“theres never been someone so perfect for me”

It happened during freshman year. It was supposed to be a day spent training for the upcoming intercollegiate figure skating event. However, when you got to the ice rink reserved for the figure skating team, it was closed off due to a gas leak.

"Oh... So what are we gonna do now, Coach?" you hear the team captain, Amanda, ask Coach Briggs.

Briggs remains quiet for a second before answering, "I could call in a favor with Coach Jensen..." he suggested.

"Coach Jensen? Like... the hockey team's coach?" you asked.

"No, the football team's coach... Obviously the hockey team's coach, insert name!" Amanda says sarcastically.

You knew not to take anything Amanda said personally because she tended to say things like that when she was stressed.

After a brief phone call with Coach Jensen, the team headed toward the hockey arena.

As you entered the arena, you thought about how you'd be skating on ice that got shredded almost every day...

You were so deep in thought that you hadn't even noticed the person approaching until you bumped right into him.

"Oh—" "Shit—"

You both swore as you stumbled. Before you could fall, the stranger caught you by the waist. Your hands flew to his shoulders for stability. You looked up to apologize, but the words died on your tongue when you met a pair of warm brown eyes belonging to a rather attractive boy.

"Sorry..." He beat you to it.

You blinked, then cleared your throat. "No, I'm sorry. I should've been watching where I was walking," you say sheepishly.

"Nah, you're alright. I wasn't paying much attention either, honestly." The handsome stranger replied, taking his hands off your waist and stepping back. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you say, immediately regretting it.

He laughs. "I asked first..."

After hearing his soft laughter, you decided you liked it and needed to hear it again. So at the risk of sounding stupid, you reply, "And I asked second. What's your point?"

He laughs once more. "Fine... I'm an athlete. Hockey player." He says it as if it were common knowledge. It probably was, but you honestly hadn't been keeping up with anything other than figure skating.

"Really? Me too! But I'm not a hockey player. I'm a figure skater. That's why I'm here, actually. The coolers at the rink reserved for the figure skating team are sorta fucked up, so there's this huge gas leak. I didn't know that could even happen. And since the rink is shut down for the next few weeks, we had to call in a favor with Coach Jensen. He was kind enough to let us use the rink here, though I'm not entirely sure how much I trust this ice considering how rough hockey players are on it—"

You're cut off by Amanda's voice.

"There you are! What are you doing? We have practice. Stop bothering this poor kid." She turns to him. "So sorry about her—she tends to ramble a lot."

"Really? I couldn't tell..." he jokes.

"Yeah, she's weird like that." Amanda turns back to you. "When you're ready, we're just down this hall—"

"I know, I know..." Your face heats up as you watch her walk away. "Sorry, habit..."

"That's okay. You should probably go though, huh?"

"Oh, yeah, probably..."

"Yeah... I'll, uh, see you around?"

"Yeah, maybe..."

Next thing you knew, he was walking away before you even had the chance to ask his name.

Luckily for you, the hockey team (you know, the one he’s on) had an Instagram account. He had been tagged in a recent post. You sent him a follow request, then immediately undid it because what if he thinks you're weird? Then you re-sent it and turned off your phone before you could overthink it.

It took all of twenty seconds before your phone pinged. Once. Twice.

johnlogan.22 accepted your follow request

johnlogan.22 requested to follow you

You smiled... and then accepted.

For the last three hours, you sat comfortably in the library. Studying "Cognitive Psychology — Investigating how the brain processes information, including memory, language acquisition, attention, and decision-making."... So fun. With that, you decided you were done for the day.

You reached for your phone, unlocking it and opened messages first thing. When you found who you were looking for, you didn't hesitate to text him.

You: Heyy, u free?

Logan: no but i can b why whats up?

You: Nothin js thought maybe you'd wanna get food w me

You: But if ur busy it's fine

Logan: noo i do where r u? I'll pick you up

You: At the library, u really don't have to tho

Logan: ik i want to syiam

You: ???

Your last text went unanswered, so you put your phone in your bag and started packing away your notebooks, textbooks and stationery. After returning the textbooks you took from the library, you stepped out. Ironically bumping into a hard, muscular chest.

"Do you ever watch where your going?" Asked a familiar voice, amusement evident in his tone.

You step bsck to look at him, "I said you didn't have to come." You tried to sound strict, but you were too sweet for it.

"And I told you, I know. I wanted to." Logan says while taking your bag from you and heading towards his truck.

Over the past three years that you've been friends with Logan, you've learnt that you don't open doors when he's around. You don't carry heavy when he's around. You don't go ignored when he's around. If you ever needed anything, he'd be there for you as soon as humanly possible. He was the perfect best friend.

Best friends. That's what you were to each other. Even if you so desperately wanted more, it wouldn't happen. You wholeheartedly believed that Logan didn't see you that way.

You listened as he spoke about something stupid that Garrett and Dean did earlier during practice, about his classes, just about his day in general.

And he returned the favour, listening to you. Even if most of what you were telling him made no sense to him. He paid close attention to everything.

"Oh, what's 'syiam'?" You ask him as you reach his truck.

"What?"

"Your text, "syiam'."

He thinks for a bit, "Oh, that! See you in a minute. C'mon, babe. That one was easy." He teases.

"Nothing about you is easy, John Logan." You sigh.

He pinches your side lightly and you yelp, "Hey!"

"Get your ass in the car, babe." He opens the passenger door for you.

"Thank you." You say as you climb into his car.

"You're welcome." He places your bag in your lap, closes the door and goes over to the driver's side.

Once he's in, he turns to you and asks, "Where to, beautiful?"

"Hmm... Malone's?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Malone's it is." He starts the car, and drives over to Malone's.

As he drives you continue talking to him about everything and anything. Eventually falling into a comfortable silence. That was something you appreciated about Logan. The fact that he could sit there in the silence.

As you continue to Malone's, you continue to sit in the calm and peaceful quiet. Happy to be in each other's presence.

Your day had started with a planned 10k, which had promptly been abandoned after you twisted your ankle on a curb.

Rookie mistake.

One you know John would chide you for. He's always telling you to not run with earphones in.

You've gotta be aware of your surroundings. Especially first thing. Don't want you becoming a case.

Grudgingly, under major duress, you can admit that he has a point.

But nothing gets you through a tough run like Hole's Live Through This, so you've elected to ignore all of his advice.

It's nothing he's not used to.

Growing up in the same town, it's really a miracle that you haven't known each other for longer.

But, thanks to your sixth grade teacher and her randomised seating chart, John Logan has been a fixture in your life for a decade.

He is, undoubtedly, your closest friend.

What started with teasing and bickering had quickly grown into deep heart-to-hearts and the kind of support you could only dream of. Neither of you had stellar family lives, but when you were together it didn't matter.

Most people had assumed you'd end up together, but there's never been anything romantic between you both.

Sure, there was that one time.

When you'd just broken up with your long-term high-school boyfriend, and John had come over to comfort you, before ending the night between your legs, licking and sucking at your clit until you cried.

Both of you had agreed to never talk about it again, or do anything to jeopardise your friendship further.

That had lasted a couple of years, until Briar won the League and you'd gotten him off in the showers after everybody else had left.

You've never actually slept together, though. A moot point for most, but you feel like it holds some weight.

You're not going to be John Logan's girlfriend, and that's fine. You've got something better - you're his friend.

God, even saying that in your head sounds pathetic.

You need to get over him.

As soon as possible.

After your entirely unsuccessful run, you'd been treated to your most boring classes, made all the worse by the fact that Logan had bailed, leaving you to conquer them alone.

The apology text had been measly at best.

John. 10:32

woke up with the worst hangover

notes for today's class please??

i owe u big time

whatever you want

You'd be furious with anybody else. Hell, you would normally be furious with John.

But your car had started making weird noises when you pulled into the campus parking lot today, and you figure it's going to need some TLC.

You. 10:31

connie's sick :((( was making a weird creaking noise

Yes, your car has a name. So what?

will forgive all your egregious sins if you come and take a look at her :)

You glance back up at the professor, trying desperately to seem vaguely interested, but she lost you about thirty slides ago. Were it not for John, you would totally be failing statistics.

If he's not here, you may as well both not be.

John. 10:34. after practice? i could swing by before maxwell's thing speaking of maxwell's thing you wanna come? i can drive

In normal circumstances, that would be fine. You like Beau - a lot more than most of the football team. But one of the other waitresses at O'Malleys just transferred to NYU, leaving the rest of you to pick up her slack until they've hired somebody new.

You. 10:35. can't working the close tonight tomorrow morning?

A thumbs up reaction, and then you're left to deal with Statistics by yourself for the rest of the class.

For all intents and purposes, the rest of your day isn't quite as terrible as the start was.

You get one of your Ethics essays done in the library, and your roommate texts to say that she's visiting her boyfriend for the weekend. You have the place entirely to yourself.

It's not that you don't like her - Hayley's great. Mostly. Her cleanliness habits leave something to be desired. But your apartment is tiny, and with her boyfriend over constantly, you feel like a constant third wheel.

Even the start of your shift is pretty good. There are a couple of groups of rowdy guys, but nothing you can't handle. It's just you and Lydia tonight, the newest hire.

You slide three pitchers of draft beer across the sticky bar top, flash a sharp, customer-service smile, and cut off the loudest guy before he can even start speaking.

It's like dealing with toddlers - keep them placated, and they'll leave you be. It's an art you've practiced extensively over the years with Logan's friends.

Especially Dean.

You still remember the first time you met him - he'd spent half the night hitting on you, and then never so much as winked at you again.

Part of you wonders if John had something to do with it.

Besides, it's not like you were ever in danger of hooking up with Dean Di Laurentis. He's not your type.

You prefer your men slightly broodier. Skinnier. Longer hair. First name John, last name Logan.

Lydia, however, is drowning. She stands frozen by the register, fingers darting between options as she tries to work out what to do next. The line is growing, and her uniform is still spotless - a testament to this being her first week.

She'll reach the myriad of stains that litter your apron soon enough.

"Take the shallow end," You murmur, bumping her shoulder gently. She still jumps at the interruption. "Just do bottled beers,and I'll handle the taps."

You pour the stouts and scan the room, eyes settling on a body in the corner. He's around your age - probably another Briar student, though he could be a recent graduate.

In most circumstances, being watched doesn't bother you.

It kind of comes with the territory of being a bartender. Especially a young, female bartender, with a clientele that consists largely of men.

Something about this guy creeps you out, though.

You don't recognise him at all, which is unusual. You're pretty familiar with most of the faces that pass through here.

Maybe he's an exchange student.

It isn't until an hour later that he finally approaches the bar, ordering a gin and tonic.

He pays in cash, is perfectly polite, and insists you keep the change. His eyes also never leave yours. Not once.

"Busy night," He comments, eyes flicking towards the crowds. "You handle it well. The other girl's not doing so great, though."

A flare of annoyance washes over you on Lydia's behalf. "It's her first Friday."

"Girl like you shouldn't have to work the twilight shift on a Friday night - you got a boyfriend waiting at home for you?"

From most of your patrons, you'd accept that question as an innocent, if nosy, attempt to make conversation.

From this guy, you're terrified of the implications.

"Yeah. I do." The lie comes out clumsily, and you're sure it must be entirely unconvincing. "A hockey player."

You hope the extra detail might make the whole thing seem more believable, but you think it might just make you look more like a liar.

He smiles, a slow, knowing expression, but doesn't press it. "Lucky guy."

You fight back a shiver as he heads for his booth.

*****

Since O'Malley's is a college campus bar, it has a strict midnight curfew, even on the weekends. Most people use it as a stepping stone to parties on Greek Row or clubs in the next town over.

But after a six hour shift on top of a full day of classes, you just want to get home. The crowd begins to think, and you're endlessly glad to see that the corner where the guy was sitting is empty now. He must have left during the pre-close rush.

Lydia is leaning against the ice machine, completely wiped out. Her apron is now stained, her mascara is running, and she looks like she might cry if she has to pick up a mop.

"Go ahead and clock out, Lydia," you say, tossing your rag into the dirty linen bin. "It was a long day."

"Are you sure?" She asks, her voice small. "Don't I need to learn how to lock-up?"

You dismiss her with a wave. "We can do it another night. Go home and get some sleep," you tell her, giving her a reassuring nudge towards the back room.

She doesn't need any more convincing, scurrying out the front door. You lock it quickly behind her, one of the first things Sally taught you.

As a student, O'Malley's was once robbed at gunpoint because of an unlocked door. While a layer of glass doesn't do much when your assailant has a gun, you've still lived by her advice anyway.

You get to counting the cash, getting bored about halfway through. You've never liked maths. There's a reason you're pre-law. As your gaze drifts across the windows,your blood runs cold.

The guy from earlier is hanging out on the corner by the bar.

He's looking at you, but his body is turned towards the street, and you try to tell yourself that this is all one horrible coincidence. He's probably just waiting for a cab.

But when you glance outside again, the man is still there. He's moved back from the door, to just across the sidewalk. There's no way you can do the lock-up while he's hovering there.

Not with the way he's been ogling you all night, and the way you'd need to have your back turned for at least thirty seconds.

You also don't trust your ankle to hold for long enough to out-sprint a fully grown man.

It's been fine for walking, but anything faster than a jog makes it ache like there's no tomorrow.

You slip out your phone, trying to keep an eye on the door.

You. 00:04

johnny

are you doing anything rn?

His reply comes immediately, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes.

John. 00:04.

is this a booty call?

You swallow. John's been your best friend since you were twelve, and you're still not used to the teasing and flirting.

You. 00:05.

ha ha

but no

some guy's being weird at work and i'm the only one here

can you phone me on my walk home?

A sudden rattle at the door makes you jump. The guy is back, nose practically pressed to the glass. "I left my jacket - can you let me in to pick it up?"

Immediately, your heckles are raised, but when your gaze follows his hand, you see that there is a coat draped across one of the booths. Your heart sinks. "Sorry, sir - we have a policy - you'll have to come by tomorrow."

"Come on, sweetheart. It's right there. Would be so easy for you to get it for me. Be a doll."

"I'm sorry, I can't-"

"You can't? Or you don't want to?"

I want you to leave me the fuck alone. That's what you want to say. Except you have a feeling that would buy you a one-way trip to Murdertown.

So, you plaster a smile on your face, and decide you need back-up. "I really can't. My boss is a dick."

Sorry, Sally. You're not a dick. But I need this guy to back off.

He's trying the handle again, and you type one final message without looking to see Logan's response.

You. 00:06.

pls come

The guy shrugs, and for a single second you think that you've won.

Of course, you'd never be so lucky.

"I won't tell if you won't." There's something about the way his lips are curling into an almost sneer that makes your stomach churn.

"I'm going to be a while," you call back. "Really, it would be easier getting it tomorrow."

Another shrug. Another shiver down your spine. "I can wait. No big deal, sweetheart."

"I'm not allowed to let anybody in without a manager," You reply, trying desperately to keep your voice level. You think it works - the layer of glass between you makes you feel a whole lot better. "We have cameras. I'd get reprimanded."

A total lie.

While yes, the bar does have cameras - one of them hasn't worked since last year, and the other hasn't worked since the mid 2000s.

You're banking on this guy not knowing that.

His brow furrows a little, as he squints through the tinted glass of the window. "Don't cameras normally have a light on when they're recording?"

Your heart hammers as you try and come up with a lie. "Boss wanted them to be covert."

A silence falls, but the man still doesn't move. Part of you wishes he would just speak again - the weight of his eyes is too much.

God, you hope John gets here soon.

"Here's an idea - you can bring it out here when you're done. Then you're not letting me into the bar, and none of your precious rules are broken."

"My boyfriend's on his way!" You squeak out, panic overriding your attempts to be suave and relaxed.

At this point you're too scared to glance away and check your phone, but you can only pray that John's checked his phone.

******

You are undoubtedly the coolest and calmest person that Logan's ever met. Never once have you been phased in all his years of knowing you.

Which is why the final text you send makes his heart drop.

You hadn't even acknowledged his reply.

John. 00:05. oh shit want me to come? let me just tell the guys i'm leaving - i'll come and get you be there soon

When the 'please come' had pinged against his phone, he'd abandoned all hope of trying to find Dean, Garrett and Tucker in the crowded frat house. Instead, he'd sent a quick text over to Hannah, knowing she'd be the only one sober enough to reliably check her phone.

God, he's glad he's designated driver tonight.

The concept of this amount of worry on top of beer and tequila is not a pleasant thought.

He shoots off another text as he jogs across the street.

u okay? i'm omw rn.

Delivered.

No read receipt.

You always reply.

Even if it's just a heart. A thumbs up. A gimme ten mins, because you inevitably got talking to a regular on your way out.

You hate worrying people.

And John Logan is really fucking worried right now.

His phone stays dark.

The unease triples when he calls you, again and again - each time going straight to voicemail.

Finally, he makes another call, to campus police.

He's not taking any chances.

*****

You realise, with a chilling certainty, that the back-door to the bar is unlocked. Lydia had taken the trash out earlier, and the lock is so fidgety that you're positive she didn't do it right.

Blood running cold, there's a flash of movement from the front. He shifts again, peering through the glass, and you realise you have to get that door shut now.

You turn and run, trainers squeaking against the hardwood as you sprint through the empty bar, weaving between tables you've only just finished wiping down.

There's a dull ache in your ankle, but you have no time to consider it.

Please let it be shut.

Please let Lydia be more competent than she looks.

You shove through the kitchen doors so hard they slam against the wall, and the back entrance comes into view. Very decidedly unlocked.

The handle sits slightly turned, the lock not fully engaged, and a sob catches in your throat.

You grab it with shaking hands, yanking the door closed with every ounce of strength you have.

The lock sticks.

Of course it does.

"No, no, no..." You plead, fingers slipping from the handle as you tug.

You try again, forcing the handle up before twisting the deadbolt. It doesn't work.

Stress levels rising, you hit it with your palm.

Once-

Twice-

It clicks into place, and the latch shuts fully. You don't even get a chance to breathe a sigh of relief.

The handle jerks violently beneath your grip, and you leap back, trembling.

You press both hands over your mouth, trying to dampen any sounds that might escape as the handle twists again.

Harder this time.

Your vision blurs instantly, tears spilling before you can even process what's going on.

You have to get back to your phone. Call the police.

Except by the time you make it back to the front of the bar, he's resumed his vigil at the entrance. "There you are. I was starting to think you were ignoring me."

"Fuck off!" You shout. "I-I have friends coming, and they've called the police." Each word comes out as a choked gasp, barely audible.

"I don't get why you're being so difficult - I just want to be friends." His smile widens, and you think you might be sick. "You can give me my jacket, I can walk you home, and it'll be a happily ever after."

He tilts his head, studying the empty room. "I mean..." He shrugs. "We're practically neighbours anyway. It's the polite thing to do."

On watching your expression crumble, he continues. "You live on North Street, right?"

There's no way.

He couldn't know that. Could he?

Your knees give out beneath you, and you find yourself sliding down the back of the bar until you're curled into yourself. One hand clamps over your mouth to stop the sob escaping, while the other reaches for something - anything - that you could use as a weapon.

A small knife seems to be your best option about now.

Tears blur your vision, and you reach for your phone.

There are some messages from Logan, but you go straight for the phone. You have to call 911.

The signal indicator in the corner flickers.

One bar.

Then none.

No service.

*****

The only noise you can hear are your own sobs. It might have been seconds, or hours, but the fear in your body is too great to try and get signal. Instead, you're trapped on the floor, praying that Logan's last messages are true, and that he's on his way.

A knock at the door has you flinching, fingers curling tighter around the knife. Any attempts to steady your breathing are met with fresh waves of panic, and you can feel tears start to trickle down your cheek.

He can't get you.

The doors are locked.

He doesn't know about the rooftop, and even if he did - there's no way he'd be able to get there without a ladder. Besides, Sally usually locks up there anyway. You're too scared to check.

A familiar voice cuts through the silence, calling your name.

You've never been more relieved to see Logan in your whole life.

"Johnny," You sob, rushing towards the door, fumbling with the keys as you try and open it. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, and your face is buried in his shoulder.

His lips brush against your temple comfortingly, a hand rubbing at your back. "What the hell happened?"

Tearfully, you recount it as quickly as you can, John's brow furrowing with each added bit of information. "He knows where you live?"

You know that he'd like to kill the guy, but you can't imagine anybody being stupid enough to–

There's another bang from the back entrance.

He must be trying it again.

You flinch inadvertently, tucking yourself back into Logan's side. "I think that's him - he must have missed you getting here."

Logan's expression hardens. "Stay behind me."

Your fingers are still intertwined with his, as he leads you both out of the bar and round the back. You don't want Logan to scare him off before you can work out who he is.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

In the moonlight, Logan suddenly seems far taller and scarier than he is.

The guy turns, eyes widening a little when he sees you both. "What?"

He doesn't get another word out. Logan closes the distance in three long strides, grabs a fistful of the man's shirt, and slams him back against the brick wall.

"Does scaring women make you feel good?" Logan taunts, a slap of skin as he forces the guy back into the surface behind him. "Huh? Make you feel like a tough guy?"

"I didn't-"

"You didn't what?" Logan's grip tightens, another shove ricocheting through the quiet street. "You weren't just trying to break in to her place of work?"

"I-I just wanted to talk," He chokes out.

"Bullshit. You knew where she lives."

You wish you could enjoy the twist of terror on the man's face, but you're still so shaken you're not sure how you're still standing.

Logan continues his rant. "If you ever go near her again, I'll-"

He's cut off by sirens, as the campus police officers pull in beside the bar, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he lowers his voice, and leans in just a little further. "I'll fucking kill you."

*****

The police interview feels like it takes days. Recounting the same hour, over and over again until you think you're going crazy.

The only solace is John at your side, hand drawing soft circles onto your palm.

You answer the same questions hundreds of different ways.

When did you first notice him?

Have you seen him before?

Did he touch you?

