid, all hard muscle and restless hands.

He kissed you until you could barely think through it.

Then his hands slid down to your thighs.

“Up,” he said against your mouth.

You barely had time to react before he lifted you onto the counter.

The casual strength of it made your stomach flip. One second your feet were on the floor, and the next you were sitting on the cold kitchen counter with Logan between your knees, pulling you forward until your legs opened around him.

“Well damn,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.

His grin was instant.

“Already?”

“Shut up.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand spreading across your lower back as he pulled you tight against him. He did not leave space between you. Not even a little. His chest pressed to yours, his mouth stayed close, and his other hand slid along your thigh, fingers pushing beneath the hem of your shorts.

You shivered.

He felt it.

A pleased breath left him against your jaw. “Still thinking about what I said?”

“About what?”

His fingers skimmed higher.

“My hands.”

Your breath caught.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then the line of your jaw, then the side of your neck where your pulse was making a fool of you. His arm stayed locked around your back, holding you against him as his hand slid between your legs over your shorts.

The first press of his fingers made you inhale sharply.

Logan paused just enough to look at you.

“Still okay?”

You nodded.

His eyes stayed on yours. “Say it for me.”

“Yes.”

The answer barely left your mouth before he kissed you again.

His fingers moved slowly at first, rubbing over the damp fabric, learning the shape of your reaction. You tried to keep kissing him like you were still in control of any part of this, but then he pressed harder, right where you needed him, and your mouth opened against his.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

You dug your nails into his shoulders.

“Cocky,” you managed.

He smiled against your neck. “You like it.”

“I haven’t decided.”

His fingers slid beneath the waistband of your shorts.

Your whole body tensed.

Logan’s arm tightened around your back, keeping you close as his hand dipped under your panties. His fingers found you wet and aching, and his breath left him in a rough sound that went straight through you.

“Fuck,” he said softly. “You’re soaked.”

“You sprayed me with the sink.”

He laughed under his breath, but it broke when his fingers slid through your pussy, gathering the wetness there.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s definitely what this is.”

You would have snapped back if he had not started touching you properly.

Two fingers rubbed slow circles over your clit, and every thought you had scattered across the kitchen floor with the towels. You pressed your face into his shoulder, biting back a moan, but Logan was not having that. His hand at your back slid up beneath your shirt, palm warm on bare skin, and he pulled you closer until your breasts pressed hard against his chest.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said near your ear. “I want to hear you.”

The words made your pussy clench around nothing.

His mouth brushed your ear, his smile almost cruel. “Yeah. You liked that.”

You lifted your head and kissed him because it was easier than answering. He kissed you back immediately, tongue sliding into your mouth while his fingers kept moving between your legs. The wet sounds of his hand under your shorts were obscene in the quiet kitchen. You could hear them beneath the drip of the sink, beneath your uneven breathing, beneath the small groan he made when your thighs tightened around his hips.

He was still standing right in front of you, holding you like he wanted every inch of you pressed to him. You could feel his cock getting hard through his sweats, thick against the inside of your thigh.

The realization made heat roll through you.

Logan’s fingers slowed.

“You felt that, huh?”

You looked at him, breathless. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re sitting on the counter with my hand in your shorts.”

You hated how badly you wanted him.

You hated how much he knew it.

Then he pushed one finger inside you, and you stopped thinking about anything else.

Your head fell back, a moan slipping free before you could swallow it. Logan’s mouth moved to your throat as his finger slid deeper, curling slowly, testing what made your thighs shake. He found it too fast. A smooth curl, a press, and suddenly your hips jerked against his hand.

His laugh was soft and wicked.

“Still questioning my hands?”

“Logan.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

He added a second finger, stretching you with slow, deliberate strokes that made your eyes flutter. His arm stayed around your back the entire time, keeping you upright against him, close enough that every breath dragged your chest against his. Your wet shirt stuck to your breasts, and when he shifted, the friction made your nipples tighten painfully.

He noticed.

His mouth moved lower, kissing over the damp fabric at your chest before his hand left your back just long enough to drag your shirt upward. You lifted your arms because there was no pretending now. The shirt came off and hit the floor with a wet slap.

Logan looked at you.

Really looked.