You shake your head where you can, and nod occasionally. At certain points Logan answers for you, filling in the details that you can't quite string together anymore.

You learn that the intruder is a Jeffrey Collins - a non-Briar student who's earned quite the reputation for stalking girls around campus.

It makes you feel a little better, knowing that there are girls out there who have experienced the same thing.

The officer' expression softens when he notices your hands haven't stopped shaking.

"We'll have an officer contact you tomorrow," He says gently. "Since he made reference to your home address, we'll make sure the local department is informed. Do you have somewhere to stay–"

"Yes," Logan interjects. "She's staying with me."

Finally, you're both allowed to go, and Jeffrey is locked up in the local sheriff's department.

Your body moves on autopilot, allowing Logan to bundle you into the back of his truck, and head towards the house. Thankfully, nobody seems to be around when he leads you upstairs to his room.

You don't have the energy to explain to anybody else tonight.

He's immediately finding you clothes to sleep in, busying himself in a way that's almost overwhelming. You reach out, fingers wrapping around his wrist to slow him to a stop. "Thank you," You whisper. "For coming for me."

"I'd always come for you. Always."

His voice is sincere, and there's no doubt in his tone.

You can't tell who moves first, but suddenly your lips are on his, and your hands are in his hair. Sighing into his mouth, it's the safest you've felt all night.

It's nothing like the kisses you've shared before - this is full of sheer desperation. You could've died tonight, and John would've been none the wiser to how you really feel.

"I love you."

It's a gasp between kisses, murmured into his mouth, and you worry he misses it.

"God, I love you too." It's practically a growl, hands tightening at your waist as he walks you backwards, twisting at the last second so that you drop onto his lap. "Loved you for so long, sweet girl."

His kisses steal the words from your lungs,and all you can focus on is the way he feels against you. The three day stubble against your jaw, the denim of his jeans against your core.

"Was so scared of what I was gonna find tonight," He finally admits, mouth no less frantic as it makes against you. "Scared the shit out of me, darling."

"M'sorry, Johnny." Your hips roll against his instinctively, nails digging into his shoulders for balance.

"Mhm, say my name again," He hums.

"Johnny."

You pout when he eventually pulls back, lips following his movements. "What's wrong?"

Your mind is suddenly clouded with a whole host of insecurities. Maybe he was just feeling bad for you, and now the regret is setting in. He doesn't have the heart to let you down.

Maybe you were stupid to think that this wasn't going to be another one of your half-hook-ups, meant to be forgotten entirely.

You don't know if you can take anything else tonight, so you decide to beat him to the punch. "Shit, I'm sorry - that was so stupid, I just... I wasn't thinking. I can go, and we can forget-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Logan interrupts immediately. "What? Why would I want to forget the best kiss of my life?"

Now you're stumped. "What?"

"Babe, tonight has been awful. Truly, one for the books. You really think I want you to associate us having sex for the first time with that creep?"

Oh. You hadn't considered it like that.

He makes a good point.

"Here's what's going to happen," He continues, thumb reaching out to run over your bottom lip as he watches you intently. "You're staying with me for the weekend - maybe longer. We're gonna watch all those shitty rom-coms you love to take your mind off it, and then tomorrow night I'm taking you out for dinner-"

You can't help the interruption. "Where?"

Logan just laughs. "Augusto's. Your favourite. As if it would be anywhere else."

You linger for a second, the dread from earlier starting to seep from your shoulders. "Johnny, you really don't have to do all this. I'm fine. It was fine. "

He lets out a soft hum, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Do what? Don't think there's anything wrong with looking after my girl."

My girl.

The first thing Logan said when he caught you staring was not even a word.

It was a laugh.

Low. Breathless. Almost mean.

He was on the floor by the foot of the bed, shirt off, sweat running down the centre of his chest, fists planted against the hardwood because apparently regular push-ups were too gentle for whatever stupid hockey-boy conditioning routine he’d decided to put himself through at eleven at night.

Knuckle push-ups.

Because of course.

Because John Logan couldn’t just be hot in a normal, manageable way. No, he had to drop low with his back flexing, shoulders wide, forearms corded, biceps tightening every time he lowered himself until his nose nearly brushed the floor. He had to breathe through it, slow and controlled, jaw set like it didn’t cost him anything.

And you, idiot that you were, had forgotten to pretend you were reading.

Your book was open in your lap. Upside down because nuance and subtlety were flung out the window around the time when his shirt also was tugged off.

Logan noticed on rep thirty-two.

His eyes flicked up first, then his mouth curved, “really?”

You blinked, “what?”

He pushed up again, arms locking, knuckles white against the floor, “book’s upside down.”

You looked down, “shit.”

He laughed, dropped once more, then held himself there, body hovering inches above the floor, biceps full and tense and completely unfair, “You staring at me?”

“No.”

He pushed back up, his breath barely affected- only slightly deeper, more controlled in sharp puffs. His smirk when he returned to his starting position could only be described as horribly cocky, “liar.”

“I was thinking.”

“About my arms?”

You shut the book.

Logan’s grin got worse.

That was twenty minutes ago.

Now your back was on the mattress, your thighs over his shoulders, and Logan’s arms were locked around your legs like he was proving a point with his entire body, “You wanted to stare?” he murmured against your inner thigh, “Stare.”

You could not. That was the problem. Your head was tipped back, one hand twisted in the sheets, the other locked in his hair while his mouth moved over you like he had all night and no intention of letting you survive it. His biceps pressed hard against the backs of your thighs, flexing every time you squirmed, every time his grip tightened to drag you back down to him.

“Logan,” you breathed.

He hummed. The vibration hit your clit and made your hips jerk.

His hand slid up, palm flattening low on your stomach, “stay.”

“Can’t.”

“Mhm,” another slow lick, “you can.”

Your thighs shook around his head.

He loved it. You could tell he loved it by the way he smiled against you, by the way his fingers dug into your skin, by the way he kept making these low, pleased sounds that blurred into you more than words, “Mmm. There?” he asked, mouth still wet against you.

You nodded too fast.

His hand smacked lightly against your hip, “words.”

“Yes.”

He kissed your clit, soft enough to be cruel, “yes, what?”

You tried to glare down at him, but his mouth opened over you again before you could form anything coherent, tongue dragging slow and flat, and the glare dissolved somewhere pathetic, “yes, there.”

His eyes flicked up, “Good girl.”

Your whole body clenched.

He felt it, “yeah?” his voice was rough now, a little wrecked around the edges, "you like that?”

“Shut up.”

He laughed against you.

You nearly came from that alone.

“Mean,” he murmured, “for someone who was looking at my arms like she wanted to bite me.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” He shifted one arm higher, bicep bunching beside your thigh as he pressed you open with his shoulder, “you were sitting there all quiet, squeezing your legs together.”

Your face went hot, “logan.”

“What?” He kissed you again, messy and open-mouthed, “you think I don’t notice?”

Your fingers tightened in his hair, “please.”

That did something to him.

His mouth stopped teasing. The next lick was firmer, slower, right where you needed him, and your breath broke into a soft, useless sound.

“There she is,” he said.

“Lo.”

“Mhm?”

“More.”

He groaned like the word hurt him. Then his arm shifted from your thigh, hand dragging down, two fingers pressing against you, slicking through the mess his mouth had made. He circled once, twice, watching your face the entire time.

“You’re soaked.”

You whimpered. His fingers pressed in slow, your back arched.

“Fuck.”

He smiled, but it was not smug anymore. It was hungry. Blown out. Like he had started this to tease you and ended up ruining himself with it too.

“That’s it,” he murmured, “take ’em.”

Your hand flew from his hair to his bicep, nails digging into the hard muscle there as his fingers curled inside you, “oh-”

He made another sound, almost a growl, and buried his mouth against you again.

It was filthy.

Wet.

Loud.

His tongue worked your clit while his fingers fucked into you, steady and deep, and you clung to his arm like it was the only thing keeping you anchored. The muscle flexed under your hand with every movement, hot and solid and so absurdly strong that your brain, already useless, managed only one thought.

Bite.

You did, mouth against the thick curve of his bicep, teeth sinking in lightly because you could not help yourself.

Logan froze.

For half a second, everything stopped. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you.

His mouth was wet. Chin shiny. Eyes dark enough to be dangerous, “did you just bite me?”

You released him slowly, “maybe.”

He stared. Then he laughed, low and disbelieving, and the sound made your stomach drop, “you’re fucking unbelievable.”

“You said I wanted to.”

“I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

Something snapped in his face.

Pure, awful heat.

His fingers curled harder inside you, and your mouth fell open, “you wanna bite?” he said, voice low, “fine. Bite.”

“Logan-”

He pushed his arm closer to your mouth and lowered his head again, “go on.”

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders.

His mouth touched you, “bite me while I make you come.”

The sound that left you was embarrassing. He hummed like he liked it and went back down, you bit him again when he did, harder this time.

His groan vibrated straight through your clit.

“Oh my God.”

“Mm?” he hummed, still working you open on his fingers, “that good?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, f- Logan.”

Your hand locked around his arm, mouth pressed to his skin, teeth scraping every time his fingers hit that place inside you that made the room tilt. He kept his pace brutal and perfect, tongue circling, sucking, flicking, then flattening again when your hips started to buck.

You were babbling now.

Not words, not properly.

Just little sounds and broken pieces.

“Lo- yes- there, there, please-”

He pulled his mouth away for one breath, “for me?”

You nodded frantically.

His fingers stopped.

You nearly sobbed.

“Say it.”

Your eyes opened, wet and furious, “for you.”

His face softened for one second.

Just one.

Then his mouth was back on you, and he curled his fingers again, and you were gone.

Your orgasm hit hard, messy, thighs clamping around his head, teeth pressing into his bicep as you came with a muffled cry against his skin. Logan held you through it, arm flexed under your mouth, fingers still moving in slow, dragging strokes while his tongue worked you until you were shaking too hard to keep biting.

“Lo,” you gasped,” too much.”

He stopped instantly. Pulled back.

Pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh, then another, softer, right beside the first.

Your chest heaved. He crawled up your body like he had all the time in the world, mouth wet, hair wrecked from your fingers, a faint red mark blooming on his bicep where your teeth had been.

You stared at it.

He caught you, “seriously?” he said, breathless.

You reached for his arm again.

He caught your wrist and pinned it gently to the pillow beside your head, “no.”

You blinked up at him, “no?”

“You’re cut off.”

“But-”

“You bit me while I was eating you out.”

“You told me to.”

“I know,” His mouth brushed yours, and you tasted yourself on him, “that’s why I’m hard enough to die.”

Your gaze dropped.

He laughed into your mouth, “yeah,” he muttered, “now you notice.”

You lifted your hips against him, and his laugh broke into a groan.

“Baby.”

“Mhm?”“Don’t start unless you want me to finish.”

You smiled, still dazed, still clinging to his wrist. Then you turned your face and kissed the inside of his bicep.

Logan closed his eyes, “fuck me,” he breathed.

The girl he grew up with. Of course, he knew you. 

He couldn’t even remember the number of times you two would go off and explore an arena wherever the Rangers were playing. Even when someone would catch the pair of you somewhere you probably shouldn’t have been, no one could ever say anything against the pout that you would pull out when you were kids. It helped that you were the Rangers’ head coach’s granddaughter. 

Your families have been connected since before both of you were born. His father met yours when he first made the team at 18. Your father was 20 and determined to prove that he deserved to be on the team, not just because his father was the coach. Both felt like they had something to prove and became a fierce pair on the ice. 

Your mothers bonded quickly when they were first introduced. It wasn’t easy with husbands who were always in the limelight. 

They marveled when they found out they were pregnant around the same time. Garrett was born exactly one month before you. Which was something you never heard the end of during your childhood. He would always claim that it was his job to make sure you were safe.

They would always gush when you two were together as children. Garrett was always trailing behind or beside you like a protector, and he was always the first one to help you up when you stumbled over your feet. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you better than he knew himself. 

Garrett remembered all the family vacations that you guys shared. The way that his father would put on an act and pretend that they were this picture-perfect family, but you didn’t buy it. 

You’ve hated Phil Graham from the moment you overheard an argument between Garrett’s parents when you were 8 years old. You were staying over for a couple of days as your parents were away traveling. Garrett had begged you to ask your parents if you could just stay with his family instead of staying with your grandparents. 

It didn’t take much convincing for your parents to let you stay with the Graham family. Granted, they didn’t know what happened behind closed doors.  

A memory flashed in Garrett’s mind of the first Halloween without his mom and the first time his father laid hands on him.

“Gare, you don’t have to be brave with me.” You were inspecting his bloodied knuckles. The first aid kit sat next to you on the bed. “This is going to burn a bit.”

“Petal, just do it already.” he tried to squirm away, but you kept a firm grip of his hand in your lap.

Garrett redirected his focus from the pain to you. He watched as you took care of his hand, making sure it was clean before putting ointment over the split knuckles and wrapping it with such care. He looked at you like you were the only thing that brought light to his life. 

“Okay, all done,” you muttered quietly while you started putting all the stuff from the kit away. You walked over to his closet to put it back in the corner where you first stashed it when you saw bruises on his mother’s wrists years ago.  

“I hate him.” 

“I know you do.”

“He’s a monster. He’s cruel. He never treated my mom right, even before she got sick. He’s always been so mean,” Garrett sniffled. He looked down at his wrapped hand and clenched his other fist tightly. “I never want to be like him.”

His words caught your attention, and you sat back over to him. You took his hands in yours and brought them close to your heart. “You, Garrett, are nothing like your father. You are nothing but kind and caring. You always look out for me even when you don’t need to. You are so special, and I never want you to think otherwise.” You told him with fierce invigoration.

Even at 12 years old, Garrett knew then that he would never love someone as much as he loved you at that moment. 

“G? You all good there?” Logan snapped his fingers in front of Garrett’s face, hoping to pull him out of his daze.

Garrett shook his head slightly as if to clear the thoughts that scrambled through his mind about you. “Sorry, what’d you say?” His eyes flickered over to Logan, but he still seemed distracted. 

“I was telling you about that girl. I heard from a couple of the guys that it hasn’t even been confirmed that she’s transferred officially.” Logan explained to him.

Garrett let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. That news made him feel better that it was just rumors. His chest felt tight at the thought that you wouldn’t share such big information with him. Especially considering he last talked to you a week ago, and you didn’t mention anything about the possibility of transferring to Briar U.

“Hey, G? Do you know her? With your dad being a former Ranger,” Tucker speculated, making his way over to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Maybe a connection?”

Dean joined the rest of the group. “If you do, can you put in a good word for me?” 

“Not a chance,” Garrett snorted. “I’m leaving this conversation.” He started to walk away from the boys and headed for the stairs. 

“G? You didn’t answer the question!” Garrett heard Tucker yell out from the kitchen. Ignoring him, Garrett made quick work of taking out his phone and pulling up your contact.

His thumb hovered above the call button until he got to his room and closed the door behind him.

“Hey, bub! What’s up?” you answered. Just from hearing your voice, Garrett’s body relaxed. He felt the tension that he held in his shoulders melting away while listening to you. “I actually have some news for you!” 

Garrett shook his head. He flopped back against his bed, softly laughing to himself, “Just wanted to talk to you.”

“Love, we just talked last week. Did something happen?” The concern in your voice was obvious. “You know you can call me anytime, right? No matter what.”

“I know, Petal.” A warm smile crept onto Garrett’s face. “Is it a crime to just want to hear your voice?”

“You’re such a sap.” Your laugh came through the phone, and Garrett almost forgot the reason why he called you. 

“You said you had something to share with me?” Garrett turned the conversation back to you.

“You know how I’ve been telling you I want a change of pace? I feel stuck here, and I love my family, but I need some space to breathe without someone asking me for Rangers tickets or if I’ve ever wanted to hook up with any of them,” you rambled, beating around the bush of the actual news. “I just want to feel like I’m on my own for once. Wow, I sound entitled. I am so sorry for that–”

“Don’t apologize. I’m always here to listen to you.” Garrett cut you off, knowing that if he didn’t, you would continue apologizing for something you never had to be sorry for. “And I get it. Trust me, I do.”

“I miss you, Garrett.” You admitted it so softly that he almost missed it. 

“I miss you, Petal.”

“You’ll be sick of me when I transfer to Briar U.” You snuck the surprise in. “I’m serious, you’re never going to get a moment alone again.”

The moment he comprehended what you said, he couldn’t stop his smile from widening. “Petal, don’t play with my heart like that if you’re not serious.”

“Garrett Graham, did you hear what I just said? I am serious.” You mockingly defended your words. “Love, I mean this. I already submitted the paperwork. I’m waiting on my credits to transfer over, so I can get my new schedule.”

“When will you be here?” The urgency in Garrett’s voice and the question got a giggle out of you. 

“Maybe a week or two. I’m still trying to solidify my official housing situation. They offered me a suite on campus, but I’m considering looking for a place off campus,” you explained the small conundrum. “Gramps said he would pitch in if I find a place because he says that he knows the ‘kind of boys that could live on the same floor’ as me. Which is verbatim to what he said, by the way,” you laughed to yourself, thinking back to the conversation with your grandfather.

“I one hundred percent agree with Gramps. Don’t even worry about finding a place. Just stay with me, Petal,” Garrett offered without a single thought or hesitation. “I’d know you’re safe. Gramps would feel better knowing that you’ve got four giant hockey players to protect you. Your dad might not be the biggest fan of it cause he hasn’t met the other guys, but he’ll trust me with you.” Garrett was reasoning with you.

“Love, I couldn’t intrude on you or the rest of your housemates. This is a big thing, and I’m a big girl. I can figure this out…” You trailed off. You had to admit to yourself that what Garrett offered sounded nice. From your search, most places close to campus were already filled since it was midway through a semester. You saw a few that caught your eye, but the drive was 25 minutes away from campus.

“Petal, this isn’t up for discussion.”

“Yes, it is. Especially considering I’m almost positive that when you were moving in, you told me that there were only four rooms.”

“I’ve got the master bedroom, Petal. It’s plenty of room for you and me. There’s an ensuite bathroom. Honestly, it’d just be how it was when we were little and used to go on vacation,” Garrett countered you. “Baby, please just stay with me.”

The softness of his voice almost made you cave at the spot. “You have to ask your housemates.”

“Done. They won’t have a problem with it.”

“You ask them now, Garrett. Go downstairs and throw the idea out there for them. Keep me on call, so I can hear their reactions,” you instructed him.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Garrett shot out of bed and headed for the door. “Boys! I got a question for you!” Garrett yelled out to them, hoping they could hear him over the TV blasting the sounds from their video game.

“Bub, that was straight in my ear,” you pointed out, reminding him you were still right next to the speaker.

“Oh shit, sorry, Petal,” Garrett muttered as he hurried down the stairs. 

Dean was the only one to catch what Garrett had said. He pointed it out to Logan. “Petal?” 

Logan looked up from the screen. He twisted his head to glance at Garrett. “What’s up, G?” 

“Who are you talking to?” Dean quipped at the same time as Logan.

The exchange took Tucker out of the game and left him watching the people around him. He muted the TV, leaving the house quiet. 

Garrett’s posture gave away his nervousness about finally bringing you up to them. He never purposely tried to avoid any topics that could relate to you, but that also meant he chose to never bring it up. He got enough questioning about his ‘legendary’ dad and what it must have been like to grow up in that environment. That’s all anyone ever cared about anyway. 

“The granddaughter you were asking about?” Garrett answered, hoping his tone was enough to signal to them to be cool about it. 

“What do you mean ‘the granddaughter,’ G?” Logan questioned. His eyes widened by the moment. 

“How do you guys feel about getting another roommate?” Garrett blurted out. He never thought it would be nerve-wracking to mention you to the guys. He felt like he had to share a part of you that he only ever wanted to keep to himself.

“We only have four bedrooms,” Dean pointed out the obvious. 

Tucker gave him an up slap against the back of his head, “He knows that, dingus.”

Garrett ran a hand through his hair as he scanned the guys for their reactions. “What’d they say, Bub?” You weren’t even on speakerphone, but it was loud enough in the silent house that the others could hear you clearly. 

“You’ve known who I was talking about this whole time? You just pretended to be stupid or something?” Logan's thoughts gathered quickly to make the connections. “Let me sound like some idiot going on about it.”

“Yeah. She’s transferring from Columbia.” Garrett swept over Logan’s realization. 

“G, I don’t know any girl that would want four guys as their roommates,” Tucker claimed, because it seemed laughable that a girl would ever want to live with guys who eat, breathe, sleep hockey. 

“She’ll be fine. I’m not asking you to give up any of your rooms. Mine will be fine. I don’t want her to be in the dorms. You know how the guys over there are. I’d feel better knowing she’d be close,” Garrett explained with a rare softness in him that no one ever really heard other than you.

“She’d be more than close,” Dean muttered under his breath. Logan nudged him in the side with his elbow. 

“Are you sure she even wants to move in?” Logan asked him honestly. 

“Gare, put me on speaker, please?” You requested politely. Garrett abided and shoved the phone more in the guys’ direction. “Can they hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” All three of the guys affirmed for her. 

“Unbelievable.” Garrett guffawed at the three in front of him. 

“Garrett’s just being overdramatic about this. I don’t want to force myself into your guys’ space–”

“Petal.” Garrett cut you off with a tone that didn’t leave room for much argument.

“Love, you can’t just ask them something like that and expect them to be completely okay with it.”

“Petal, I will call Gramps. Please don’t make this more complicated.”

“Garrett Graham! Don’t you dare!” You yelped on the phone. 

Garrett’s mind was only focused on the sound of your voice, as if the rest of the world melted away from him. Logan, Tucker, and Dean all raised eyebrows at each other because of the pair of you. They had never heard Garrett be like that with a girl. Hell, they never saw him interact with many girls unless it was for a night, and they were always quick to leave. 

“Petal, all you have to do is say yes.” Garrett implored. 

“Would you guys be okay with it? If not, I’ll work something else out, don’t worry about me.” You asked them, uncertain about Garrett’s plea. 

“If you’re important to Garrett, you’re important to us. You’re welcome here anytime,” Tucker answered for the three. 

Dean raised a finger in the air to signal he was about to chime in. “Get ready for some serious game nights,” he joked.

Logan added, “What’s your drink of choice?”

“A cosmo,” you answered simply, with humor lacing your voice. 

“Bullshit, it’s always a strawberry mojito,” Garrett called out to counter.

“Besides the point,” you brushed off.

“Honey, we have to go attend the fundraiser.” Your dad’s call from the hallway broke you away from the conversation. He knocked against your door softly.

“Come in,” you told him.

 “You talking to someone, Sweetie?” He said from the door. 

“Just Gare, Dad,” you announced to him as he started to enter your room. 

“Hey, son! I saw a clip from your last game, and you’re looking real good out there. With this one transferring over, I’m going to have to attend some games in person finally,” your dad happily spoke to Garrett. Who had made his way to the kitchen and placed his phone on the counter while he searched for a drink. 

The other three scrambled from the couch to the counter to continue to listen to the phone call. All of them actively started to slowly get more and more geeked out at the mere presence of your dad’s voice. 

“Hey, Pop! Thanks, it’s been quite a season out there, but our next home game is in two weeks. Will you be in town?” 

“Yeah, I’ll get the lot to come out since it’ll be Petal’s first home game because she originally chose a school with no hockey!” Your dad bellowed out in a laugh. “We have to cheer for you while we can.”

“Gramps, still mad at me for Boston?” Garrett queried.

“Like Gramps could say mad at you, Bub,” you snorted. 

Logan, Dean, and Tucker were in utter disbelief at what they were witnessing. They had never seen Garrett at peace and content, talking to people on the phone. He was never like this when he was on the phone with his dad. 

They started to question the relationship that Garrett had with you and, presumably, the rest of your family. It was evident that he was close with your family, but it seemed deeper than that. A casualness that only came around when you were talking to family, but they assumed he was somehow also romantically linked to you. Maybe it was both, but the scene in front of them was creating bounds of confusion. 

“He’ll get over it once he sees you on ice,” your dad assured him. “Anyways, Garrett. Petal and I have to seriously head out now before the Missus has both of our heads.”

“It was good talking to you, Pop.”

“Bye, bub. I’ll let you know when I get back later. I love you!” 

“I love you too, Petal.” Garrett grinned to himself, and the boys officially thought they had lost the Garrett Graham that they knew. The call ended, and Garrett turned back to the boys. “You shitheads are actually okay with this, right?” 

And just like that, Garrett Graham was back the way they knew him to be. “G, what the hell was that?” Logan was baffled.

“The former Rangers’ head coach is going to attend our next game,” Dean said in a daze.

“You gotta tell us what’s going on, man,” Tucker said, exasperated by no explanation. 

It was clear that Garrett didn’t even know where to start. His mouth opened and closed exactly three times before he even let anything out. “What do you guys want to know?” He thought it was a great question to gauge where the guys’ heads were at. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been with her this whole time, and you’re still with bunnies,” Logan chastised him. “That’s not cool, man.”

“No. No, we’re not dating,” Garrett responded, putting his hands up to somehow show his innocence. “We grew up together.”

“No way there’s nothing there, G,” Tucker protested. 

“So you wouldn’t mind?” Dean gave Garrett a look that explained what he had meant.

“Dean, you’re not getting with her. Don’t even think about trying anything,” Garrett warned. 

“Oh, you’re in love with her.” Logan snapped his fingers at Garrett.

“Dude, I thought we already knew that,” Tucker said to Logan.

“Wait, how is it going to work with her moving in here? This is not exactly a five-star hotel.” Dean gestured to the slight mess around them. While it was cluttered, the house wasn’t too bad at its current state. It looked lived in. “I mean, if you’re not dating her, but she’s going to share your room with you. I’m just trying to understand this, man. Because that means no more bunnies for you like ever.”

“There’s not going to be another bunny,” Garrett said as if it were the most simple thing.

“He’s a changed man, Dean,” Tucker whooped as he made his way over to Garrett and gave him a good slap on the shoulder. “G, this girl means a lot to you, and if you want her to live here. We’re seriously cool about it.”

“Thanks, Tuck.”

After much discussion, your family thought it was best if you had a week to settle in. Since you weren’t moving into your own place, you didn’t need to bring much other than clothes and necessities. You and Garrett had talked about what he had and what you still needed to buy, but agreed that you could just go shopping together rather than getting anything beforehand. Everything you needed to bring was able to fit in your G-Wagon. 

While you didn’t officially start until next Monday, you were finally at Briar to pick up your schedule and really take in the new campus without the rush of trying to figure out where your classes were. 

It was Friday, and students were still scattered around campus for those who still had classes. You were walking around aimlessly, trying to find a cafe that Garrett recommended that you might like. 

Meanwhile, the guys were finishing grabbing lunch on campus after their practice. They headed out of the dining hall together. Garrett was looking down at his phone as he checked your location, knowing you would be at Briar already. 

Garrett cocked his head to the side because, according to the phone, you were in his vicinity. “Holy shit, look at her. She’s like an angel,” Dean guffawed as he stopped the guys in their tracks. 

“She’s beautiful,” Logan commented.

“Out of your league, dude,” Tucker added on.

Garrett tilted his head back up to see what Dean was going on about. There you were, about 20 feet away. He had half a mind to tell Dean off, but he agreed with him. 

You hadn’t noticed the group staring at you. They watched as you pulled your phone out as if you were making a call. You held the phone to your ear while still looking around, but not fully catching the four boys.

Garrett’s phone rang in his hand, the other three’s heads snapped to look at his phone. He accepted the call. “Hey, Petal.”

“Bub, I think I’m lost,” you told him.

“You look so cute, though. Like a lost little duck,” he continued to admire you from afar. 

He watched the realization dawn on your face after his words. You scanned your surroundings and finally saw them. Your face lit up at the sight of Garrett. He did just the same when he saw you start to head in his direction. You hung up the call and slid your phone back into your purse. Garrett slid his to his pocket to free up his hands. 

The three guys stayed back as Garrett walked to meet you. They watched as your grin spread across your face. It was so bright that it could make anyone melt if they knew it was directed at them. 

The sight of you starting to jog towards Garrett in pure joy was something to behold. You met each other halfway and practically crashed into one another. His arms wrapped around your waist automatically. Your arms locked around his neck. Neither of you was particularly interested in letting go. 

“You’re actually here,” Garrett mumbled into your hair. His grip tightened even as he pulled back to look at your face. His eyes crinkled at the corners from the way he was smiling in genuine delight. “I’m never letting you go anywhere without me again,” he chuckled as he picked you off your feet and spun you around.

Your laugh was blissful. Students flowed around you both while they pointed out Garrett and the ‘mystery girl’ he was with. But in the moment between you and Garrett, all of them were forgotten, like the rest of the world. 

“Gare, let me down!” you yelped, laughing. Garrett missed that laugh. More than he’d realized.

Garrett set you back down, but you stayed in his arms. You reached up to fix a piece of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Without any hesitation. Without any thought. Like you had done it a thousand times before. Garrett didn’t even react. He was fully occupied by admiring you. 

Back to the Dean, Logan, and Tucker. The three guys nearly choked when they saw that. “I thought he said they aren’t dating?” Dean pointed to you two. “She fixed his hair.”

“I was not expecting them to run into each other’s arms,” Logan quipped.

“What is happening?” Dean was utterly confused by the scene in front of him. 

“I don’t know.” Logan shook his head. 

“I’ve never seen him smile that much.”

“Neither have I, Dean.”

“They have to be dating,” Dean declared.

“If they’re not now, I hate to see them when they are,” Tucker cackled, clapping his hands together. “C’mon, let’s introduce ourselves to our new roommate.”

You tore your eyes away from Garrett’s and glanced over to where the guys were. “Your friends?”

Garrett turned back and saw them walking toward you two. He sighed, “Unfortunately.” He watched as Dean cheesed and happily waved to you. “Oh, my God.” Dean was mortifyingly enthusiastic.

You broke an arm away to wave back. “Are they on something?”

“Worse.”

“Perfect.”

You dropped your arms down and attempted to pull away from Garrett to get ready to greet them. Which Garrett’s response was laughable. Instead, he moved to stand behind you and keep his arms around you. The guys caught how Garrett’s stare stayed on the side of your face. The kind of smile plastered on his face was something his friends had never seen before. It was warm. He looked hopelessly gone.

“Let me guess, the one leading the pack is Tucker, Dean is obviously the blond, which leaves Logan, who has that brooding brunette look to him.” You humored him. 

“The second they get over here and meet you. They’re never going to leave us alone,” Garrett said, exasperated. You laughed and moved one hand to lightly grip his forearm while you waited for the three to make their way over. 

“Can’t believe he waited a week before she transferred to tell us that he knows her,” You heard Dean tell the guys.

“Hey, you guys! Garrett, you remember we exist, right?” Logan greeted, joking. 

Dean was the first one to offer you a hand. You moved your hand from Garrett’s arm and shook Dean’s waiting hand. “Hi, Angel.”

“Angel?” you whispered to Garrett in question as you pulled away from the handshake. 

Garrett just scoffed, but luckily Dean was there to explain, “You look like an Angel, unless I can call you Petal?” 

“You’re pushing it,” Garrett warned. Dean smirked and raised his hands to motion to back off. 

“Okay, but Angel, if things don’t work out with him, let me know. I’ll only be a few doors away.” Dean winked at you playfully, signalling he was really only saying it to mess with Garrett.

Garrett looked about a second away from committing a felony. You felt his arms tighten around you and pull you to press against him. Logan noticed and burst out laughing. You nearly choked. “You’re a fun one, Dean.”

“Call me Six Flags,” Dean nodded at you.

“I hate you,” Garrett told him.

“No, you don’t, Graham.” Dean smiled.

“Don’t mind him,” Tucker pushed Dean out of the way. “I’m Tucker, well, John, but Logan is also John,” Tucker introduced himself. He opened his arms slightly, and you tapped on Garrett’s arms to let you go. You giggled and accepted the hug. “We cleaned the house for you, Ma’am,” he whispered as you guys parted. 

“Oh, how very kind of you all,” you told him. 

Logan watched with a grin on his face that reflected genuine. Like he’d decided within the past few minutes that you belonged with them. “We’ve heard nothing but your name for the past week, and honestly, I’m just happy you’re here.”

Your expression softened. “That’s really sweet. And seriously, thanks for being so cool about this. I really appreciate you guys.”

“Any time, Angel,” Logan replied. Dean snorted at the use of the name.

“Not you too, Logan.” Garrett rubbed at his temples. He reached an arm out to you, and you naturally wrapped your arms around him. “Do you have everything with you already?” 

“Yeah, my car is packed to the brim right now,” you answered. “Are you guys done for the day?”

“We cleared the schedule, so we can help the Missus move in,” Dean claimed. 

“Perfect! Would any of you mind if you drove my car to the house?” You reached into your purse to grab your keys and dangled them in front of the guys. Dean nodded and opened the palm of his hand. “Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, dropping the keys into his waiting hand. “I parked it in the lot near admissions! It won’t be hard to miss.”

Dean finger-saluted you. “I’ll see you all at home?”

“Yeah, we’ll meet you back there.” Tucker motioned to himself and Logan before breaking away from the group with Dean.

“See you in a bit,” Garrett responded, waving goodbye to the three.

When Garrett pulled up to the house, it was bigger than you expected, but at the same time, it made complete sense for the four hockey players. 

Well.

Four college hockey players, and apparently you know. 

Even after Garrett had parked the car, you knew better than to try to just get out yourself. You waited patiently while Garrett rushed over to your side to open the passenger door and offer a hand to you.

With your hand laced with his, you guys made your way to the porch. The front door swung open. Dean stepped outside, twirling your car keys around one finger. “Your car is officially here.”

“My hero,” you pretended to gush. “Thanks, Dean.”

“No problem, Angel.”

Dean tossed the keys in your direction, but Garrett intercepted and caught them. He kept hold of them and pointed them to pop open the trunk. The movement was so familiar that neither of you really reacted. Unfortunately, Dean did, and so did Logan and Tucker, who were right behind him. 

Immediately. They exchanged a look. You pretended not to notice. Garrett definitely noticed. 

“Alright,” Garrett announced. “Let’s move this circus inside.”

You all turned to look at your car and the full trunk. Silence. You cleared your thoughts. “What?”

Logan pointed to the mountain of boxes. “You know you’re sharing a space with G, right?”

“We’ll make it work.” You shrugged. 

Tucker went to pick up one of the boxes, and he immediately regretted it. “What is in this?”

“Just books.”

“All of them?”

You nodded proudly, “I like reading.”

“Nobody likes reading that much,” Dean retorted.

You pulled your hand away from Garrett to snatch the box away from Tucker. “Give me my children.”

Garrett laughed, and the sound made you smile before you could stop yourself. “Come on,” he said, taking the box from your arms before you could protest. 

“Hey!” 

“No, Petal.”

“I can carry it,” you defended. 

“I know.” He said, heading into the house.

Instead of arguing, you sighed, picked up another box, and followed him inside. Dean, Logan, and Tucker were standing still, which, in passing, you told them, “I thought you guys were going to help?”  

“Yes, Ma’am.” The three all got a box of their own to carry in. 

The inside of the house was exactly what you expected. A little chaotic, but you could tell that they made an effort to tidy up the house for your arrival. It was comfortable. The kitchen looked surprisingly clean. 

“I’m a mean cook, Angel. Just you wait,” Tucker boasted before going up the stairs to drop off the box in Garrett’s room. Well, now your shared room. 

Any nerves that you had about transferring to Briar and moving in with the guys disappeared. This didn’t feel like walking into a house of strangers. It felt like walking into a place you’ve somehow already been a hundred times.

Maybe because Garrett was here, or that his friends welcomed you without hesitation. Everyone kept making room for you without even realizing they were doing it. 

By the time the second trip down to the car was made, you were already helping Dean and Logan make fun of Garrett’s habit of neatly folding laundry. 

By the third trip, Tucker is asking you what your favorite meal is, so he can try to make it. Then Logan explained the house’s completely unnecessary ranking system for takeout restaurants, and somehow you’re laughing through all of it. 

Dean placed the final box onto the floor. “Important question.”

“Which is?” you asked back while looking through a box full of shoes in dust bags. 

“You’re completely okay with just moving into his room,” Dean gestured around Garrett’s master bedroom.

“He offered,” you shrugged, “And it’s not like we haven’t shared rooms before. Growing up on summer vacations, our parents always figured that we would sneak into each other’s rooms anyway, so they just started putting us together by the time we were seven.”

“That clarification should’ve come when we first called last week,” Logan said. 

“I hate living here.” Garrett rubbed a hand over his face.

“No, you don’t, G,” Tucker mumbled. 

By midnight, only a few boxes were left to unpack, and you guys gathered in the living room for some late-night pizza. The kitchen light was off, the room was illuminated by the TV, and six pizza boxes had taken over the coffee table. 

Dean was on his fifth slice and in full interrogation mode. “Okay,” he said, pointing at you and Garrett. “We have questions,” he said, pointing to Logan, Tucker, and himself.

“Yup, we all do,” Logan added, leaning back against the couch.

Tucker nodded. “Especially because he’s acted weird for an entire week.”

“I haven’t acted weird,” Garrett tried to pass off. All three of the roommates stared at him.

You laughed into your drink. Garrett looked betrayed. 

Dean pointed dramatically, “First question: how long have you two known each other?”

You and Garrett answered at the same time, “Since birth.”

No response. 

“Literally?” Logan blinked. “He neglected to mention that he had a childhood best friend.”

“Literally,” you repeated. “Our moms were best friends before we were born.”

“How?” Dean gaped. 

“Buddy, I think you all know who our dads are.” You gently parented him. 

“And your grandfather?” Logan asked.

“Former head Rangers coach, as you guys know. Only stepped down after my dad retired from hockey,” you told him while reaching for another slice. Before you had to get up from your place next to Garrett, Tucker plopped another slice on your place. “Thanks, Tuck.”

“Who’s older?” Dean went.

You rolled your eyes at the question, knowing what was coming. 

“Me,” Garrett claimed proudly.

“By one month,” you scoffed. “You guys would never believe how many times he pulled that out in an argument.”

“I’m older,” Garrett dismissed.

“By thirty-one days.” You deadpanned. 

“Still older.”

“You brought it up constantly.”

“Because it’s true.”

Logan looked delighted. “This explains so much.”

“What does it explain?” Garrett questioned.

“Why you two act like a married couple.” Logan’s words had you choking on your drink. Garrett nearly did the same, but he was quick to rub your back in soothing motions. The action really didn’t help your case. Dean howled in laughter after catching it. Logan and Tucker snickered to themselves. 

After calming down, Dean moved on to his next question. “How have we never heard of you before?”

The room went a little quieter. Garrett mumbled, “You guys know I don’t really talk about home.”

No one pushed. They all knew that much.

The boys knew Garrett didn’t like interacting with his dad and that his mom had passed away when he was younger. What they didn’t know was that you had been there through it all. 

You nudged his knee with yours, and he glanced at you briefly. Just for a moment, but his shoulders loosened a little. 

“There was never a reason to bring me up. I was away in New York, and god knows that Columbia kept me busy enough to have any downtime,” you explained. “And you guys were always away when I would visit during the summer.”

“Wait, a damn minute.” Dean paused mid-bite. 

“What’d you just say?” Logan was taken aback.

“What do you mean by that?” Tucker probed. 

Garrett shook his head and poked you in the side. “They didn’t know that, Petal.”

“Well, now they do.” You finished the last bit of your slice and put your plate on the coffee table. You leaned back against the couch and tucked your feet under you. Garrett lifted his arm, and you scooted closer to his side.

His arm came behind your waist, and his hand landed on your hip. He tugged you to be snug against his side. 

“Now, a serious question,” Dean remarked, even though he felt like he was interrupting something. 

“Dangerous start.” Your laugh was airy, with tiredness starting to dawn on you.

“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“Straight for the kill,” Logan snorted. 

“Oh god,” Tucker mumbled into his drink.

“So help me, god.” You heard Garrett mutter under his breath. You turned your head to look at Garrett and found him already facing you. “We’re not answering that,” Garrett scoffed.

“There was a first time!” Dean gasped. 

“Everyone has a first time,” Garrett attempted to brush him off, but he replied too quickly to seem casual.

“That is not helping your case, G.” Logan chuckled.

Dean sat back, feeling victorious. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” you asked.

“That whatever this is–” Dean gestured between you and Garrett, “–has been happening for years.”

Garrett groaned. 

Tucker nodded thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m just glad you finally showed up. He’s been unbearable this week.”

“I have not.”

You laughed again, and before you could think about stopping yourself, you leaned your head against Garrett’s shoulder. 

Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was, and Garrett didn’t even hesitate before leaning back.

Dean, Logan, and Tucker exchanged identical looks like before. None of them said a word. They didn’t need to. The answer to every question was sitting right there on the couch for them to see. 

The next morning, you woke up to Dean banging against the bedroom door. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds. You turned slightly and felt your cheek brushing against Garrett’s bare skin. The bed was a sight of tangled limbs and Garrett’s head tucked into the crook of your neck. 

The persistent knocking caused him to shift in his sleep, an arm instinctively tightening around you. 

“Gare, I cannot breathe.” You attempted to pull yourself away from his grasp.

“Baby, it’s too early,” Garrett murmured in your ear, not aware of the knocking yet.

“Guys, wake up, we want to go to breakfast!” Dean yelled from the other side of the door. 

“Dean, just come in,” you permitted him. 

The door creaked softly, and Dean entered the room with a hand covering his eyes. “Angel, are you guys decent?”

“You wish I wasn’t.” You chucked a pillow at him, which he annoyingly caught.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Garrett grumbled, realizing Dean was in the room. 

“The guys and I want to get breakfast at Malone’s, and Angel hasn’t been yet, so it’s perfect.” Dean begun. “We’re leaving in 30 minutes.”

“That sounds great. We’ll be ready,” you told him. 

“Okay, okay, now get out,” Garrett shooed Dean away. 

“Angel, you see what we’ve had to deal with?”

“Try dealing with him for your entire life,” you countered.

“You’re a strong woman.”

“The best. Now, seriously, man, out.” Garrett pointed an arm to the door. 

“Fine, but you guys better be downstairs soon!” Dean said as he shuffled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Finally,” Garrett mumbled, tucking his head back into your neck.

“Bub, we have to get up.” You ran a hand through his hair. You felt him smile against your skin. “Come on, let me up,” your hand continuing to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Baby, I haven’t woken up with you in my arms for months. You’re breaking my heart here.” Garrett expressed, trying to be serious, but the whisper of a smile played at the edges of his lips. 

“You are being dramatic.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fortunate for me.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead and finally loosened his grasp around you. 

You rose from the bed and stretched. You looked out the window. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Garrett replied. You turned back to face him. 

You found him already staring at you. 

The drive to Malone’s was chatterful. Your car was chosen, but the designated driver was Garrett. You were seated in the passenger seat, holding Garrett’s hand in your lap. The backseat arrangement was laughable. Dean, Tucker, and Logan, in that order, were squeezed into your back seats, which you always felt like were spacious when driving with your friends. But with three hockey players in place, they were like a tin of sardines. 

When Garrett finally parked, Logan was the first out of the car and almost tripped over his own legs, with Tucker trying to push him to get out faster. 

Logan beat Garrett to opening your door. “Angel,” he said, a smirk pinching at his cheeks while he offered his hand to you. 

“You’re doing this on purpose.” You stifled a laugh as you peeked at Garrett, who was five steps short of your door. 

“Let me have this one?” Logan whispered. You took his hand and got out of the car. Rather than letting go of your hand, he wrapped your arms together and guided you to the entrance of Malone’s. “You are going to love this place, Angel.”