Your skin burned under it.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

You reached for him, suddenly needing him closer again, and he came willingly. His mouth covered yours as his free hand cupped one of your breasts, thumb dragging over your nipple while his fingers kept fucking you. You arched into him, your knees tightening around his hips.

“That’s it,” he said against your mouth. “Let me feel you.”

His thumb circled your clit while his fingers moved inside you, and the combination made pleasure build fast and hot in your stomach. You gripped the edge of the counter with one hand and his shoulder with the other, trying to hold on to something as your body started to shake.

He kissed you through it.

Messy, deep kisses that stole every sound from your mouth until he wanted them back and pulled away just enough to hear you.

“You had a lot to say a minute ago,” he murmured.

You tried to answer.

He curled his fingers again.

Your words fell apart into a moan.

Logan’s eyes darkened. “That’s what I thought.”

You were close already. Embarrassingly close. Maybe it was the teasing. Maybe it was his fingers. Maybe it was the fact that he still had one arm around you like he had no intention of letting you lean away from a single second of it.

Maybe it was all of him.

His wet shirt. His mouth. His hand. His cock hard against you. His voice in your ear, rough and smug and getting less controlled every time you moved against him.

“Come for me,” he said. “Right here.”

Your thighs trembled.

“Logan.”

“I’ve got you.”

That did it.

The words were softer than everything else, but they hit harder. Your pussy clenched around his fingers as the orgasm rolled through you, sharp and warm and dizzying. You buried your face against his neck, moaning into his skin while he kept touching you through it, slower now, drawing out every pulse until your body went loose against him.

He did not let you fall back.

He held you close, breathing hard against your hair, his fingers still buried inside you until you whimpered from how sensitive you were.

“Fuck,” he said, voice rough. “You look good like that.”

You lifted your head, still trembling.

He kissed you before you could answer.

This kiss was different. Hotter because he had lost some of his patience. His fingers slipped out of you, and you gasped at the emptiness, but then he was reaching for the waistband of your shorts.

Then your shorts and panties were being pulled down your legs, his hand gripping your thigh to lift you enough to get them off. They dropped somewhere near the towels. You barely cared. Your hands were already at his shirt, dragging the soaked fabric upward.

He helped you yank it over his head, and for a second you lost your place in the rush of it.

Because he was right there.

Wet skin, hard chest, hair damp and messy, eyes locked on you like he was trying to decide whether to kiss you again or devour you whole.

You touched him because you had to.

Your hands slid over his chest, down his stomach, feeling the flex of muscle beneath warm skin. Logan sucked in a breath when your fingers reached the waistband of his sweats.

His hand returned to your lower back instantly, catching you, pulling you upright against him again. The closeness made your head spin. Even while you fumbled with his sweats, even while he shoved them down enough for his cock to spring free, he kept you against him like he could not stand the idea of space.

Your eyes dropped.

He was hard and thick, flushed at the tip, and the sight of him made your mouth go dry.

Logan noticed.

“Still full of myself?” he asked.

You dragged your fingers along his cock, and his breath hitched.

“Maybe not full enough.”

His eyes snapped to yours.

For once, he looked like you had stolen the line right out of his mouth.

Then he laughed, low and disbelieving, and kissed you again. “You’re trouble.”

“You asked if I had a boyfriend while fixing my sink.”

“Yeah, and look how well that worked out for me.”

He reached down, wrapped his hand around his cock, and dragged the head through your pussy. The slick slide made both of you go still. Your hands gripped his shoulders. His forehead dropped to yours, and for one breath, neither of you said anything.

Then he did it again, dragging himself over your clit, down to your entrance, then back up until your hips lifted on their own.

“Logan,” you breathed.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His eyes lifted to yours. “Yeah.”

There was something in his voice that made you ache worse than the teasing had.

He reached to the side, grabbing his sweats from where they had bunched at his thighs. You realized what he was doing when he pulled a condom from his wallet. The normalness of it should have cooled things down.

It did not.

Watching him roll it on while standing between your spread thighs made your stomach twist all over again.

Then he stepped back in, one hand sliding behind your back, the other gripping your thigh. He pulled you to the edge of the counter until your pussy brushed the head of his cock.

You inhaled sharply.

He kissed your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

“This still what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

You looked at him, heat blooming in your face despite everything he had already done to you.

“I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes went dark.

“Christ.”

Then he pushed inside.

The stretch made your mouth fall open. Logan groaned, deep and rough, his arm tightening around your back as he sank into you inch by inch. You clung to him, legs locking around his waist, your body adjusting to the thick pressure of his cock filling you.

He stopped once he was fully inside, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“Fuck,” he said. “You feel so good.”

You could barely answer. He was so close, chest against yours, one hand spread wide over your back, holding you upright while his cock throbbed deep inside you. The counter was cold beneath your thighs. His skin was hot under your palms. The sink dripped behind him like the most ridiculous reminder of how this had started.

Then he moved.

Slow at first, just a pull of his hips and a deep thrust back in that made your nails dig into his shoulders. His mouth found yours, swallowing your moan. His tongue slid against yours as he started to fuck you, still holding you close enough that every thrust rocked you into his chest.

You had expected him to be good.

You had not expected this.

The closeness made it worse. Better. Impossible. He did not give you room to turn away from the feeling. His arm stayed around your back. His hips pushed between your thighs. His mouth kept coming back to yours every time you tried to breathe. It was wet and heated and messy, the kind of kissing that made you feel like he was just as gone as you were.

Your breasts brushed against his chest with every thrust, nipples dragging over damp skin until you were shivering from that alone. He gripped your thigh harder, lifting it higher around his waist, changing the angle so his cock hit deeper.

Your head tipped back.

“Oh my God.”

Logan’s mouth moved to your throat.

“There,” he said. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

You could only nod.

He did it again, and your whole body jolted.

“Words,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin.

“Yes,” you gasped. “There.”

His hips snapped forward a little harder.

Pleasure sparked bright through your body.

“Right there?”

“Logan.”

He kissed you, smiling into it for half a second before the smile disappeared into a groan. “You say my name like that again and I’m not lasting.”

You clenched around him.

His eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck.”

You would have laughed if you had enough breath for it. Instead, you pulled his mouth back to yours and kissed him until he started moving faster.

The rhythm turned frantic without losing the closeness. He fucked you hard, but he kept you wrapped against him, one arm behind your back, one hand on your thigh, his chest pressed to yours like he needed to feel every reaction. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging when he hit that spot again, and his answering groan vibrated against your mouth.

“Keep your legs around me,” he said.

You did.

You could not imagine doing anything else.

Your heels pressed into the backs of his thighs. Your pussy took every thrust, slick and tight around his cock, the wet sound of it mixing with the harsh pull of his breathing. The counter creaked beneath you. Somewhere behind him, water dripped into the bucket.

It should have been funny.

Maybe later it would be.

Right now, all you could think about was Logan’s cock inside you and his hand moving between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again with devastating accuracy.

Your body jerked.

He felt it and groaned.

“God, you get so tight when I touch you there.”

You made a helpless sound into his mouth.

He kissed you through it, his thumb rubbing steady circles while his hips kept moving. The pressure built again, hotter this time, deeper because he was inside you, because his cock kept dragging through you just right, because he was holding you like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

“Next time,” he said, voice rough, “you don’t have to wait for the sink to break.”

The words went straight through you.

“There’s a next time?”

His hips slowed just enough for him to look at you.

His eyes were dark. His mouth was swollen from kissing you. His hair was damp, his chest flushed, his hand still moving between your legs like he knew exactly how close you were.

“You tell me.”

Your answer came out as a kiss.

He took it like a yes.

His hips drove forward again, and the counter dug into the backs of your thighs. You barely felt it over the pleasure gathering low in your stomach. His thumb circled your clit faster, his cock thrusting deep, and you broke away from his mouth with a moan you could not hold back.

“Logan, I’m gonna come.”

“I know.” His voice sounded wrecked. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

You tried to hold his gaze, but then he shifted the angle again, deeper, harder, still pressed so close you could feel his heartbeat against your chest. The orgasm hit fast, a rush of heat and pressure that made your pussy clamp around him as your body shook in his arms.

He cursed into your neck.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

He kept moving through it, fucking you while you came, his thumb slowing only when you started to tremble from too much. You clung to him, face buried against his shoulder, every pulse of pleasure leaving tingles down your thighs, your spine, the tips of your fingers.