“Petal.”

You heard him say from behind you, turning back to look at him. “Yes, Gare?” 

Garrett Graham would never admit to pouting, but lo and behold, a sliver of a pout was edging his lips. “You’re just leaving me behind?” he gaped. Instead of responding, you let Logan lead you guys in. 

“Snubbed by your own girl, that’s got to be tough.” Dean clapped a hand on Garrett’s shoulder. 

“G, stop moping and let’s go. I’m hungry, man,” Tucker told him, heading in after you and Logan. 

Inside, you and Logan were waiting by a booth. Logan slid into one side, and you to the other. Tucker sat next to Logan. Dean dragged over a spare chair, spun it around backwards, and sat at the end of the booth. Garrett stopped at the edge of the booth. “Oh, now you want to be next to me?”

Ignoring his dramatics, you looked up from the menu. “What do you guys usually get?”

Garrett sighed pitifully. He slid next to you and snaked his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. You automatically put the menu in front of both of you. “You’ll like the berry waffles.”

“Sounds yummy.” You leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You’d think they didn’t wake up next to each other,” Dean teased. “Garrett, get a grip, dude.”

Even with the teasing, Logan, Tucker, and Dean enjoyed seeing Garrett like this. A kind of softness that he never really displayed to people besides you. The tenderness as he whispered to you as if no one else existed. The way the menu was shared, and Garrett was pointing out all the things he thought you would like to try at some point. 

A waitress came by with coffee. Without asking, Garrett reached over and slid a mug in front of him before adding two sugar packets. Then a splash of cream. He stirred it once before pushing it toward you. “There.”

“Thanks, baby.” You took a sip. “Perfect.” You pressed a kiss against his jaw. 

“You didn’t even watch him make it,” Logan commented.

“I don’t have to?” Your eyebrows pulled together, showing your slight confusion. 

“You just trusted whatever he put in it?”

“He’s made my coffee since I first started drinking coffee.”

Logan blinked. “They’ve killed me.”

“God, I forgot that you guys have been married for years,” Dean joked.

Tucker ignored the rest of the group and got to ordering. The rest of you followed suit. 

Around the diner, people had definitely started noticing. Mostly because four starting hockey players were difficult to ignore, especially when one of those players is the captain, Garrett Graham. What really stuck out was you, the unfamiliar girl who leaned into his side as if you belonged there.

Whispers bounced between tables. 

“Who is she?”

“Is that the new transfer girl people have been talking about?”

“How does she have Graham bringing her with the guys?”

“I thought he said he doesn’t do girlfriends.”

Two girls near the counter glanced over one too many times. One leaned toward the other. “I’ve literally never seen him with a girl before.”

“Maybe she’s his sister.”

You happened to laugh at something Garrett said, but the smile that was plastered across his face said it all. 

One of the girls frowned. “Definitely not his sister.”

Dean noticed before anyone else. Without turning around, he spoke just loudly enough for it to reach anyone sitting at the counter. “Man.” The others looked at him. “It’s amazing how people forget that minding their own business is free.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Tucker said bluntly. The whispering behind him immediately quieted. 

Logan casually leaned back in the booth. “It’s almost like we have our own lives.”

There was a softness that came over your features. It radiated such appreciative affection for such new, devoted friends. The guys defended you as if you were their own, without a second thought or hesitation. 

Dean caught your eye and winked at you. “We’ve got your back, Angel.”

“Always,” Logan added.

“You’ve got us for life, Angel,” Tucker finished.

“You guys are going to make me cry.” You teared up a bit, and your face flushed with heat at the gesture. Garrett rubbed at your side soothingly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Angel, we’re practically family already,” Logan reasoned, sending you a sweet smile.

“I am going to be the best uncle ever,” Tucker claimed, nodding his head. 

“But I get to be the Godfather,” Dean asserted in full seriousness, but the act dropped quickly with a grin spreading across his face. 

“We’ll play rock, paper, scissors for it.” Logan contended, waving a hand at Dean.

Garrett snorted, shifting the attention to him. “Unlikely,” he scoffed jokingly under his breath, but it wasn’t quiet enough for the guys not to catch it, and especially not for you. 

You pressed a hand against the one he had on your side. Your thumb rubbed circles against his knuckles. 

“Listen, buddy, we never said you had to be the dad,” Logan tutted at Garrett. 

You felt Garrett stiff beside you. “That’s not even funny, man.”

“Oh, this is gold.” Tucker snickered at Garrett’s obvious displeasure at the mere idea of you creating a life with someone else. 

“I’m fine.” You all caught on to Garrett’s voice and how defensive he sounded. 

Dean wasn’t ready to end Garrett’s suffering just yet. “You want blond babies, Angel?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “They’d be beautiful.”

Your whole body shook with laughter at Dean’s insinuation. You didn’t see Garrett’s face, but the guys did. The way his brow wrinkled into a deep frown.  His right eye twitched while he was glaring down at Dean. “Godfather, typically means you’d have to be alive for the role.” 

Dean paled slightly. Instead of replying, he took a long sip from his water, gulping awkwardly. 

Tucker had put his hand to muzzle his laugh that was threatening to spill out. 

Logan was suddenly very interested in a ketchup bottle. “These ingredients are so funny.”

The waitress came up to the table with breakfast, unaware of the scene she was walking into. “Hope you all enjoy,” she said, setting plates in front of each of you. She refilled your waters before finally walking away from the booth. 

Garrett’s frown dropped just like that. Before you could reach for the syrup, Garrett poured it perfectly on your waffles. You grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. You took a bite of about half of it before you offered it up to Garrett’s mouth. He ate the rest without questioning.

Neither of you looked exactly at each other, but the way you moved with ease and avoided bumping into one another said it all. 

Neither of you broke the conversation either. Garrett asked if you liked the waffles. You nodded sweetly, taking another bite. He hummed, satisfied in response. It happened so naturally that it was obvious that neither of you even processed how you guys were. 

Across the table, Logan stared. 

Then at Tucker.

Then at Dean.

“I think we’ve been upgraded from roommates,” Logan muttered to the two.

“We’re just watching these two domesticate each other in real time.” Tucker looked a bit in awe at how evidently you both were in tune with one another. 

Dean nodded solemnly, “I think we’re witnessing a thirty-year marriage before the first date.” He took another bite of the pancakes. “They’re hopeless.”

You and Garrett looked over. “What?” you both asked at the same time.

The three roommates burst into laughter. You and Garrett looked at each other, and despite having no idea what was so funny. You both started laughing, too.

Della, from behind the counter, watched the way the five of you fit together. She had never seen the boys the way they are right at this moment. She immediately decided that you were a missing piece in a very chaotic puzzle of hockey players. You belonged at that table. 

Breakfast lingered long after the plates had been cleared. 

The conversation drifted from hockey to classes, then somehow to the time that Dean accidentally set the kitchen toaster on fire. “It was defective,” Dean insisted. 

“It exploded because you put a Pop-Tart in sideways,” Tucker replied. 

“That’s a design flaw.”

“More like user error.”

You laughed at the pair, shaking your head. You tapped against Garrett’s thigh. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bathroom?” Garrett slid out of the booth to let you out.

“Mhm.” He helped you out like a gentleman and kissed your hand before you walked away from the table. 

You did head toward the hallway for exactly seven steps. Then you quietly veered toward the register, looking over your shoulder, and the guys were busy talking about the next home game coming up in a week. 

The waitress looked up with a smile. “Everything okay, honey?”

“Perfect, actually.” You pulled out your card that you had sneaked into your pocket before you left earlier. “I’d like to pay for our table.”

She glanced toward the booth. “The hockey boys?”

“Yeah.” You smiled.

“They’re usually fighting over who pays.”

“I figured.” 

“You sure? Honey, I’m positive that none of those boys would want you to pay.”

You looked over your shoulder again. The four of them were full of laughter. Logan was dramatically reenacting whatever play he was retelling. Tucker looked like he regretted encouraging him. Dean was adding in parts that Logan was leaving out. And Garrett. He was watching the conversation with that quiet little smile he’d worn almost all morning. 

It tugged at something in your chest. “They’ve been really good to me.”

The waitress followed your gaze. “You’ve known them for a long time?” She wondered. 

“Just the one I was sitting next to.”

She rang up the bill. You tipped her generously when signing off the receipt. When she handed your copy, you tucked it into your pocket along with your card before anyone could notice. 

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sweetie.”

When you returned, Dean looked up. “That was fast.”

“I think we’re ready to finish up here,” Tucker said. 

“I physically cannot move.” Dean leaned back and rubbed his stomach. 

“You had seven pancakes,” Logan reminded him. 

“I regret nothing.”

Garrett politely signalled for the waitress’s attention. She placed the check holder at the edge of the table. “Huh,” Garrett muttered when he reached for it. 

“What?” Logan asked. 

“It’s empty.” 

Dean frowned. “What do you mean it’s empty?”

“The bill.” 

“You guys already paid?” Tucker questioned. 

Garrett looked at the others. “I didn’t.”

“I was waiting for him,” Dean said, pointing to Garrett. 

“So was I,” Tucker admitted. 

The waitress walked by carrying another tray to pick up the empty plates off the table. “You boys are all set.”

Four heads turned. You busied yourself with applying some lip balm. “What?” 

Logan shook his head. 

“It was taken care of already.” The booth fell completely silent. 

Four pairs of eyes turned toward you. 

“Petal,” Garrett said. 

“No.” You stopped. 

“You paid?” He scoffed. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You absolutely paid,” Logan retorted. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Angel,” Dean said. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you shrugged. 

“Bullshit,” Garrett muttered. 

“Breakfast seemed like a pretty cheap way to say thank you for letting me into your lives so easily.”

The table was quiet for another moment. Then Dean stood up. “Oh.”

“What?” You glanced at him. Tucker and Logan slid out of the booth to stand as well. Garrett did the same. Your eyes flickered to each of them. They all shared a look and nodded. In a blink, you were bombarded by the four. They hugged, keeping you in the middle. “Guys, I can’t breathe.”

“Too late,” Logan mumbled.

“Petal, we don’t need that.”

You were holding up two different colored fluffy throw blankets. “Do you like the dark blue better or the gray?” ignoring Garrett’s statement. 

“You’re not going to use it, and it’ll end up on the floor.”

“I can use it in the living room.” You brushed him off. 

“Okay, fine, just get both. One for the living room and the other for the bed.” Garrett gave in.

You hummed to yourself triumphantly. “You see, that wasn’t so hard.” You brushed a faint kiss against the left side of his jawline before you put the blankets in the cart.

A husband who was in the same aisle with his wife had watched the short interaction between you and Garrett. He had a fond expression written across his face. “Son, happy wife, happy life.” He simply said before following his wife out of the aisle. 

“Are you planning a proposal I don’t know about yet?” You teased Garrett, grinning at him. Your faces were inches apart. 

Garrett brought a hand to your face with his thumb gently stroking your cheek. His face carried a relaxed smile. His gaze was locked into your eyes. “Not yet. But eventually.”

You wished his words would surprise you, but in reality, it was more of a confirmation than anything else. “I think we’re skipping a few steps.” You placed a hand on his chest, and you could feel the beating of his heart. 

“Like there would be anyone for me other than you,” Garrett murmured. 

You could tell he was holding himself back. The way he brought himself closer to you and tilted his face to yours. His pupils dilated, and you could feel his heartbeat start to quicken. “You know, for a second there, I thought you were finally going to do it.” 

“If I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

“Who said you had to?” 

His lips brushed against yours. It felt like he was trying to test the waters. Your hand slid from his chest to his jaw. The hand on your cheek pulled you in even closer, if that was possible. His lips smiled against yours. 

The gap finally closed. The way his lips parted against your own so gently. The kiss was chaste since you both were standing in a store. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He said, pulling away to look back into your dazed eyes. 

You pecked his lips again. “We never stood a chance.” 

“Against what?”

“Us.”

“It’s you and me forever, Petal.”

The next week breezed past you before you knew it. The transition to classes was easier than you were expecting. Another thing you thought was going to be difficult was you and Garrett, but really, other than stolen kisses in hidden hallways or late nights in the kitchen. The pair of you hardly had to change anything. 

Sure, Garrett was even more affectionate than usual, but it wasn’t overly done where the guys caught on to you two. It kind of felt fun keeping it between you and Garrett. Not that either of you meant to keep a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and anyone who had been around lately either assumed you were already dating or, like the guys, just got used to the fact that you and Garrett were suspiciously close.

Plenty of people on campus just thought that the new transfer student finally locked down the infamous Garrett Graham. Not many knew or cared to find out that you guys knew each other prior. No one found that you had moved in either, not that it was any of their business.

As much as you tried not to let it get to you, the puck bunnies were hard to ignore. Especially with the Briar Hawks having a home game soon, everyone was buzzing around you. From the guys’ endless practices and workout sessions to students’ nonstop chatter about the game and after-parties. 

Garrett was quick to assure you that the minute he found out that you were coming to Briar. He hadn’t even thought about another girl since. Not that mattered anyway. It wasn’t like you were a saint in New York. You had your fair share of dates that Garrett, over the years, pretended didn’t bother him when you would call him excitedly to prepare for one.

You could hold your own, but that didn’t stop the irk you would get overhearing the bunnies talk about “whatever” you and Garrett had would never last long before he got bored. 

You didn’t doubt your new relationship with Garrett. Even your mothers were rooting for you two to end up together, the second they found out about each other’s pregnancies. Garrett was yours just as much as you were his. It’s been like that since the two of you could walk. 

“Baby, I’ll see you and the family later at the game, I got to run to meet with coach. I love you.” was the last thing you heard from Garrett at seven in the morning before he hurriedly pressed a kiss against your forehead before heading out the room. You weren’t even fully coherent enough to reply. Just hummed happily before dozing back off. 

You decided that around nine it was time to get up for the day. You had the house empty to yourself. The first time since you moved in. Even with everyone’s hectic schedules, there was usually at least one or two other people home. Not that you minded the company, it let you know the guys better and their habits, which some were admittedly messier than others. 

Your feet padded down against the staircase. You found yourself looking for something in the fridge to make for lunch. With the game being later into the night, you had plenty of time to get ready for it. Right now, you chose to make lunch for the guys. You had bought a huge slab of salmon the other day and decided that it was the perfect thing to pair with some rice and steamed vegetables for the guys. Just like your dad’s game day lunch.

Music blasted in the house while you cooked. You set out individual meal prep containers that you hadn’t had the chance to use since you bought them. You portioned out a slice of salmon, rice mixed with quinoa, along with steamed broccoli and cauliflower to each container. It was close to noon, and you knew by the time you got to the arena, it would be perfect timing for lunch. 

You hadn’t told anyone that you were planning to stop by to drop off the food. The players were still on the ice when you entered the arena. You stopped to sit down a few rows behind the players’ bench while you waited for them to finish their drills. No one had noticed you yet, except for Coach Jensen.

His brows drew together as he tried to figure out if he recognized you. At first, he assumed you were a bunny trying to sneak into watching practice, but his eyes landed on what seemed to be a thermal food bag. 

“Definitely a girlfriend.” He thought to himself.

He saw how you watched the boys with trained eyes. It was as if he could see you mentally noting what some of them could work on. That piqued his interest. “Okay. Let’s head to lunch!” He called out to the players on the ice. “I thought I said no girlfriends during practice.” He threw in right after, causing you to snap your head in his direction and see him already looking back at you.

“I’m just dropping off lunch!” You sheepishly called out. You made your way down, and Garrett was quick on the ice to make it over to you. “Hey, bub.” You smiled, watching him take off his helmet. 

“That’s the missus, coach!” Logan hollered from across the ice. 

“Angel!” Dean’s voice boomed with the sound of his skates coming to a stop near you and Garrett. 

Tucker was the only one out of the four to catch what you told Coach Jensen. “I heard lunch?”

“I hope that’s for us too and not just, G!” Logan called out, making his way over.

“Missus?” Coach Jensen questioned to himself more than anyone in particular. 

“Is that the transfer from New York?”

“I want lunch, too.”

“She’s the one G was with when we saw him at Malone’s the other day.”

“I didn’t know bunnies made lunches.”

That was the chatter that was amongst some of the other players. 

Garrett tuned them out and honed his attention to just focus on you. “You didn’t have to bring lunch for me, Petal.”

“Great! Because I didn’t make it just for you.” Your voice was loud enough for Logan to hear, resulting in him whooping out a cheer. You brought the bag to your front and shook it ever so slightly at the four. “If your coach is okay with me bringing food to feed some of his players…” You trailed off, glancing back at Coach Jensen, who simply was amused by this whole interaction. Never in his life had he seen his star player/captain turn so soft in a matter of seconds, or give any girl the time of day on a game day. 

“Whatcha got to feed these hooligans?” He walked over. You opened the bag for him to take a peek in. He could see the stack of meals you prepared for the guys. His eyes spotted how you made sure to take into account protein and grains along with the vegetables. “Not too bad.”

“Approved?” you said hopefully. 

“Just make sure they get back to me after lunch is over.” He winked at you in approval before making his way to the locker room. 

“Give us a bit, Petal. We’re going to take off the gear, and we’ll come back out. Make yourself comfy on the bench.” Garrett pressed a kiss against your cheek before skating off the ice.

The other three saluted you as they passed by, following Garrett to the locker room. It didn’t take them long to find their way back to you. By the time they returned. They noticed the four containers neatly laid out with a fork sitting on top of each lid, with a napkin placed underneath it. 

Dean whistled out, “Angel, you’re my favorite.” He started to pass around a container, so each one of them had one. 

Tucker had been the first to open it and see what you made. “Smells delicious, Angel. Is that rice mixed with quinoa? Oh, you’re good.” He complimented, blowing you a kiss.

“Our savior,” Logan greeted you with a side hug and a kiss against the top of your head. Before grabbing a container of his own and taking a seat. “Oh, TIGS.”

“Dude, what does that even mean?” Dean questioned him. “This is good shit?”

“No. This is god sent.” 

“Thanks, baby,” Garrett murmured to you in appreciation. He had found his place at your side. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah, it’s dad’s game day lunch.” You two were sat pressed next to one another. Your eyes scanned over to the other guys. A satisfied smile wreathed your lips.

Dean closed his eyes, letting out a blissful sigh as he swallowed. “G, you’re evil for not introducing us to Angel sooner.” 

Tucker paused to chew, pointing his fork at the salmon. “This is delectable. Thank you, Angel.”

Logan mumbled, his mouth still half-full. “Angel, where were you the past three years on game days? This is so good.”

Garrett just laughed at the three’s antics. “And this is why you didn’t meet them until now.”

“We heard that,” Dean called out. 

“How are you guys feeling about tonight?” you asked them, shifting the conversation. 

“We got to make sure we win your first Briar hockey game,” Logan affirmed.

“Not her first Briar game,” Garrett corrected before taking another bite of the food. The remark made the other three pause mid-bite/chew. 

“She’s been to one before?” Logan raised a brow at him

“Angel, we could’ve known each other much sooner!” Dean yelped dramatically. 

“Not the first hockey game, but my first official home game,” you explained. 

“When did you see one?” Tucker asked you.

“I’ve been to a few,” you admitted. “My first one was Garrett’s first game playing because how could I ever miss that? Then I’ve been to a couple away games you guys had when it was close to New York. Most recently before the transfer, I went to Garrett’s first game as captain.”

“Hold on a minute,” Dean said. “You’ve been to all these games, and we never knew?”

“Never needed to bring it up,” Garrett shrugged.

“Wait, is that you got so weird at some of the away games? I always thought you were nervous or some shit,” Logan said in an epiphany. He snapped at Garrett’s direction, “I knew it was weird when you didn’t come out with us after.”

“Like that Clovers game! I just figured you were meeting up with a bunny–” Dean was cut off.

“No, I took Petal to dinner after the game.”

“Oh, that was the nice Italian place!” You recalled it in your memory. 

“We don’t get taken to dinners after games,” Logan scoffed playfully. 

“We’ll take you to dinner tonight, Angel,” Dean offered with a grin.

“Even better, I’ll cook you dinner, Angel.” Tucker winked. 

“Sorry, boys. Not tonight. Gare’s got the family coming in to see this game. I’m sure Gramps will want dinner together tonight.”

“Your family is coming tonight? Like actually? I thought that was just like a joke your dad was making.” Logan gaped. “And your grandfather wants dinner?”

“Not with you shitheads,” Garrett snickered. 

You smacked his arm lightly. “Be nice. They can come if they want to.”

“Family dinner with hockey royalty,” Dean said, a bit starstruck.

“G, how are you not shitting in your pants?” Tucker said, baffled.

“Her dad is okay with her living with us, right?” Logan brought up.

“More importantly, he knows that you guys are sharing a bed?” Dean added.

Garrett put down the now empty container. “Guys.”

“Yes, my dad is perfectly fine with my living situation. He knows that we’re together, and he trusts Garrett. Well, I think the entire family has had a bet going on since we were conceived.”

“Ma, definitely had one with Mom. You remember when we went to Vancouver for vacation?”

“That was what? When we were ten?”

“Yeah, Ma slid over twenty bucks to Mom during dinner when I was cutting your steak–”

“YOU GUYS ARE TOGETHER?” Dean yelled out the second it clicked in his head.

“Honestly, quicker than I expected,” Tucker claimed.

“Let’s not kid ourselves. They were always together.” Logan retorted.

You tore your eyes from Garrett’s and looked back at the guys. You felt heat flush your face, realizing what you casually said. “Yeah, we’re together.” You couldn’t help the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth. 

“Since when?” Tucker questioned.

“The day we brought back the blue blanket from the couch.”

“Oh, I love that blanket,” Logan noted. 

“I know, it’s so soft!” You happily clapped your hands together. 

“It’s really warm, too,” Logan added. 

“You didn’t tell us sooner?” Dean wondered.