Logan’s rhythm faltered.

His grip on your back tightened. His mouth found yours again, rough and desperate, tongue sliding against yours as he chased his own release. You kissed him back, still clenching around him, still shaking, and that seemed to break whatever control he had left.

His hips drove in deep once, twice, then he came with a low groan, his forehead dropping to yours as his body went tense against you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The apartment was quiet except for breathing.

And the sink.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

You started laughing first.

It slipped out of you, breathless and disbelieving, your forehead falling against his shoulder as the full reality of what had just happened came crashing in. Logan lifted his head, looked at the sink, then looked back at you.

“Technically,” he said, still breathing hard, “I did solve the emergency.”

You wanted to shove him. You also wanted to kiss him again, which was deeply inconvenient.

He slid out slowly, making both of you suck in a breath, then helped you down from the counter like he had any right to be sweet after what he had just done to you. Your legs were not entirely trustworthy, and Logan noticed immediately.

His hands went to your waist.

“Whoa.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

You gave him a look.

He kissed you once, quick and smug, then reached for his discarded shirt and paused when he realized it was soaked.

You glanced around the kitchen. Towels everywhere. Your shorts on the floor. His sweats low on his hips. The sink still dripping into the bucket.

Your phone buzzed on the counter.

Hannah’s name lit up the screen.

did everything survive? did you call logan?

Logan glanced at it before you could move the phone away.

“Nosy,” you muttered.

“She asked about me.”

“She asked about the sink.”

He looked past you, toward the cabinet, where the dripping had finally slowed to almost nothing.

“Same thing.”

You rolled your eyes and typed back.

yes. unfortunately.

Logan laughed under his breath. “Unfortunately?”

“You heard me.”

His smile stayed, but he let it go. For a second, neither of you moved. The kitchen was still a mess, your clothes were still on the floor, and his hoodie hung loose on your body while he stood there shirtless and damp, watching you like he already knew this was not ending here.

Then the sink gave one last quiet drip.

Logan sighed and reached for the towel.

“Give me two minutes.”

This time, you did not pretend not to watch him work.

A minute later, the dripping stopped.

He stood, glanced at the post-it on the fridge, and took the pen from the counter.

You narrowed your eyes. “Logan.”

He only smiled as he wrote beneath Hannah’s note.

never in your life you thought that you would end up on the porch of the hockey house. with dean and john. smoking weed. but here you are, pouring your soul out, while both guys listened.

“wait,” dean interrupted her, “so you guys did like… only missionary? nothing new, nothing exploring ?”

you sighed and shook your head, “he was like one of those guys who believed that sex is not necessary. i mean— it is not necessary for some people, we all have different levels of libido, that’s fine. i just haven’t met someone who could match my level, yet.”

logan nodded knowingly, “on what level is your libido? i mean how much crazy are we talking?”

you stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, “well… i’m pretty kinky.”

“oh”, dean smiled mischievously and leaned closer, “so what is it ? dirty talks ? praising ? choking ? roleplays ?”

“uh… everything, i guess.”

“shit, fuck that guy, use me.”

you froze for a second and then bursted out of laughter.

“god, you’re so fucking crazy, di laurentis.”

“can’t judge him, though,” logan said lazily, “it’s not every day when you meet someone who could match your wants.”

“do you think about what i think…?”

“dean, she’s not gonna agree.”

“come on, we didn’t even ask yet.”

“um… asked about what..?”

dean smiled charmingly before fully turning to face you, “did you ever tried to do threesome?”

your jaw dropped. logan looked away, as if already regretting what dean said, but dean didn’t look away, didn’t move. just waited.

“oh shit, you’re serious.”

“i’m always serious when it comes to threesomes.”

“idiot.”

“yeah, i’ve been told before.”

you sighed heavily, deciding whenever it’s good idea or not. i mean, college years are for trying something new and exploring things, right ?

“i didn’t. i mean threesome. never tried that shit.”

“it’s not that scary, though. me and dean had it like… many times.”

“wait, you two fucked the same girl countless times?”

“oh god, no!” dean immediately stepped forward, “we had like two girls at the same time. and for a while we thought about having one girl together. it’s just exploring new stuff, call it whatever you want. we promise to make you feel as comfortable as possible, we set whatever boundaries you need, just say yes.”

you were silent for a good 13 seconds and then raised your head, looking at both of them, “when i say stop — we’re stopping, no pressing further. and we ask before doing something crazy.”

“deal.” dean nodded enthusiastically and threw you over his shoulder, “now bedroom”

you laughed and hit his back, “i’m gonna kill you!”

“you wish, sweetheart.”

dean’s bedroom was large, bed was king size, big enough for three of them. logan smiled and turned off main lights, leaving only soft dim light from bedside lamp. dean behind you already took off his shirt and wrapped his arms around you from behind, nuzzling his nose against your neck. you melted immediately. logan’s smile softened and he walked closer to you. hands are resting on your hips as he leaned closer and pressed his lips against yours. logan tasted like apples and something spicy, you weren’t sure, but you never wanted to stop kissing him. your hands moving under his t-shirt, fingers slowly dancing over his skin, and when he sucked in air sharply? you smirked into kiss and pulled him closer.

dean’s hands working on the button of your jeans, pulling them down slowly, his fingers leaving hot trails on their way. your knees gets weak when he parted your thighs with his fingers.

“you good?”

“y-yeah…” you nodded shakily and bit down logan’s neck, making him hiss.

one by one, logan’s thumb and forefinger worked the clasp open, each hook letting go like a held breath. he didn’t rush.

“relax, gorgeous… i’ve got you.”

meanwhile dean’s tongue flicked on your inner thigh, making you cling onto logan’s shoulder like on a lifeline. dean knew exactly what he was doing, he’d done that countless times before, but this time feels special. dean's fingers hooked into the damp fabric at your hip, not pulling it down, just tugging it gently to one side — enough to bare your pussy, enough to let his breath fall hot against sensitive skin before he started eating you out.

you moaned loudly, hands clenching against logan’s chest. the air left your lungs, you felt so surreal right now. logan’s strong hands held you still, pressing soft kisses over your shoulder.

“shhh, gorgeous, you’re doing so good.”

dean ate you out like he was starving, son of a bitch, he was a way too good at it, “that’s it… ride my face, sweetheart.”

your hands wandered lower logan’s stomach, one hand pulling inside of his jeans. he groaned at the sudden touch and quickly took his jeans with boxers off.

“come here,” he whispered, making her stand on all the four. dean kept eating her from behind, but on the front ? logan gently moved the tip of his cock over her lips, before slowly pushing inside. you immediately sucked him in deep and gagged.

“shh, easy there. you’re doing so good, i’m so proud.”

you’re close, but you want him first. your rhythm shifts — tighter, quicker, your jaw relaxing as you take him deeper. his fingers tangle in your hair. your cheeks hollow. and then you feel it: the way he stops breathing entirely. logan’s hips jerked once, twice, and then his hand fisted your hair tightly, riding his orgasm.

“fuck… such a good little girl.”

dean picked up his pace, now one finger joined his tongue. then another one. he finger-fucked you thoroughly, paying attention to the every shiver, every shaky breath. when your walls started clenching around him ? he suddenly pulled away, making you whine.

“sorry, princess, be patient.”

he quickly rolled condom onto his cock and pushed inside you, making you both groan. logan kissed all over your face, comforting you.

“fuck, baby… you’re so tight.”

dean wasn’t the type who fucked fast, but he was the type who fucked hard. you know that he will probably leave bruises on your hips from how hard he’s gripping them. he slowly picked up his pace, when he found the exact spot that made you gasp.

you whined and wobbled uncontrollably, feeling too good right now, right on the edge, “dean… i’m gonna—”

“that’s it baby… squeeze me…”

dean thrusted exactly three times more, before you screamed, arching your back. you milked down every drop out of him and leaned against logan, feeling completely wasted. dean kissed you back before pulling out slowly and getting rid of used condom.

logan helped you to lay down on the bed and tucked you under the blanket. dean looked at them with quiet awe and lied down behind you. logan kissed your forehead softly before picking up his clothes and walking out of dean’s room.

“how is my baby feeling?” dean asked, his voice low and calm.

“good… finds out i love being praised.”

“i’ll make a note.”

“you should.”

he chuckled softly and kissed the top of your head.