Garrett kept his eyes on you. How you animatedly expressed your love of the blanket. The way your eyes lit up when you talked. “Honestly, just slipped my mind. I mean, it’s just so natural being with her.”

“You talking about little old me?” You playfully fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I love being with you, too, love.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, pulling away with a gentle smile. 

By the time warm-ups began, the arena was already loud. Student sections were filling with painted faces and homemade signs. Lots of 44 were seen around the arena. The pep band was halfway through the fight song.

Garrett tapped his stick against the boards before skating another lap, absently scanning the stands. He always looked. Even when there wasn’t anyone to find. 

But tonight was different. Halfway up behind the home bench sat you, your parents, and grandparents. Your dad had a custom Garrett 44 hat, with your mom sporting 44 on her cheek. You spotted him almost immediately and stood, waving both hands over your head. 

Garrett couldn’t help but smile. You were wearing his jersey. His actual jersey. Not one you’d buy from a gift shop. One he’d given you the second you started talking about wanting to plan your outfit. 

You gestured to your parents excitedly. Garrett came to a stop, and he scanned the seats next to you. His pause was noticed by Logan. He lifted his stick toward the stands. 

“What a night,” Logan looked over in its direction.

Dean nearly skated into Logan. “Man, what are you looking at?” Then he saw them too.

Tucker answered before anyone else. “That’s the family.” His eyes looked over two seats next to you, and rest assured, your grandfather sat there with the quiet confidence of someone who’d once stood behind an NHL bench for nearly twenty seasons. 

Dean examined your grandfather. He looked older now compared to clips from his coaching days. The former head coach of the New York Rangers. A living legend. Not to mention your father, who sat next to you. Dean looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “They came for him.”

Your grandfather looked down toward the ice. He spotted Garrett and raised one hand. Garrett’s smile widened even more. He lifted his glove and waved back. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Logan stared. 

You laughed from the stands and leaned over to say something to your dad. He smiled, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “ATTABOY, SON!” The words echoed faintly across the ice. Garrett let out a laugh, then tapped his stick twice against the glass in front of them.

The announcer interrupted, “Ladies and gentlemen.” Warm-ups were over.

The game was fast and physical. Two teams were fighting to lead the conference. By the end of the first period, it was tied one to one. 

Logan threw a huge hit that brought the crowd to its feet. Dean blocked a shot that probably should’ve gone in. Garrett had two chances and saved both. Every time he returned to the bench, his eyes drifted toward your section.

To the same five people who always cheered him on and like how they always would.

Late in the third period, it was still a tie game with only three minutes left. The arena buzzed with nervous energy. Coach Jensen leaned over the boards. “One more shift.”

Garrett nodded, and the puck dropped. Tucker won it clean, and it was back to Dean, then across Logan, who’d carried through center before slipping it wide. Garrett caught it in a stride. There was one defender. Garrett cut inside and the defender bit. Open lane. For the smallest fraction of a second, everything went quiet. He had snapped the puck. 

Top corner. Bar down. Ping. The sound rang through the arena. The red light exploded with the building erupting. Goal.

Students leapt to their feet, and the bench emptied over the boards. Logan tackled Garrett first. Dean nearly knocked both of them over. Tucker arrived a heartbeat later. The arena shook with applause. You were already screaming with both hands over your mouth and tears filling your eyes. 

Your dad was on his feet, clapping so hard that his palms had turned visibly red. Your grandfather stood beside him, grinning with unmistakable pride. The television camera caught them easily. “Hockey royalty celebrating that goal,” one commentator laughed. “Looks like they approve.”

The final horn sounded moments later. Briar Hawks won.

When Garrett stepped off the ice, an arena attendant waved him over. “They’re waiting.” He didn’t need to ask who. The family entrance hallway smelled faintly of popcorn and fresh ice.

The moment that Garret rounded the corner, “There he is!” you ran to him. He caught you before you even reached full speed, lifting you clean off the floor as you wrapped yourself around him. “I almost lost my voice!”

He laughed into your hair. “I heard.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss him. Like it belonged there with such ease. When you stepped aside, your dad opened his arms. “Come over here, son.” Garrett didn’t hesitate and hugged him tightly. 

“Good game, Pop.”

“You kidding?” Your dad squeezed his shoulder. “That release would’ve beaten me.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Garrett attempted to be modest. 

“I know,” your dad brushed Garrett’s hair back from his face. “But I mean it.”

Next came your mom. She cupped his face in both hands before pulling him into a hug. “You look exhausted.”

“I feel exhausted,” Garrett admitted.

“You eating enough?” Your mom tapped his cheek.

“Ma.”

“I asked a question.” She persisted.

“Yes, Ma.” Your grandfather stood, waiting with his hand tucked into his coat pocket. Garrett stopped in front of him. “Hey, Gramps.”

The older man looked over him for a long second and nodded, “I’m proud of you.” 

Garrett swallowed hard, “Thanks.”

“You earned that one.” The former coach clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Now stop standing around me and go stand next to Petal.” You immediately slid back to Garrett’s side. Your grandfather pointed between you two, “Took you long enough.”

Your mom laughed. “I was beginning to think I should’ve agreed to a betrothal that your mom and I talked about once.”

Your dad shrugged, “I would have given them another year.”

Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. “It was obvious?” Every member of the family stared at him. He sighed, “Never mind?”

“Hey!” Another familiar voice echoed down the hallway. Dean, Logan, and Tucker rounded the corner, still carrying pieces of their gear. They stopped the second they saw your family. Every single one of the three stood a little straighter. 

Dean whispered, “Oh my God.”

Logan elbowed him, “Be normal.”

“I’m trying,” Dean told him.

Tucker quietly failed to hide his awe.

You laughed, “You guys! Come over here!” You motioned them over. “This is Dean, Logan, and Tucker,” you introduced them to your family. The three hockey players suddenly looked like nervous freshmen again. 

Your father smiled first and shook each of their hands, “Good game, boys.”

Dean looked as though he might frame the handshake. “Sir, I watched your highlights growing up.” 

Your father laughed. “Now I feel old.”

“You are old,” Your grandfather commented. 

“I walked right into that one,” Your dad admitted. 

The former head Rangers coach shook hands with each of them too. “I like watching your line.” The three roommates collectively forgot how words worked. 

“Thank you, sir,” Logan managed. 

“That means a lot,” Tucker remarked.

Your grandfather smiled, “You boys play the game the right way.”

Dean quietly leaned toward Garrett and you, “I’m never washing this hand.”

Garrett snorted, and you laughed, leaning into his side, “I figured.”

Your mom looked around the group. “So, who’s hungry?” Every hand went up, and she laughed, “Perfect, go get changed and let’s head out.”

The players immediately obeyed. Garrett kissed the side of your head. “I’ll be back out.”

As the guys started walking together, Dean drifted beside Garrett. “So…”

“What?” Garrett glanced over at him. 

“They really are your family.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked back to the group waiting for them. At the people that had supported him through everything. Then looked back at the guys, the friends who had become brothers. Then back to you, watching as you shooed him to hurry along.

Finals week had reduced you to a concerning version of yourself. An intense, borderline doped up version of you that scared your roommates into hiding. 

At some point over the last ten days, you had consecutively survived almost exclusively on iced coffee and protein bars, cried in the library stairwell over a statistics quiz worth five percent of your grade, accidentally highlighted an entire textbook chapter because you stopped processing colour properly around three in the morning, and fallen asleep sitting upright against Logan’s shoulder while trying to explain some bullshit economic theory to him.

Which meant two things.

One: You were exhausted and so ready to finally dedicate more than ten minutes to washing your hair.

And two:

The entire hockey team had collectively decided about three days into you bear grylls level study marathon, that you would have to be, as they liked to call it, “reintroduced into society” the second said exams ended. 

Which was how you ended up tipsy for the first time in months, tucked against Logan’s side in the middle of some overcrowded off-campus party while music rattled the walls hard enough to make the floor vibrate beneath your shoes.

“You alive over there?” Logan asked, leaning closer so you could hear him properly.

You looked up from where your cheek was half pressed against his shoulder.

“Barely.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“You know,” you informed him seriously, “I think I deserve financial compensation for finals week.”

Logan snorted softly.

“I’ll let the university know.”

“You should.”

His hand stayed warm at your waist while people moved around you in loud, blurry motion. The house smelled faintly like cheap alcohol and somebody’s burnt pizza rolls, humid from too many people crammed into too small a space, but tucked into the corner of the couch beside Logan, everything felt strangely soft around the edges instead of overwhelming.

Mostly because he kept checking on you every five seconds. In a quintessential John Logan way, that made you feel unreasonably fuzzy inside.

Especially when he remembered how much water you’d had, quietly traded your vodka mixer for a weaker one halfway through the night without making a thing of it, and kept rubbing his thumb against your hip absentmindedly every time he noticed your eyes drifting shut.

“You tired?” he asked eventually.

“A little.”

“You wanna head back?”

You considered it seriously for approximately half a second before nodding.

“Can we order cheesy fries on the way home?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“How coherent you are right now.”

You gasped softly. “I’m incredibly coherent.”

“You tried to unlock the bathroom with your student ID .”

“That was one time.”

“It was four times.”

You laughed hard enough your forehead dropped briefly against his shoulder, and Logan’s mouth twitched immediately at the sound.

By the time Logan was steering you carefully out of the crowded basement party with one warm hand settled at your lower back, your brain felt pleasantly untangled for the first time in weeks, limbs loose and warm beneath your coat while cold night air hit your cheeks hard enough to make you laugh.

The walk back to the hockey house wasn’t far, cold night air cutting through the leftover warmth of the party enough to sober you steadily with every block. Logan kept his arm around your shoulders the entire time anyway, occasionally glancing down at you like he was recalculating your risk assessment every few minutes.

“You good?” he asked immediately, glancing down at you as you stumbled slightly against him on the sidewalk.

You grinned up at him.

“Perfect.”

“That sounded ominous.”

“It’s because I’m whimsical now.”

“You’re tipsy.”

“I’m whimsical and tipsy.”

“Mm.”

“And for the record,” you continued, poking lightly at his chest through his sweatshirt, “you also drank.”

“I had like two beers over four hours.”

“So you admit it.”

“I admit nothing.”

Logan tightened his arm around you automatically when you leaned more of your weight into him. The walk back blurred pleasantly around the edges, campus quieter now except for distant music and occasional bursts of laughter drifting from frat houses further down the street.

By the time the hockey house came into view, your head felt clearer than it had left the party, comfortably warm instead of blurry, thoughts slower around the edges but still fully there.

Your heels clicked unevenly against the pavement.

Logan slowed instinctively to match you, that stupid fond warmth settled in your chest again.

You stared at him for a second too long.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re very large.”

His eyebrows lifted immediately.

“…Thank you?”

“No like,” you continued seriously, squeezing his bicep, “you’re just kind of everywhere.”

He tapped your nose, “That’s usually how being six foot two works babe.”

“Crazy.”

The house itself was quieter than expected when you stepped inside, only faint light spilling from the kitchen and distant noise from somewhere upstairs, but most of the team had either passed out already or vanished with hookups hours ago. The bitterness of the alcohol had already started to fade, leaving a sweet taste in its wake. You weren’t dizzy anymore, just floaty in that magical post-party way that made everything feel so comforting.

“Miracle,” Logan muttered while gripping your wrist. Watching you carefully as you undid the straps of your heels while leaning on his shoulder for stability, “Nobody’s screaming.”

“Garrett’s probably dead.”

“One can hope.”

You laughed softly. Nudging your shoes, if they could be called that, into a semi-convenient space next to the door, but shrugged once they got stuck in the tangle of a thousand sports trainers.

You stayed over enough that nobody even questioned it anymore.

There were hair ties in Logan’s bathroom drawer. A skincare bottle next to his sink. Dean had once walked into the kitchen at eight in the morning, seen you wearing Logan’s shirt while making coffee, and simply said,

“Oh thank god, you live here now. Maybe you’ll stop him eating dry cereal for dinner.”

You’d stayed over enough times by now that his room already half-felt like yours anyway. 

Logan guided you up the stairs and into his room, the quiet settled differently when the door clicked closed, the comforting kind of silence that greets you after a weeks long holiday away from home.

He tossed his keys onto the desk before turning toward you immediately.

“You need water.”

“You sound like my doctor.”

“You’ll thank me tomorrow morning.” 

You smiled slightly while he crossed the room, “You’re really pretty tonight,” you murmur.

Logan laughs softly under his breath while digging through his dresser for one of his shirts to replace the dress you had on currently.

“Tonight specifically?”

“Mhm.”

“Good to know.”

“No, like-” your voice catches slightly around another laugh as you crawl onto the mattress behind him and grab one of his pillows, you bury into the clean scented cotton and angle your face towards him, moreso speaking to his back. “I mean it.”

He turns then, still holding the shirt loosely in one hand.

And something about the way you’re looking at him makes his expression shift. He had tugged his sweatshirt off sometime upstairs, leaving him in a dark grey t-shirt that stretched distractingly across his shoulders, curls messy from the cold outside air, cheeks still faintly flushed from alcohol and laughter.

Your chest squeezed unexpectedly.

“What?” he asked immediately.

“You’re just.. so pretty.” You breathe out, a tangled mix of a gasp and sigh, pushing yourself up slowly, hair messy and strewn across your face.

The corner of his mouth lifted automatically.

“Yeah?”

You crawled to the edge of the bed closest to him. “Like… genuinely.”

You could practically see the exact moment he realised you weren’t teasing him.

“You’re pretty all the time,” you continued quietly, reaching out toward him- fingertips outstretched and ghosting over the belt loop of his jeans. “I just don’t think I say it enough.”

He steps between your knees where you’re sitting, shirt still hanging forgotten from one hand while your palms slide slowly up his thighs.

“Pretty hands,” you whisper, mainly to yourself, tracing the calluses on his palm and the soft cuticles of his nails. You travel higher to his forearms, beckoning him to bend closer towards you- his knee coming up onto the comforter. Logan watches, his eyes still playful and face flushed.

“Pretty arms,” fingertips tracing over the veins in his forearms before guiding his large palms to lay flat on your hips, he exhales heavily, a crack in his breath punctuating the shift in his gaze from loving to lustfully curious. 

“Baby,” he said softly, “How tipsy are you right now?”

You looked up at him properly, “Enough to say this,” then smiled slightly, “But not enough to not mean it.”

You watched his throat move when he swallowed, eyes flicking down to your parted lips.

“Promise?” he asked quietly.

You nodded immediately.

“Promise.”

The tension in his shoulders eased after that.

And then you touched his face again.

“Pretty eyes,” you murmured softly, fingertips barely grazing the edge of his lashes in a way that makes his breath stall for half a second before he steadies it again.

“Pretty cheeks.”

Your hand cups his face now properly, softer than your words sound, thumb resting near his jaw like you’re holding him still just to admire. Your fingers graze his stubble and you itch to rub your face against his, like a cat, arching for attention.

He exhales again, slower this time, eyes fixed on yours- watching as your mind filters through every possibility, a dark, dirty loop. 

You can feel the shift before anything else changes - the room, the air, the space between you narrowing without either of you daring to move away, too transfixed on your next move. 

“And pretty hair.” You almost moan out, the memories of how you’d bury your hands in his hair and tug and scratch appreciatively in response to his actions. 

Your fingers slid into his curls, nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered quietly

You bit your lip, teasing it between your teeth to hide the way your mouth watered at the blush that stained his cheeks. 

“Are you done?” he asks, somehow leaning even closer to you whilst not brushing his lips against yours. You almost snicker at the wrecked expression he has, but instead you let out a shaky breath when he uses his thumb to pry your bottom lip out from the grips of your teeth. 

“No,” you say immediately, you gulp thickly and continue your appreciation, “m'taking my time baby.” 

A shiver travels down your spine when his fingers move, dangerously slow to the hem of your dress that is already so far up your thighs that you aren’t sure there's a point in still having it on. But you lose most of your coherent thought train when his fingertips breach below the tight sequined fabric. 

You quickly stand, twist Logan into your space and push him down on the bed. He wipes a hand down his face and lets out a growl from the bottom of his throat, eyes raking up your debauched appearance,

“Is this how you feel when I manhandle you?” 

“Little bit, but you normally do that after I’ve come twice, so I’m not complaining." 

You take one of his wrists and pull him up so you can climb into his lap, knees settling carefully on either side of his thighs while Logan looks up at you like he couldn’t decide whether he’s overwhelmed or completely gone already.

Probably both.

“You know what your problem is?” you asked softly, wrapping his arms around you as you shuffle further up against him.

“What?”

“You don’t realise how hot you are.”

That finally got a real laugh out of him, breathless around the edges.

“Baby, I play hockey. Unfortunately that’s like ninety percent of my personality.”

“No,” you insisted, leaning closer. “I mean it.”

Your fingers drifted down his throat slowly, tracing the shape of his Adam's apple, before you brush your mouth against his jaw, he groaned at your featherlight touch, eyes screwed shut and control fraying at the edges.

“You’re stupidly pretty.”

Logan’s hands flexed harder against your waist, fingers digging into the swell of your hips.

“You cannot say shit like that and then not kiss me,” he muttered.

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to behave.” That made you scoff out a chuckle against the corner of his lips.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice serious as he holds your face in his hands, prying you away from his neck, “You’re not tipsy right now, right?”

You pull away and look at him carefully for a second, eyes softening as he studies your face. 

“Positive,” The hand that you had resting on his neck comes up to spread against his jaw, guiding his gaze to focus on yours, “I'm completely sober right now.” 

Logan’s silent for what seems like hours, watching, analysing you. How your once slightly tangy breath is now coming out in fresh puffs against his nose and the tipsy giddiness in your eyes is replaced with something calmer. 

“Okay.” He finally whispers, threading his fingers into your hair and pressing your forehead against his.

“I love you,” You whisper, giggling when he scoffs and kisses your cheek, “Where was I?”

He lets out a small breath when his hands finally slide up your back properly, warm palms flattening on your ass while he tips his head back to let you kiss along his throat. 

You grip the bottom of his shirt, “Can I take this off?” 

Logan nods, moving back so he can remove it in one fluid tug. You lean into his hands when they return to your back, pushing your weight into him so you can take in his bare skin, the healed over hockey scars and bruises hidden in the shadows of the room, the dips and slants of his muscles contracting which each deep breath- clearly visible in the glow of his lamp. 

“Really pretty shoulders,” You grip the thick muscle in question, nails digging in slightly as you grind down experimentally, “And chest, god, I really hit the jackpot here.”

You ignore the flustered heat radiating off of him and begin to kiss down his neck, wet open mouth kisses that leave glistening stamps on his tanned skin. They make a path of their own, winding around his throat and down to his clavicle, where you begin to lose composure, sucking and biting the skin, whimpers bleeding out in between each new lovebite; they continue to twist onto his chest, spiralling each pec until you can’t comfortably continue. That’s when you push him down and adjust his hands on your body, pulling up your dress to your waist so he can grip you harder. 

“Are you still behaving?” you whispered, punctuating the question with a bite to his abs. 

“Barely.”

You smile against his stomach, your lips meeting the line of brown hair that starts as a splattering at his abdomen. 

Logan swallowed hard from above you, one arm resting on his forehead- his hand balled into a loose fist, the other rested on your head, lightly scratching your scalp, fingers buried into your hair. 

His thighs flex beneath you and you sit up once again, “And your thighs baby, you have such pretty thighs”. You grind against the prominent bulge in his jeans, “So strong too.” You press your palms behind into his legs, arching your back into his chest as he sat up once more. 

“Baby-” He gasped, “You can’t just- shit” You ripped off your dress, or whatever rolled up and wrinkled version you had on, “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“But it's true Logan.” You let him pull down the cups of your bra, mouthing messily at your breasts as he slowly guides your hips against him. 

At this point, Logan’s lips were swollen and spit-slick from biting them and wetting them with his tongue. They were warm against your nipples, teeth a dull ache against the hardening buds as he rolled them, alternating between gentle kisses and tugs with his fingers to sharp sucks and pinches. 

You moan out loudly, pulling at his hair as your hips begin to quicken. Your hands shake from the pleasure coursing through your entire body, but your grip on his jaw is steady as you kiss him. Mouth engulfing him in an open mouth kiss, tongue plunging into his mouth slowly, he matches your desire, his own tongue tangling with yours, hot puffs of air bursting from each millisecond you take to breathe. 

Logan made this sound low in his throat that went straight through you, and suddenly you wanted more of it.

Your fingers tightened in his curls.

His grip on your waist sharpened.

The room felt warmer now, heavier somehow, every breath pulling slower than before while his mouth moved against yours with growing urgency.

“Baby,” he breathed quietly when you shifted in his lap without thinking.

“Your’e so pretty baby,” you whimpered softly before you could stop yourself, a mix of your saliva dripping from your lips.

Logan exhaled sharply against your mouth.

“fuck,” he panted, “What has gotten into you”

You shrug, thighs burning as he picks up the pace of the messy grinds against you, hands digging into your waist, “Just wanna appreciate my beautiful boyfriend, hah, my hot,” You kiss his neck and roughly thrust your hips, “sexy,” You switch sides, “amazing boyfriend.” 

His head tips back as he laughs.

“Jesus Christ.”

His mouth crashed back into yours harder this time, one hand diving into your underwear to press your clit whilst the other ran his nails up your spine, fingertips pressing into soft skin hard enough to make your breath catch.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered roughly against your mouth, “You’re so fucki-”

You kissed him again before he could finish the sentence, desperate to feel his lips against yours, to feel his tongue slip into your mouth and invade your taste buds. 

Your fingers gripped his neck, digging into the sensitive skin as you whimpered, “I forgot,” You lifted up suddenly, looking down to where your bodies were feverishly rubbing, his fingers still teasing your folds and rolling your clit beneath his thumb, “Your cock,” the lewd words were breathed against his ear, as your briefly slowed to press your fingers against the spot where his dick seemed to be straining against the zipper of his jeans, you were met with a damp patch, fingertips tracing the exact area, feeling it out since the darkness of the room wasn’t helpful in identifying just how badly he wanted you, “Your cock is so pretty baby.” 

Logan shuddered against you and you gasp coyly, “yeah? I knew you had a praise kink. You are really liking this.” 

You begin rolling your hips once more, this time directly on the mound that is throbbing against your cunt, warmth radiating through your ruined panties. Logan kisses you and smiles against your mouth, “Good thing I know just what you like,”

His fingers shifted, two digits now circling your hole, in response you arch your chest into him, “So pretty baby.” He snickers against your chest, slowly entering you, mouth parting in parallel with yours whilst a broken moan escapes your throat as he curls his fingers messily. 

The irony isn’t lost on you, his cheeky smile makes you slow your hips, rocking deeply instead of short and snappy movements- languidly drawing out low moans from your boyfriend, who is heavily groaning into your parted mouth. 

Both of you breathing into one another, wetness slipping down from your tongues into a messy, filthy mix against your chins. 

His eyes roll back, as do yours when you find the perfect angle at which his fingers can firmly plunge against the spongy place inside of you whilst you catch the tip of his bulge with each slow rock. 

You know he’s about to cum when short, barely audible whimpers leave his lips, his dark eyebrows pulled together in concentration as his mouth puckers to a shaky pout,

“You gonna cum baby?” You tease the coils of hair at the nape of his neck and watch him bite his lip hard, glancing down to where his hand disappears beneath the waistband of your panties, his fingers mutilating the soft lace in an obscene way. 

Logan shook his head sharply, “Need- fuck- need you to cum first.” His other hand that had been kneading your ass, now went to your waist, guiding your hips in tandem with his fingers that now grinded into you, the heel of his palm pressing into your pubic hair with enough pressure to make your body jerk.

“Oh,” you bit into his shoulder, teeth digging into the muscle, surely going to leave a mark, “I will, Logan, i’m cumming, fuck oh my god.”

The way you moan his name made his hips buck and chest seize up, stuttering whilst you felt the denim beneath you warm considerably. You cup his face, thumb just below his bottom lip as you kiss him slowly, perversely, all slow strokes of your tongue and drool smacking against both of your teeth.

When Logan is able to control his body once again, he kisses you back, his fingers that never stopped, only slowed- picked up the pace. Making you jump, and gasp, “Logan,” you babble out obscenities:

“Yes, fuck right there, please dont stop.”

“So good, baby- need it so bad.”

His chest heaves when you do break around his digits, spasming wildly as wetness coats his knuckles and dribbles down into his palm, he croons at your blissed out expression, face glowing with sweat. He pushes your hips back slightly to pull out his hand, an empty feeling replacing them but soon it disappears when you watch him through hooded eyes, lips parting to welcome his glistening fingers into his mouth. 

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

He’d been with many girls before you, yes. What you and he are doing—at least, some of it—he had done it before. You knew it, having to be one of the witnesses of some of those sexcapades he did in the past. However, that’s never been an issue between you two. Sex with you is something that Logan has never experienced before. But no, it’s not some, “You’re different from other girls” kind of bullshit. It’s the feeling that was different.

You see, the girls he had been with? It was always rushed, short-lived. It was only for the sake of sleeping together. But with you? You build up the moment, but still make sure not to waste time. You make him feel hot and excited, but give him what he wants to balance it out. You let him do what he wants, but signals him when to stop. You make him crave for you, crave for it. And when you especially know when he needs it? You give it to him, no questions asked.

And Logan would always savor the moment when you just unfold your legs for him, when you let him lap at your center like a starved man, and when you encourage him to keep going; even stretching your legs further so he could have more space.

Logan loves your pussy, and he loves every single second of being down on you and if he could live between your legs, he would.

There’s something so addicting about having them wrapped around his head, or when you spread it for him so he could bite on your inner thighs, or the way it almost suffocates him when you’re on top of him, riding his face while he busies himself admiring the swell of your breasts; the way they move when you jerk forward because his tongue hits a certain spot, or the way your chest falls up and down so you can get enough oxygen in your lungs, or when your nipples hardened he just had to let go one of your legs so he could play with them.

Yet he loves it more when you tugs at his curls, moaning for him. The sound you make going straight to his cock, thrusting on the bed or in the air depending on where you got him eating you out. He loves the look on your face—how your mouth forms an o-shape when he sucks at your sensitive nub or when you cover it to muffle the sounds because his friends are sleeping, how your eyes glaze when you’re near, how your lips turn swollen from too much biting, and how your head falls backwards to reveal your neck, thinking about biting the flesh once he’s fucking you.

Logan swore he could cum by just eating you out, but looking at you enjoying yourself? That’s another thing he needs to control. He could combust with a single, “Making me feel so good, Johnny.” but he’d do his best to restrain himself. He’d only allow himself to finish once you do because for him, it’s you before everything else. There were times that even after making you cum three times, he’d hold it in because that won’t be enough. He’d wait for you to say, “Please, let me feel you. I want it.”, that he’d permit himself to let go and you’d be so full of him. Then, he would look at your face only to see you smiling at him, so lost in the pleasure and so fucking beautiful, and he’d take pride knowing he’s the one who made you feel that way—and he feels like cumming again, his cock hardening inside you once more.

He thought that would be it, nothing else could make him feel like he’s doing it for the first time aside from eating you out and you, looking so pretty for him. But boy, was he wrong.

It happened for the first time when Logan felt a little more beaten up after practice. Completely drained and exhausted from all the physical and mental challenges hockey takes from him. You knew the moment he slumped beside you on his head, dropping his gym bag on the side, that he’s spent.

“Hey, gorgeous. I missed you.” Logan’s hands automatically searched for your waist as his head hits your lap, his hair still damp from the shower. He relaxes the moment your hands massage at his scalp, down to the back of his neck, and to his shoulder blades. His usual protective guard is down and at that moment, under your gaze, he’s just a guy who needs comfort.

Your boyfriend needs comfort.

“I missed you too, baby. How are you?” Logan lifted his head a bit, his eyes cast downward, his body barely holding his weight, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled at you before seeking your warmth again. You bit your lip and maybe, seeing him like that—sore, tired, worn out—is what triggered your desire to take care of him. He spends so much energy in hockey, in studying, in the garage, in everything that he does, including looking out for you without being asked that seeing him vulnerable makes you want to put him first. So an idea popped in your mind.

“Hey, come on, lay down properly.” Logan obliged, rather slowly. You were standing at the foot of the bed, supporting his movements. Once he’s comfortable, you start removing his clothes. He didn’t think much of it at first, he always sleeps with only his boxers on and you learned about it early on in your relationship. It even got to a point that you were the one undressing him and you’d cuddle under his covers.

However, Logan felt your hands caressing his legs as you crawled on top of him. Your fingers tugged down at his boxers until it reached just above his knees, but before you could take it off, Logan caught your hand, crease forming between his brows. He understands immediately what you were trying to do, and it’s not that he doesn’t want it. He’s just not sure if he could do any action tonight and he will never forgive himself if he allows it to happen only for you to not to feel good.

“Thank you, gorgeous, but I don’t think I can do—”

“Who said you’re doing anything?” You raised one eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips curving into a tempting smile that had Logan heaving a deep breath. He knew it’s happening, you looked so good and while the rest of his body is tired, his cock sure isn’t as it slowly grows hard between his thighs, directly under you. “Just lay down for me, John, okay? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve to be rewarded for it.”

And nothing ever prepared him for what happened next.

Logan never presented the idea of blowjob, nor you brought it up yourself. In the entirety of your relationship, you never went down for him. You never put his length in your mouth, you never gagged at the feeling of him hitting your throat, and you never knew what it was like to look up at him over your lashes. But just because it never happened, doesn’t mean you never wonder what it would be like.

It’s not like you never gave head before. You have a fair share of experience yourself like Logan, but you keep on wondering if it would feel like the way it made him feel. He told you about it, how going down on you made him feel like an entirely different person. That the way your pussy feels against his mouth was nothing like he ever felt before. That if your legs suffocate him and he dies accidentally, he’d still thank you for it.

You knew it wasn’t about the experience, you knew it was the feeling. Because you trust him, you allow yourself to be vulnerable and comfortable with him that the intimacy instantly feels different. So, you took advantage of the moment to test it out yourself.

“Are you sure about this? You know you don’t have to, right? We can just—”

But Logan’s head dropped back down on his pillow when he felt your hands around him, pumping him slowly, getting him to completely relax for you. A heavy and ragged sigh escaped his lips at the feeling, his broad shoulders sinking into the mattress, shutting his eyes close to regain some control. And he thought that he’s doing a great job at it, he’s getting used to the feeling of the slow movements of your hands that he willed himself to open his eyes.

“Fuck, that feels good, gorgeous.” He rasped, voice thick and rough at your ministrations. The exhaustion of the day leaving his body. The tension, the expectations, the brutality of the world outside his room fading behind him as he let you take care of him. His hands gripped at his bed, not wanting to pressure you to take anything further by putting them on your head.

You shifted your weight, finding a more comfortable place between his thighs. And then you see it before you feel it; the intimacy did feel different.

You saw how Logan does his best to keep his hands to himself, you feel how he tries not to thrust upwards in your hands, you feel from the way he remains so compliant with your touch that he’s not rushing you, and you saw how his eyes glint with encouragement to do whatever you want next—continue or stop, entirely up to you.

The moment was slow and heavy with trust. And that did something to you, probably the way it did something to Logan.

It made you feel good, confident, trusted, and loved.

When Logan felt your movements have slowed, he peeked at you to see that you got this dazed look on your face. He was about to reassure you that it’s okay to stop when you looked down at his dick and leaned forward, replacing your hands with the warmth of your lips. Logan choked on his breath, the words caught in his throat as he felt his self control leaving his body as he completely surrendered to you.

Logan’s entire body went still for a second, a low, guttural moan vibrated in his chest before he forced himself to relax again. His fingers gripped at the sheets again, tighter this time as his knuckles turned white. You saw this from the corner of your eyes and tapped at his thighs, reaching for one of his hands and guided it above your head. He had to fight every instinct to take over because of the action, but he reminded himself that tonight, this is what you want.

You moved over him, finding your rhythm as your eyes flicked up to look at him. His head was still thrown back, buried in his pillow, exposing his adam’s apple. His sweat glistened on his collarbone and you moaned at the sight, he looked completely undone and ruined by your touch. And the same feeling came back.

Looking at Logan, completely at your mercy and stripped of his usual protective and strong stance made you clench your thighs together. You continue pumping at his length while switching between sucking and lapping at the head, his tip leaking pre-cum. Logan’s grip on your head tightened and it should hurt, but you just took him further inside your mouth. You gagged slightly, the sound causing him to massage your jaw, motioning for you to breathe through your nose as he guided your head to stay in place.

“That’s it, gorgeous, don’t forget to breathe.” You understood what he said, you knew when to stop if it gets too much for you, but your mind started to jumble. Because how could he be so sweet and caring yet so filthy at the same time? When you felt your lungs needing some air, you pulled back, a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. And Logan was about to throw a praise when you lick from his base before taking him whole again.

“Fuck me—slow down, gorgeous. You’re killing me.”

It feels too good; the thickness in your mouth, the taste of his pre-cum oozing out directly on your tongue, the control he’s trying to gain, the way he grips at your head and caresses your cheeks just to feel himself bulging from it. Everything feels too good and without meaning to, a stray tear spilled over your lashes, tracking down your cheek and landing softly on his thighs. Logan snapped up immediately at the unwelcomed feeling, only to see you crying. The immense pleasure brought by your mouth dissipates in the air as he scrambles to seat. 

“Woah, woah, hey, talk to me.” He whispered, afraid that if he went a little louder, you'd cry even more. He wanted to move to your side, but for some reason, your hand is still wrapped around his length and you’re still between his legs. Logan tried his best to meet you eye-to-eye with the position, his hands gently cupping your face, his thumbs wiping away the dampness on your skin. “Sweetheart, please, talk to me. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it something I did? Was I too much?”

You only shook your head at him and Logan had to stop the sigh that wanted to escape his lips when he felt your hand gripped him, and instead focused on making sure that you’re okay. “Hey, it’s alright, we can stop now, hmm? It’s alright, I got you.”

But then you opened your mouth and Logan cursed at himself because maybe he heard it wrong, maybe he heard you wrong. There’s no way you’re crying because of that, right? His girlfriend, who is usually composed, independent, strong-willed, and doesn’t take shit from others, is crying.

All because of his dick.

He studied your face, your eyes that were blown out with lust, your lips hanging open in anticipation, your brows creased together awaiting his response. But above everything, he saw honesty and trust and it dawned on him that he didn’t hear it wrong. Logan heard you correctly.

“I don’t want to stop. I want your cock.”

Because that’s what you really said and you didn’t plan on taking it back.

Not when Logan’s eyes darkened with want as he held your face so softly, waiting for you to take your words back. Not when the words made you shudder when it left your lips, not when it caused you to rub your thighs together, not when your eyes basically watered again at the thought of it in your mouth, in your hands, in your pussy. Not when you’re pushing Logan back on the bed to hover above him, so sure of yourself, repeating the words.

“I love your cock, Johnny.”

Logan doesn’t know what to do. You are equally as obsessed as he was and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He never cried when he’s down on his knees, trapped between your legs, but he sure felt like it every single time. You make him addicted, you make him starve and crave, and you make him mad about it. And seeing you, like a reflection of himself, enjoying yourself, destroys him in a delicious way.

You spent the rest of the night sobbing at the feeling of his length in your mouth and Logan lives for it. He’d smile at you, comfort you, and praise you for it while anchoring himself to keep it together.

“Fuck, gorgeous, you take me so well.”

“You love it? Say it again, come on.”

And between his praises and the fullness of him inside your mouth, you’d look up at him just to ask, “It’s my dick now too, right?”

And Logan had to physically stop himself from pulling you back down his length, his grin widening with mischief and his eyes twinkle with something you’ve never seen before. Without breaking eye contact, his thumbs traced your lips before sliding it inside, your tongue automatically swirling around it as you await for his answer.

“So fucking right, gorgeous, it is.”

The night ended with both of you tangled in his sheets, satisfaction and pride swimming in your system. You were safely tucked beside him after your unexpected discovery, Logan peppering your head with kisses. And he thought, that was it. What he didn’t know was that behind your peaceful form, you discovered another thing.

You love Logan when he respects you in bed. But you love it more when he gets filthy.

He was on his way back to the hockey house when it happened the second time. He just bid goodbye to a classmate when his phone buzzed in his jeans. It was a message from you. An entirely unhinged message from you.

“I need it, please.”

Logan drove so fast back to the house and when he opened the door of his room, there you were, dressed in his jersey. But it didn’t take long for both of you to get undressed. The moment escalated so quickly as you dropped to your knees in front of him, tugging at his pants.

“Take it out, baby.”

And Logan never complied so fast in his life. Not even when Coach Jensen told him to do better with his moves, to skate faster. But you got him on chokehold with just your words and the next second, you were taking him in your mouth, the dirtiest words escaping his lips.

“You want it so bad, yeah? You missed it?”

“So pretty like this. Keep going. Come on, you got it.”

“Open your mouth wider, gorgeous. I thought you said you wanted it?”

And you’re equally as bad as him. The words you thought that you’ll never say are encouraged out of you because of Logan, and the way he looks at you with so much adoration and pride.

“This is only mine, right? It’s mine.”

“It feels so good in my mouth, Johnny, I don’t want to stop.”

“Yes, I wanted it. I can take it. Please.”

Logan thought—once again and he’s wrong—that would be it. But you’re sneaking into the shower room when you know he’s the only one using it and would join him. Saying how you could not wait any longer and you’d end up spending an extra hour in the showers because both of you couldn’t get enough of each other.

Or at Beau’s party, when he looks too good drinking with his friends and he’d throw teasing glances your way and he’d take it far by sending you a message, mentioning how one of the rooms was his for the night and he’d be waiting for you. Both of you would end up making out and eventually, him on top of you. He fucks you like he’s never done before, but you’re crying for it and he’d be damned if he doesn’t make it worthwhile.

And Logan is fucking sick. Because he couldn’t take the image of you crying for him, for his dick. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if you’re thinking about it too, because he does. In the middle of the class, during practice, while showering. Any chance that he could get, he’ll think about it. During those times, he’d shoot you messages.

“Can’t stop thinking about you, gorgeous.”

“Bet you’re soaking wet for me right now.”

“So fucking hard for you, gorgeous. Is your class over?”

He’d smile so hard because your replies matched his energy, it matched his freak. He’d go over them, read them over and over again just to make sure that he’s reading it right.

“I dreamed of you fucking me and I want it now.”

“Can I come over before practice? I’ll just suck a little.”

“Do you think we can get a replica of your dick? Just for study purposes.”

Both of you are so obsessed with each other that even your friends noticed it right away. The changes in your relationship that weren’t there in the beginning, the stolen glances, the mischief behind the smiles, the sneaking in the middle of a conversation. When you and Logan disappear at the same time, they'll understand what’s happening quickly. When they catch one of you smiling at your phone, they know that you’re exchanging unhinged messages yet again.

But underneath all that—the sole reason why both of you are crazy about the sex, about each other—was the foundation you built together over time; the trust, the intimacy, the care, the love, and the understanding where the pleasure should end and begin. The respect you put into the relationship and the boundaries you’ve set, the communication between what you can cross and not.

So, yes, Logan is sick, but at least you cure him and he does the same to you—in more ways than one.

"What are you so happy about?" you chided. You were at the bottom of the staircase, two solo cups with something strong, one in each hand.

Logan pressed a hand to his chest in mock surprise. "Offering me a drink? What's the occasion?" He gasped, hand to chest. "Did someone die?"

You fixed him with a flat look. "In your dreams, hockey boy." You shoved the cup at him hard enough that some of it sloshed over the rim. He accepted it and leaned against the wall as he took a sip.

"Tucker asked me to give it to you. I'm just the messenger. Don't read into it."

"Sure," he took another sip, eyebrows furrowed in serious thought. "You know, you could've just asked Tucker to fuck off and bring it himself?"

"I could've," you agreed. "But then I wouldn't have gotten to watch you be wrong about something, and that's basically my, like, favourite hobby."

He tilted his head. "Funny. I thought your favourite hobby was pretending you don't stare at me at games."

You laughed incredulously. "You are so full of yourself."

"Right." He pushed off the wall and fell into step beside you, completely uninvited, because that was just what Logan did. Took up space like he was entitled to it. And as much as you pretended to be annoyed, you really, really weren't.

"And it has nothing to do with the fact that I look incredible in gear."

You turned to look at him slowly. "You are genuinely insufferable, you know that?"

Slowly, the crowd trickled down, shoulders slumped, and eyes started to droop. By 2 am, most people were passed out from exhaustion, alcohol, or both.

Logan finally headed up to his room, feeling accomplished that he got to have it all for himself. He changed out of his denims and into some comfortable sweatpants. His shirt was almost fully off when his door opened.

"Hey, mind if I— Oh shit." You slapped a hand over your eyes.

"What the fuck," Logan said, less a question and more a general statement of grievance at the universe. He yanked his henley down over his head and turned around. "Why are you in my room?"

"Garrett said I could crash here." You lowered your hand cautiously, confirming the situation was PG again.

"Crash here." He stared at you. "In my room."

"In your room," you confirmed, like it wasn't your ideal choice of a sleepover either.

"Garrett." He said the name the way someone might say black mould or tax audit. "I'm going to kill him."

"Incredibly valid," you said. "But maybe after? Because I genuinely have nowhere else to go."

He crossed his arms. The henley was dark green and soft-looking and you were absolutely not noticing that. "Garrett's room."

"Hannah's there."

"Right. Dean's?"

"Allie's in there, and I am not mentally strong enough to know what's going on behind that door." He just sighed.

"What about Tucker?"

You gave him a look. "There are five people in that room. I counted. Someone's sleeping in the bathtub, Logan, I am not going in there."

He considered his options, staring at the ceiling.

"And before you ask, both couches are occupied." You leaned against the doorframe and hated that you were about to do this. "Dude, I will sleep on the floor. I'm not even asking for the bed. Just— floor space. And a tiny little pillow."

Logan gave you a once-over as he considered.

You were still in your party clothes— some soft-looking sweater that had ridden up on one side where it'd gotten caught on your hip, dark jeans that were probably uncomfortable as hell at this point. Your hair was a mess, with strands falling around your face. You had that specific kind of tired that came from too much socialising and not enough sleep, your eyes a little glazed, your shoulders curved inward like you were trying to make yourself smaller.

You looked exhausted, vulnerable in a way he had never seen you before. You dragged your sweater down by the hem, suddenly self-conscious.

Something in his chest did something he didn't like.

"Do you have anything to change into?" he caught you off guard. Wow, okay. He did not have to do that. His back was already turned to you as he started rummaging through his closet.

"Oh? Um, no, no, I don't."

After about a minute, he threw a t-shirt and some pants in your direction. "Here."

You caught with the grace of a drunk person at 2 AM, trying to prove they had hand-eye coordination. Immediately after you caught it, he turned around, facing the wall. You stood there for a moment holding his clothes.

They smelled like him. Something clean and warm and distinctly so Logan that made the whole thing feel somehow you'd never felt before. You tugged your sweater over her head and stepped out of your jeans, suddenly very aware that he was maybe five feet away and actively not looking, which somehow made it feel more intimate than if he had been.

"Done," you said, after a couple of minutes, and your voice came out quieter than you meant.

Logan turned around slowly, like he was giving you time to object or change your mind. His eyes did this thing where they swept over you. He took in the sight in front of him. You, in what he'd never admit was his favourite t-shirt that he owned, standing in front of him, looking up at him, all tired and soft like you belonged there, in his room, in his clothes.

His jaw tightened.

"You're not sleeping on the floor," he said, and it came out rougher than he meant because he was already annoyed at himself for caring. He pulled back the covers on the side closer to the wall and nodded at it with all the warmth of a government official. "Take the bed."

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"Also, the bed." He said it flatly, daring you to make it weird. "It's a queen. We're adults. Stay on your side, and we'll both survive the night."

"Yes, sir," you said, with as much dignity as someone could muster while wearing someone else's sweatpants. He looked at you as if he were studying you, which wasn't doing you any favours.

You wanted to argue. You really did. But the bed looked soft and inviting, and you were so tired, and his clothes were warm, and some part of you, the part you that you would vehemently deny existed if anyone asked, didn't actually hate the idea of him being there.

"I know I'm in your bed and all, but if you snore, I am smothering you with a pillow."

"Noted." He was already pulling back his side of the covers. "If you steal the blanket I'm throwing you out."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

You got in without looking at him. He got in without looking at you. There was an unspoken agreement. We say nothing, do nothing, and we fall asleep.

You both stared at the ceiling. For a long time. The only sounds either of you could hear were the soft hum of the AC, leaves rustling and crickets from outside, and each other's breathing, which oddly put you at ease.

He knew you were awake. You knew he was awake. And it was getting increasingly hard to just lie there doing nothing next to a fully conscious person in the vicinity of your personal space. You decided to break the silence. Might as well.

"So, uh, how have you been?" You immediately winced. Why was that the ice-breaker you decided to go with, Jesus Christ.

"You know we don't have to make small talk. We can just sleep like, you know, regular people."

"I know, it's just— I am not used to extended periods of silence, and it is way too quiet in here, and if we don't keep talking, I think we will hear some things from Dean's room that we can never unhear for the rest of what will be our tragically short lives. So, what I'm getting at with way too many words than necessary is please keep talking to me."

He looked at you for what felt like forever before bursting into laughter.

"You know," Logan said eventually, still looking at the ceiling, "most people would've just said they were scared of hearing Dean."

"Dude, I am scared of hearing Dean."

"Fair."

You smiled despite yourself. The silence settled again, but it wasn't awkward like before. Logan volunteered this time.

"You looked like you were having fun tonight."

You turned your head slightly toward him, smirking at what he was implying. "Is that your way of asking if I was talking to anybody?"

"No," he scoffed, which came out less nonchalant and more defensive.

"Oh, it absolutely is."

"It's not."

"You are so obsessed with me," you teased, to which he just stared at you, deadpan. He knew you couldn't see it in the dark, but you could feel his eyes on you, and that made all the difference.

"No, you're right. I am deeply obsessed with you," he replied, voice devoid of any emotion.

You grinned into the darkness and hugged your pillow tighter. Why this revelation made you feel all warm and sappy, you were in no hurry to find out. You decided to keep pressing his buttons because it was surprisingly easy and fun to get on his nerves.

"Wow, you're terrible at this."

"At what?"

"Small talk, subtlety, all of it, really."

He snorted at that. "Good thing I wasn't trying."

That sent an unexpected flutter through your stomach that you promptly ignored because you were not giving John Logan, self-proclaimed frenemy, the satisfaction of making you blush.

"So," you said carefully, "how was your game last week?"

"You were literally there?" he said in a tone that bordered on incredulous.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You remember?"

"Of course, I do. You sit in the same section every single game."

Heat crawled up your neck faster than you could process. What did he mean he remembered?

"Wha— No, I don't!" you defended.

"Sure, you do."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do."

"You are making things up."

"You wore that ugly yellow beanie—"

Your jaw dropped. "It is not ugly. You take that back!"

"It looked like a highlighter."

"It was cute!"

"It was bright enough to guide ships through fog."

You shoved his shoulder, and Logan laughed. He actually laughed, and it wasn't the smug grin he usually wore. Not the annoying smirk that made you want to throw things at him. Not that knowing smile that made your skin crawl.

And suddenly you understood why people liked him so much. You noticed how he was effortlessly charming, how he cared very loudly, not thinking twice about the consequences or what others thought. You paid attention to the fact that he absolutely did not have to let you sleep in his bed, let alone entertain you or put up with your bullying talking.

Which was deeply unfortunate for you specifically, because now you couldn't stop smiling.

The conversation just drifted after that. There was no more arguing just for the sake of arguing, no more trying to best one another at whatever imaginary rivalry you had going. You just... talked. Classes, shitty professors, first relationships, last relationships, friends, family, home, everything, really.

Eventually, the room grew quieter. The words started to slow. At some point, you rolled onto your side. He did too. Eventually, your replies became single words. Then hums. Then nothing at all.

The last thing you remembered was hearing him say your name. It was way too soft and filled with... something you had no energy to unpack. He said it like he was making sure you were still awake. You weren't.

—

Morning arrived far too soon. Pale golden rays of sunlight crept in through the gaps in the curtains that swayed slightly from the AC. The light painted lazy strips across the room's hardwood floor, climbing over the dresser, the rumpled blankets, and eventually right across Logan's face. He frowned in his sleep and buried his face deeper into the pillow like that would somehow stop the sun from existing.

The first thing you noticed was warmth. The second thing you noticed was that the warmth was breathing. What the hell?

Your eyes flew open. Oh. Oh no.

Somehow, at some point during the night, every promise about staying on your respective sides of the bed had completely failed. One of Logan's arms was around your waist. Your face was buried against his chest. One of your legs was thrown over his. You were practically sprawled on top of him.

For a solid five seconds, your brain simply stopped functioning. Then all the memories came back. The party. The bed. The talking. The sleeping. The fact that you were currently cuddling Logan. Mortification hit you like a freight train.

This wasn't even the side of the bed you went to sleep in. You froze.

Unfortunately for you, Logan chose that exact moment to wake up.

"...Morning." His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual, and it travelled right through your body in a way that had you reeling. You considered launching yourself through the nearest wall.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. Logan made the mistake of looking down. You looked up at him, and immediately looked away again. "Oh my God."

"Yeah," he replied, like he had accepted his fate.

"Oh my God."

"I know."

You carefully untangled yourself and scooted backwards at approximately the speed of light. The movement made Logan grimace. You frowned.

"You okay, dude?"

His expression somehow became even more uncomfortable. Then realisation hit. Your eyes widened. His eyes widened. The silence that followed could've killed a Victorian child. Finally Logan dragged both hands down his face.

"Before you react," he said, staring firmly at the ceiling, "this is a perfectly normal, biological thing."

You immediately covered your face.

"Oh my God."

"It's literally just biology."

"I know it's biology."

You sat up, way too flustered to react like a normal person. He immediately sat up as well and grabbed your pillow, using it to protect what little dignity he had left. "Okay, then."

"I'm very aware, it's normal, i know."

"Good."

"Why are we having this conversation?"

"Yeah, I don't really know."

Another horrifying silence. You groaned. "I was basically sleeping on top of you, I'm sorry."

"It's alright, I'm sorry for... enjoying it too much?" he tried to manage, but let's be honest, that only made it worse.

"Nope."

"Yeah, that wasn't it."

"This is probably not helping."

"Definitely not helping."

You dropped your face into your hands.

"Fantastic."

"Fan... tastic."

It was silent for another lifetime before Logan decided that he had to protect his honour.

"In my defence, you were practically sleeping on top of me."

"Okay, in my defence, I don't remember doing that."

"You were using me as a weighted blanket," he argued. A laugh escaped before you could stop it.

The pillow shifted. Logan looked at you. You looked right back at him. And somehow the whole situation became so ridiculously awful that it wrapped right back around to funny.

You started laughing. Logan held out for maybe ten seconds before he cracked. "Wow, you're laughing at me right now?"

"No," you tried, but it came out as a high-pitched something that barely sounded like a word.

"Wh— you are!"

"I'm laughing at the situation."

"The situation is me living through the worst morning of my life."

"The situation is you getting a raging boner from basic human contact!"

"You and I have very different definitions of basic human contact."

That only made you laugh harder. Then the two of you were sitting there laughing like idiots over absolutely nothing.

A few minutes later, once the crisis had officially passed, you stood and gathered your things. Neither of you quite met the other's eyes.

"Well," you started.

"Well."

"We never speak of this."

"Oh, hell no."

"This goes to the grave."

"Absolutely. Scout's honour."

"You were not a Boy Scout."

"Not even close to the point, by the way."

You levelled him with a look before you continued. "If Garrett finds out, I move to another country."

"If Garrett finds out," Logan said darkly, "I'm killing him."

You nodded. "Call me if you need an alibi."

That pulled another laugh out of him, a sound that you were growing to enjoy more than you cared to admit. You glanced at him. He glanced at you. Something softened in his eyes that you were trying hard to convince yourself wasn't really there.

"So..." You shifted awkwardly. "Thanks."

"For what?"

You looked down at the oversized shirt hanging off your frame.

"The room, the clothes, the bed, everything really."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, don't— don't mention it."

The smile that appeared on your face felt impossible to stop. For the first time in a long time, neither of you had a sarcastic comeback ready, which was probably a much bigger problem than either of you realised.

Immediately after you left, he fell back against the mattress and scrubbed a hand over his face. His pillow and sheets still smelled like you, and it didn't bother him as much as he'd expected to.

He was staring at the ceiling in disbelief. Logan, who was aggressively a morning person, who loved waking up early for practice and catching the sunrise, had slept through four alarms. This was the best night's sleep he had had in ages. Fuck.

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.

and he always. always. makes time for you. when he’s knee-deep in his literature research, and you call him when you need to be picked up from work, he’s dropping everything to tend to you. grabbing his car keys from his night stand, with his phone still pressed to his ear. “don’t take the bus, baby,” he’ll say, clumsily jumping around, trying to put his trainers on with you still on the line. “i’m already on my way.” he’s just happy to take care of his girl.      

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who loves to put you in his clothes. the first thing he asks when you come over is: “are you comfortable enough, or do you want something of mine?” and is benevolent enough to put apart the shirts and shorts you like to wear into separate piles. he melts upon seeing you with your sweater paws, or when the drawstring of his shorts are pulled super tight around your waist. he just thinks you look so irrevocably his.  

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who is super clingy, especially if he’s a little sore — or when he’s actually injured — from hockey practice. he’s pathetically sprawled on the sofa only with some old basketball shorts on and no shirt, purple-blue bruises blossoming over his ribs. when you walk over to the kitchen to get new ice packs from the fridge, he’ll literally whine. actually whine. when he has bruises on his jaw, or anywhere else on his face, he’d ask you to “kiss it better” with a satisfied grin on his face when you roll your eyes, but still delicately press your lips to his skin.   

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... whose love language is acts of service. we all know logan is a crazy skilled handyman. when he comes over to your dorm, he notices all these random things that somehow “need fixing”. he opens your bedroom door, and the door creaks like all old dorm doors do, but no. john logan is like: “wait— that doesn’t sound good. let me get some silicone spray from my car so i can fix the hinges.” and he does this with everything: creaking stairs, when the water pressure in your shower is a little bit off, when your car starts acting up. he’s there, fixing it. safe to say, he only wants what’s best for his girl, and nothing less.

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who loves to call you sweet pet names, and i think “baby” is his favourite. maybe also loves to call you “precious”, because that’s what you are to him. i can see so vividly in my mind he loves to call you “miss thing” when you act a little sassy, giving your ass a playful tap after. refers to you as “my girl” when he’s with others.

“is that my hoodie you’re wearing?” logan asks incredulously when he sees you pack your schoolbag after you stayed over. you’re clad in your usual jeans, but the sweater you’re wearing is a little too loose and a little too familiar to logan’s eyes. you pinch the worn-out material between your fingers, looking down at it. “oh. this thing? got it from my personal thrift shop.” you joke with a toothy grin. and logan just chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “sure, miss thing,” twirling his car keys around his finger. “come on, i’ll drive you to your lecture.” he tells you before giving your ass a tiny slap to send you off.

maybe after a game, his teammates are like: “you coming to malone’s for drinks?” and logan? He just shakes his head. “’m sorry,”  he says, but he does not look sorry at all. In fact, he’s wearing a stupid, lovesick smile on his face. “gonna spend time with my girl.”  

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who genuinely feels proud of you when you do well on your exam and get a good result. he knows that you can get nervous at times, and he always goes out of his way to walk you to the exam hall, hand-in-hand, softly telling you that you’re going to ace it, that you’re going to ace the exam. because he genuinely thinks you’re amazing at whatever you do. you’re genuinely someone he looks up to, someone he can learn something from, someone he admires.    

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who loves to distract you when you’re studying. he does it with kisses, because he thinks you look so adorable when you’re focused with a light frown on your face as you jot down your notes. on your nose, your jaw, your forehead. anything to get you to pay some attention to him. or when you’ve been studying for a good bit behind his desk. maybe you’ve been ignoring him because you’re so concentrated, so he’ll randomly pick you up with ease. “you’re done,” he says resolutely, gently tossing you on his bed. you can only squeal as you feel logan’s arms tighten around your waist. he tsks at the twinkle in your eye. “ignorin’ me—” logan mutters under his breath as he lowers his face to your neck, placing a tentative kiss there. “i need some attention too, baby.”

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who loves when you sleep over. his excitedness is shown tackles you on his bed when you step out of the bathroom, your hair and skin still a little damp from the warm shower you just took. “john—!” you shriek when he instantly pushes his body weight onto you, nosing your skin. “you smell so nice, baby.” literally extends your arm to brush tiny, fluttery kisses all over it. his lips feathery over the sensitive inside of your elbow, his eyes never leaving yours. you can only giggle from how light his kisses feel.   

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who hates when you go on your phone when it’s bedtime. he just wants to use that time to cuddle instead, duh! maybe the occasional tiktok-scroll is tolerated, but when you start texting your friends, he gets lowkey offended. “c’mon honey, put your phone away—” he rasps, his entire room engulfed in darkness, except for your illuminated screen. “i’m being replaced by a fucking glowing rectangle.”

and eventually, he snatches your phone out of your strong grip, putting it screen-down on his bedside table while pulling your body further into his chest. he just starts whispering sweet nothings into your ear, massaging his thick fingers into your hair while your breathing evens out.    

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who has a thing for fucking you when his friends are home. he just loves the risk that comes with it. “you’re gonna be quiet, baby?” he taunts, clasping his big hand over your mouth, trying to keep your moans muffled while he feeds you syrupy slow strokes, and tears start welling up when you feel your climax approach. logan’s not letting up his thrusts into you, only the sound of your slick drooling around his cock, the squelching sound of your pussy sucking him in and logan’s heavy breaths filling the room, the tinkly sound of his chain repeatedly tapping against your chin. 

loves when you bite on the chain to pull his face closer to yours; turns him on beyond words to see you a little assertive underneath him.

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who 100% bends you over his ’69 camaro. come on. that’s his baby. it’s a total double kill if he can bend and fuck his other baby right over it. it happens in his father’s garage at night on a hot summer day, the hood is popped open, your skirt rucked up and his jeans are zipped down just enough to ease into you. “that’s it—” logan grunts, his warm chest sticking to your back, “y’like being bent over a car? you’re a nasty girl, baby, fuck.” the car makes an obscene squeaking sound from how powerful logan’s strokes are, hips bucking into you without any mercy until you’re shaking, a waterfall of your essence dripping on the concrete floor. 

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who is superstitious as fuck. one time, he went down on you the night before a very important game, which he eventually won. so now, he has to eat you out every night before a game to consolidate his good luck. you’re not complaining, though, when he spreads your legs wide open and disappears under the covers. and he does it so earnestly. he’s truly taking his time, picking you apart, making you shatter from pleasure, pumping his fingers into you slowly, scissoring you open until you’re dripping all over his wrist before even considering putting his mouth on you. it’s sweet torture.

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who always dedicates his celebrations to you. no matter if it’s just pointing at you, shooting a wink your way, or kissing his ring finger whilst looking at you. you’re the first person he wants to share his happiness with, only after that he celebrates with his teammates on the ice, but you’re definitely his first thought when his puck finds the opponent’s net.

⁀➴┊BOYFRIEND!JOHN LOGAN... who knew that, from the day he first met you, you were going to be his wife. he promises to himself to keep saving money — whilst keeping his head down, and work hard — for that ring so he can propose to you on the day both of you graduate. he doesn’t care much about playing in the ahl — as long as you, the love of his life, are by his side.

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃. 𓏲ּ𝄢🪽

a/n: i got maaany sweet messages about my cozy john logan fic with the tea, so i thought maybe i’d make a whole bedtime routine with logan fic, bc i too am a sucker for slow, cozy, sleepy nighttime vibes 😛 if there’s enough ppl enthused

On Monday morning, Logan woke up to his message posted on Bitch to Me Briar. He reread the response maybe five times. Now he realized why the account was so popular. They were great!

Looking through the other posts, he realized he did in fact not really follow the criteria, but he was happy you responded anyway.

Put yourself in a new environment. 

He hadn’t thought about that. He was mostly thinking about trying to avoid Hannah and Garrett, which meant hiding in his room, but maybe actually filling his time up with something productive would be useful. The question was what?

Hockey drills would only burn him out even more. Same with the library. He already had a job at the garage, and he didn’t want to spend more time there than he already did. 

Logan spent the next two class periods thinking about what would be a casual activity for him to pick up. As if the universe were on his side, he passed by a flyer advertising a volunteer program. They were looking for someone once a week, preferably on weekends, to help supervise and work with kids at the Hastings Elementary School. One of the programs listed was helping with the local hockey team, the Hurricanes.

Logan remembered playing for the Hurricanes when he was growing up, which is how he was able to pick up a scholarship to Briar U. Perhaps this was a chance to pay it forward.

Logan snapped a photo of the flyer and walked down the quad with a bit more cheer than before. 

–

This week was going to kill you. Actually it already has. An essay due, two problem sets and a midterm grade handed back. Not to mention five more messages in the Bitch to Me Briar inbox. You were stuck in the library grinding out your problem set for the past two hours. It was the last thing you wanted to get done before the weekend. 

Not that you had big plans. Saturday was going to be spent working at the bookstore and Sunday you were doing your weekly volunteering at the elementary school.

“Having fun?” a voice asked, causing you to look up from your laptop. It was Garrett and Dean. This might be the first time you saw either of them in the library.

“Tons,” you mumbled, giving them a suspicious glance as they took the spots next to you.

You decided if you didn’t give them attention that maybe they’d let you do your work. 

“So Hannah’s birthday is in three weeks,” Garrett began, which made you shoot him a look again.

“And we were thinking of throwing a huge surprise party,” Dean said, “It’s going to be crazy! Everyone dresses up, themed drinks, games, all of her favorite song!”

You blinked at them, finally pausing your music.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” 

“Hannah’s surprise party. Last Saturday of the month. Our house. Rager,” Dean repeated.

“Sounds fun,” you shrugged, “I’m assuming you’ll be the one distracting her throughout the day Garrett.”

“I made reservations for 8pm, so plan for us to be back around 10?”

“Cool,” you said, putting back in your earbud.

“That’s it,” Dean said.

“Sorry. I have so much work to do right now, but I’ll definitely help set up when the time is closer,” you rushed out. “But I think we should do pina coladas for drinks.”

“Like the way you think,” Garrett laughed. “I’m putting you on drink duty with Logan.”

—

You survived the week and a calm shift at the bookstore. Which now you could be entertained by the kids who came to Hastings Elementary every Sunday for recreational programs like arts and crafts or soccer club.

Both your parents worked a lot growing up, so you relied on programs like this to keep yourself entertained and not alone. You’ve been doing it for a couple of months, and now the kids have grown quite comfortable with you.

You debated pursuing a teaching master's after college, wanting to continue working with kids. But your psychology degree also meant you could become a school therapist or pursue psychiatry.

You were locking up your bike when a familiar pickup truck pulled into the parking lot. 

“Logan?” you gasped nearly spitting out your coffee as the tall built hockey player got out and walked amongst the sea of small kids and just as small teachers.

He turned and mirrored the same surprised look before walking over.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Volunteering,” he said.

“You volunteer at Hastings Elementary?” you said in disbelief.

“Well, I’m trying to start. I’m supposed to meet Ms. Langdon for an interview and then they’ll tell me if I’m cleared.”

You just stared at him, full of confusion. He seemed completely serious about the situation, which only added to the mystery of his being here.

“How long have you been volunteering here?” he asked.

“Since last spring,” you mumbled, “A club was doing a community service event and I just kept coming back.”

“That’s really cool. Which program do you help out with?”

“I used to do the general after-school day care. But now I can only help on Sundays so I help with the fashion club," you said, “The kids are designing their own fashion line.”

“That’s cute.”

You took another long sip of your coffee, eyes narrowing at him suspiciously.

“Umm, what are you signing up for?” you asked after taking a long sip of your drink hoping to wake you up from this madness.

“Helping out with the Hurricanes,” he said. That should’ve been obvious.

“I used to actually play for them back in the day,” he added, which made you picture a tiny Logan all decked out in hockey gear.

“You were a baby cane?” you asked.

“Yup,” he grinned, “Figure I pay it forward to the next generation of future NHL players.”

“Are you John Logan?” a lady asked who turned out to be Ms. Langdon.

“That would be me.”

You watched the older woman take in Logan’s stance and noticed a flicker of desire in her eyes. No way Logan wasn’t going to get rejected.

“Come with me,” she said.

Logan followed her, but not before giving you a wave. You couldn’t tell if you were upset or happy that Logan was now volunteering at the same place as you. Well, you couldn’t be mad since it seemed like he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart, which was sweet. But one of the small reasons you enjoyed volunteering was how separated it was from Briar. No classmates to worry about, quizzes to study for, gossip to listen to aside from the fifth-grade drama. This was a nice break from the craziness of college.

-

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket as you were wandering around the classroom supervising the kids.

John Logan

Do you want a ride back to campus?

You have never texted before outside of group chats to make plans so the singular message stared at you.

You

You don’t have to wait for me if you have already finished your interview. I biked here.

John Logan

Nah, they’re letting me stay for the skaters for the rest of the day. She really liked me

Of course she did. You thought Ms. Langdon was stronger than to fall for that prince charming smile.

You

Good to hear

John Logan

So text me when you’re done. Let’s meet at the entrance. SYL

You squinted at the acronym, trying to decode the meaning, but figured it was something only Logan’s brain would know.

You

Ok

“Who are you texting?” Katie, one of the girls in the program, asked. The kids should’ve been busy working on choosing their fabrics for their designs, but Katie always tended to be nosy.

“My friend,” you said.

“Do you have a lot of friends?”

“I like to think so.”

“I have a lot. I can name them all if you want.”

“I don’t think you need to,” you chuckled. “Which fabric did you end up choosing?”

“I think I want the leopard for this skirt,” Katie said, pointing to one of her templates they colored in last week, “Also maybe pink sparkles.”

“Cute,” you beamed, tucking your phone back into your pocket.

If Logan was going to be volunteering here you figured you shouldn’t let it bother you. Perhaps it would actually be nice not to navigate the bike lane every Sunday morning.

—

“Hey,” Logan waved, leaning against his truck.

“Hi,” you said, going to unlock your bike.

“Let me put that in the back,” he said, taking it out of your hold and easily hoisting it into the back of his truck. His shirt had lifted up a bit, revealing a patch of his toned stomach, which you forced yourself to look away from.

“Thanks,” you said, “Umm, how was your interview? I guess actually it had to go well, so how was your first day?”

Logan chuckled, circling the car to hop into the driver’s side, which prompted you to slip into the passenger seat. The smell of cedar filled your nose as the car was so Logan. There were tools that were all over the floor and a flannel tossed on the passenger side. Clipped on the glove box was a photo of the hockey team, and a Bruins keychain hung from the rear view mirror. 

“It was good. The kids are no Bruins players but they’re pretty receptive,” Logan said. “It’s actually pretty fun working with kids.”

You gave him a nod, before awkwardly turning your gaze to the window. 

“How’s your fashion club coming along?” he asked.

“They got to pick out their fabric today,” you answered. “I’m still trying to figure out the logistics of teaching fifth-graders how to sew.”

You both chuckled at the statement, falling into an easy silence. Outside the small local shops and restaurants passed you reminding you of the actual charm of Hastings outside of the Briar campus.

“I used to go to that deli all the time growing up,” Logan pointed out, reminding you that he grew up around here, “You ever been?”

You shook your head no, “I feel like I haven’t done much exploring outside of campus besides going to the bookstore down the street.”

“We should go sometime, maybe before or after volunteering.”

“That’d be nice,” you said, looking out the window.

Logan looked over to give you a smile before glancing back at the road before he hit anything. You felt your cheeks grow warm. 

“Oh Garrett’s planning a surprise party for Hannah in a couple weeks,” you said, remembering your encounter with them in the library. 

You noticed the way Logan’s grip on the wheel slightly tightened at the mention of the party. Maybe he was a bit peeved about throwing something at his house?

“Yeah they told me about it yesterday.”

“He wants us on drink curation duty,” you chuckled. 

“Whatever that means,” Logan sighed. “Pretty sure I was nominated because I’m known for having a heavy hand.”

“You do,” you agreed, remembering two weeks ago watching him pour an egregious vodka shot which had you gagging for the next minute. 

“What were you thinking for drinks?” Logan asked.

“Pina coladas obviously,” you started. “She also loves smirnoff ice. Maybe something cherry flavored?”

As you rambled, Logan’s brain couldn’t help but drift back to that karaoke night where Hannah captured everyone’s attention including his own. Jules scolded him that night because he apparently looked like a lovesick puppy. 

But with you and your vanilla scented perfume filling his car he began to remember more about the night. Specifically how Allie got you so drunk that you actually agreed to also sing a duet of Shallow, you singing Bradley Cooper’s part. He’d never seen you so loose before, breaking away from your usual guarded walls. You laughed loudly at basically everything that night, tipping your head back as your cheeks were flushed with emotion. The night had actually ended with you, Hannah, and Allie all sleeping over as Logan woke up to you sprawled out on the couch the next morning.

“Any other suggestions?” you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

His eyes mindlessly trailed to your lips that were covered in a brown tint before he cleared his throat. “No, those all sound great.”

-

Logan watched your hair flow into the wind as you walked into your dorm. He waited, once again, until the door closed before backing out into the street. The car still faintly smelled like your perfume. Pulling up into the driveway he realized you had completely forgotten your bike in the back. The thought made him smile, now he had to take you to the school next week.

When he got in the house, he was greeted by Hannah and Garrett giggling on the couch. Normally the sight would’ve made his heart drop but Logan couldn’t help but smile at his best friend looking so in love.

“Hey Logan,” Hannah said, resituating herself to be in a normal seated position not in Garrett’s lap. 

“Where were you man?” Garrett asked.

“Hasting Elementary school,” he said. “I’m helping out with the Hurricanes.”

Hannah mentioned that you also volunteered which made Logan smile remembering the shocked look on your face when you spotted him today. You were so expressive despite how shy you were.

“Yeah I actually just dropped her off at your place.”

“Since when did you do community service?” Garrest asked, still confused by the situation.

“Needed a change of scenery,” Logan shrugged. “Thought it would be nice to pay it forward to my old team. I’ll be in my room.”

As soon as the door shut behind him, Logan pulled out his phone to text you about your bike. Instead of the image of Hannah and Garrett on the couch he thought of the way you fiddled with your hair while sitting in his truck. 

Fresh faces was what the advice column said. And you were a like a breath of fresh air.

While Logan disappeared up the stairs both Hannah and Garrett gave each other a knowing glance.

“You don’t think…” Garrett began.

–

After Logan dropped you off, you hurried into your dorm. You promised yourself that you would do another advice post tonight since you’ve been busy with school work. Maybe it was time you gave this poor ladytheatrics some guidance dealing with who sounds like a walking STD. You typed up two suggestions, other than telling her to make sure he gets tested. One to not let his other pursuits bother her and be confident that she was not worth less than because there were other women in what sounded like a pretty casual sexual relationship. Or two, sleep with other people too. 

When you posted you couldn’t help but feel a bit hollow. While the last advice felt like you were actually doing a bit of god’s work for a student, sometimes Bitch to Me Briar felt like a chore you were half-assing. Your phone buzzed which you thought it would be Hannah asking to grab dinner. Instead the ID made you raise your brow a bit in pleasant shock before dropping in embarrassment after reading the text.

John Logan

I totally stole your bike. When can I drop it off? 

John Logan

Also when are you free to work on our cocktail making skills? 

Next Part

A/N: for the sake of plot I'm rearranging the timeline so the fundraiser comes later in the semester and also so Logan doesn't go behind Garrett's back. I'm really liking how this story is turning out! Please keep commenting, it really makes my day and thank you!

“Good morning, Y/N, how are you feeling?”

“I’m alright, I gotta head to Malone’s to do some work before class. I need one of Della’s iced coffees pronto.”

“And you also need to get all your work done before the party on Saturday!” Olivia exclaimed, shimmying in a little dance as you walked over to your closet to get dressed. 

You rolled your eyes, secretly dreading going to the party, partially because of Logan, but also cause of going to a college party in general. You got dressed, did your hair, packed your bag, and had Olivia drop you off at Malone’s before she headed to class. You found a small booth and set your bag down. 

“Y/N?”

The voice was semi-familiar until you turned and saw her blue eyes. It was Hannah. 

“Oh, hey, Hannah right? I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Yeah, I do. Is there anything I can get you at the moment?” 

“An iced coffee and what bakery or pastry items do you guys have?”

“They just baked some delicious blueberry muffins. Do you want one of those?”

“Sure”

“Great, I’ll bring that right out when it’s ready!”

Looking at Hannah only made the pit in your stomach feel worse. She was a sweetheart. You understood why Logan might have a small crush on her. Her body’s beautiful, super nice, kind, and hard-working. You could not imagine taking on part-time jobs on top of schoolwork and figure skating. The more you looked at her, the more you understood why Logan liked her so much. To distract yourself, you brought out your laptop and edited your routine music to fit the allotted free-skate time. You were also making a warm-up mix you can listen to before competitions. Hannah floated over with your coffee and muffin. 

“Sorry to be nosy, but what are you working on?”

“I’m editing some music for my figure skating competitions.”

“Oh, that's so cool, I use the same software when I’m editing songs.”

“Do you also play a sport here?”

“No, no, I’m a music major.”

“That make’s more sense,” you awkwardly chuckle.

“Just let me know if you need anything else. Good luck with the music mixing.”

You thanked her and smiled, turning back to adjust transitions on your warm-up mix. You watched as people went in and out of Malone’s. You eventually finished your warm-up mix. You played it in the background as you moved on to finish some of your mockups for a marketing class. 

Logan skipped his class to see if he could grab a snack at Malone’s before heading home. The fries alone could drag him out of bed from a nasty hangover. When he walked in, he was greeted by Hannah. 

“Logan! Hey! How are you?”

Hannah pulled him into a hug. That made his heart want to burst out of his chest. Hannah smelled like warm vanilla and roses. Logan swore he could melt in her arms. Hannah let go as she had to bring some food to another table. 

“So, Logan, what are you doing here? Let me guess, Della’s fries.”

“You, unfortunately, would be correct,” Logan smiled. 

“You know the drill, just grab anywhere to sit, and I’ll bring them to you. And a heads up.” 

Hannah nudged Logan, and he followed her eyes to you, staring deeply into your computer. 

Logan rolled his eyes. “How much did Garrett tell you?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Hannah winked and walked away to take another booth’s order.

Logan sighed as he walked over to you. Surprisingly, you didn’t notice until you felt the table move. You jumped, seeing Logan now in front of you, pausing your music.

“Jeez! Do you like sneaking up on girls or something?”

“Not particularly, especially when they have the best noise-canceling headphones. Seriously, they need to sponsor you or something for those.”

“What are you doing here? Stalking me?”

“How dare you? I happen to enjoy Della’s fries, and wanted to get some before I head home for the day.” 

“It’s only like 12:00, do you not have any classes later?”

“They only exist if I attend them.”

“Wow, so studious of you.”

“Anyways, I have to set up for a fundraiser for a youth hockey camp, the Hurricaines.”

Hannah then walks over with Logan’s fries. 

“Oh are you talking about the hockey fundraiser? Y/N, you should totally come.”

You looked as Logan’s eyes were filled with panic.

“Um, yeah if you want to, you can come unless you’re going to be busy.”

“Oh, c’mon, Logan.” Hannah turns to you, “He’s just shy because he was a little caine, so this fundraiser means a lot to him.”

“A little caine?” You joked.

“Yeah, if I didn’t get help from them, I wouldn’t be here playing hockey.” 

You saw Logan’s face soften as he spoke. It was nice to see him speak so fondly about the organization. 

“Sure, I’d love to come and support the cause.” You replied. 

Hannah giggled with excitement, while you looked at Logan, who seemed a little awkward about the interaction. 

“It’s going to be here at Malone’s at 8:00 PM, and bring all the friends and money you have with you,” Hannah squealed while Logan chuckled. 

You agreed it sounded nice as you finished up your work and talked to Logan while he ate his fries. 

“So what are you doing after this?”

“Class, unlike some people, I have to go. I have a presentation for a marketing class, and I wanted to see if I could skate on the rink before dinner.”

“What time were you thinking?” Logan inquired

“After my class, so around 4:00, why do you want to crash my rehearsal session again?”

“Not necessarily, I thought you’d like some company. Also, you owe me, its my turn to showcase my amazing hockey skills.”

“I can pay a $5 student ticket to watch that. It’s not that hard to skate and move a stick around a rink.”

“You wanna bet? Meet me at the rink. 4:00. Don’t be late.”

Logan then got up before you could rebut, leaving to prepare for the fundraiser later. You sighed as you packed up your work and got up to ask Hannah how much you owed her. She mentioned you were all set as Logan paid for you on his way out. Damn it, John Logan, why’d you have to be so nice?

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You were restless in your marketing class. You gave your initial prototype presentation as the professor gave feedback and a few marketing notes for your future presentations. You spaced out so badly that you didn’t pay attention to the other student’s presentation. You were busy staring at your laptop, begging for time to slow down. Your heart was pounding, and your hands were sweating at the idea of being alone on the rink again with John Logan. You haven’t felt this nervous since your first figure skating recital, which did not go well. Unfortunately, class had ended about half an hour early because some students needed extensions or didn't show up for their presentations, so you headed back to your dorm to change and grab your skating gear. 

Olivia came in as you were changing, about to head out. 

“Hey cutie, you heading to the rink?”

“No, I’m just wearing a full practice uniform and a skate bag.”

“Hey, I don’t need the sarcasm. I was just about to go take a shower.”

“Sorry, I’m just really nervous, the room’s all yours.”

“Is your routine not going well?”

“Yes and no, I mean, I’m still trying to land my triple lutz and toe loops, but let’s just say I won’t be at the rink alone.” You started to fiddle with your hands.

“Are you meeting Erin there? I know she’s been hard on you ever since you joined the team.”

“No…”

“No. You’re going on a skating date with John Logan.”

You whined as you moved your hands in front of your face in embarrassment. 

“Maybe.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m overthinking it, he’s definitely into Hannah, so I shouldn’t be nervous right?”

“Who cares what he thinks? You just need to go out on the rink and be you.”

“Thanks, Olivia.”

“Make him do some spins so he can get his head screwed on right.”

You laughed and hugged Olivia goodbye before walking over to the rink. You texted Logan to make sure he would still be there.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Y/N: Hey, I’m heading over to the rink now, and should be there in 5-10 minutes or so. If you can’t make it, no worries, I’ll see you at the fundraiser later.

You stared at your phone, begging that he wouldn’t be there so you could take some time to practice your routine more and get your mind off of him. Your phone buzzed about 2 minutes later from Logan.

Logan: I’m already here, sweetheart. 😉

You rolled your eyes as you continued to walk to the rink. You aimlessly wandered for a few minutes before finding the entrance to the rink again. There, you saw Logan running drills. He had a speaker playing 80s rock, and he was speeding through, doing some shooting drills. You weren’t going to lie to yourself. It was impressive and hot. You found yourself walking towards the bench with your gear, lacing up your skates, and taking your guards off. Logan skates up to the bench, noticing you as you enter. 

“About time you showed up, I was worried you were flaking on me.”

“I totally wouldn’t miss this for the world,” you noted sarcastically. 

Logan lowers his music so he can hear you better. 

“You ready to learn how to score?”

“Hold on. I did not come here to hold a stick and hit it around with a puck. I need to practice.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, you don’t need it. You were saying earlier that it’s not that hard to move a stick on the ice. Well, let’s prove it.”

“You’re ridiculous Logan, what is this, elementary school?”

“Sure, sure, back out now, chicken.”

“What did you just call me?!” You stood up from the bench to meet

Logan at the barricade face-to-face. 

Logan bent down and whispered. “I said, chicken, bok bok.”

You immediately opened the door to the rink and grabbed his stick. Logan laughed as he collected some of the pucks for you and put them at center ice. 

“Watch me,” you said, lining up a shot.

You shoved the stick into the puck and completely missed the goal by a few feet. You continued to fuss and miss the goal as Logan looked at you, laughing on the side.

“Fine, Mr. Hockey, you do it then.” You pouted. 

Logan skated up to you. “Watch and learn.”

In one quick swing, you saw him score a goal with ease. You huffed and refused to look at him. You started to skate away in embarrassment. Logan grabbed your arm. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, let me show you how.”

“Alright, but stop calling me that!” You nearly blushed every time he called you that. 

Logan laughed, gave you his stick, and stood behind you. He wrapped his arms around you, and his hands covered yours around the stick. Your body felt on fire. You could smell his light sweat mixed with the scent of his Old Spice deodorant. His silver chain brushed cooly against the back of your neck. You felt his hot breath on your cheek as he whispered how to move your hands with the puck. 

“Luckily, we are dead center on the ice. People also underestimate how heavy the puck is so, we’re going to give a big swing straight across and…”

You watched as the puck easily went into the net. You spaced out whatever you were thinking, as you could only hear the silence after the puck went into the net. You lifted your body and turned to face Logan. God, those eyes made you want to sink into them. He had a smug look on his face. 

“Congrats, you officially know how to move a stick on the ice.” He grinned.

Part of you was speechless. You didn’t know whether to thank him or keep your guard up. Why was he being so nice to you?

“Logan?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Why are you so nice to me? I mean, we barely know each other.”

“I thought I’d just help out a friend, I don’t mind meeting new people. Plus, I’d probably be seeing you on the rink a lot.”

Your eyes burned at the word friend. Right, we are just friends. Nothing more. He probably has Hannah on his mind anyway. He probably does this with all the girls he meets. 

“So, are we done with this hockey lesson so we can showcase the real talent?” you bit back, protecting your heart.

“Fair enough, the ice is yours, Y/N.”

You skated around practicing some spins and jumps, eventually finally landing your toe loops. You attempted to land your triple lutz again, and it stuck. Logan tapped his stick on the bench, cheering for you. You skated back towards the bench and grabbed Logan’s hand. For the first time, you saw his cheeks lightly blush. 

“It’s your turn now, Logan.” 

“What?!” 

Before he could continue to speak, you dragged him onto the ice. 

“Y/N, you know this can only end in me falling.”

“So what? You got hockey pads on, can’t be worse than a guy slamming you into the boards. Just copy me.”

You started to gain some speed and do a simple scratch spin. Logan looks as if you performed a magic trick. 

“If you want to a two-toe spin you can. Go ahead.”

Logan skates, attempts to spin on two feet, then tries to lift his foot, causing him to fall on his butt. You laughed as you skated over to him in an attempt to help him up. 

“Nothing to say?”

“Remind me to never challenge a figure skater again.”

Logan was heavy as you tried to help him up, and you guys are holding hands again. You quickly let go as you hear your phone's ringtone go off. Embarrassingly, it was “Love Me Harder” by Ariana Grande. You quickly skated to the bench to see it’s from Olivia. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I got some bad news, there was something wrong with the dorm’s boiler so they shut off all the water for the night. They said it should be fixed by the morning. Thought I’d tell you before you got back.”

“Oh no, thanks Olivia, I’ll figure something out.”

“Worst case, you should probably text the girls on your team if anyone with an apartment will let you shower there.” 

“Good idea, thanks for letting me know.”

You hung up as Logan skated over to you, concerned. 

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah, apparently the dorm’s shower is out, so I gotta figure out where to shower before the fundraiser.”

“You could always shower at my place.”

You looked at him in mild disgust. 

“Are you sure? I don’t even have a change of clothes with me.”

“We can swing by your place and then head to mine. Make’s it easier, you can hang out at the house before we all go to the fundraiser.”

“What’s the state of your bathroom? I can’t imagine living with all boys makes it the most clean.”

“Considering I just deep-cleaned it, I’d say it's pretty decent, and the hot water is a plus. Hannah uses it all the time when she’s over.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt, thanks.” You quietly replied, dreading the idea of knowing Logan imagining Hannah in the shower. 

“We should go now, it’s almost dinnertime, I’m sure Tucker will be excited to have a new guest try his food. I’m going to hit the showers in the locker room real quick.”

Logan grabbed his things before heading towards the men’s locker room. As you were unlacing your skates, you realized Logan forgot his speaker. You wondered if he wanted to listen to music in the shower, so with your things, you made your way to find the men’s locker room. Unfortunately for you, no one had told you that men’s locker rooms don’t have shower curtains. 

“Hey, Logan! You left your speaker, I didn’t know if you-” You stopped dead in your tracks as you saw Logan butt-ass naked before he faced you. If you weren’t already lost for words, you definitely were now. 

You saw Logan’s well-defined abs and a muscular, but slim, athletic build. You watched as the water beads rippled down his body. You shouldn’t be staring for this long. It was like you were a kid in a candy store again. Not that you meant to look, but you can see why Olivia said the rumors about him being good in bed. He had a small happy trail that led to his groin. He kept it neatly trimmed, but not bald. You also were not complaining about the size. Once you came out of your daze, you immediately caught yourself shielding your eyes, rambling, and apologizing profusely.

“O-Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Logan, I promise I didn’t see anything. I’m just going to leave the speaker here. I’ll see you outside.” 

Before Logan could answer, you rushed outside of the men’s locker room, leaning against the wall and slowly trickling down to the floor with your head in your knees of embarrassment. God, how could I be so stupid? And why don’t the showers here have curtains? You blushed, rethinking the sight of Logan naked. It only made you want to fall harder into his arms. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Logan didn’t know how to feel. Surely you’ve seen a guy naked. But he didn’t hate the idea of you seeing him like this. After you stormed out, Logan felt himself getting hard. Did he like you? He knew his body did, but blamed himself for being a horndog and that Dean was rubbing off on him. He refocused his attention on other things that helped calm him down. He dried off his body and changed into new clothes before stepping out of the locker room to find you with your head in your knees. Logan bent down and gave you a tap on your head. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you replied, not willing to lift your head from your knees. 

“If it makes you feel any better, my whole team has seen me naked.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Hey, look at me.” 

You lifted your head. Logan grabbed your head softly, rubbed your hair soothingly, and stared straight into your eyes. 

“Did you like what you saw?”

“Oh my god Logan!” 

“What? I meant it as a joke to make you feel better. Now will you get up so we can get you into a warm shower?”

You reluctantly got up, once again holding Logan’s hands. 

“That’s my girl.”

“Shut up.” You quickly responded. 

You both let go as you once again walked to his truck, and he drove you back to your dorm. 

“I’ll be back in 10.” You said as you walked to the front steps of your dorm.

“I’ll be waiting!” Logan yelled and honked his car, making you even more embarrassed and rushing towards your dorm hall. 

You headed back to your dorm room to see Olivia watching a show on her bed. You grabbed some clothes and toiletries as Olivia perked up. 

“You’re back, how was your skate date?”

“Don’t call it that.”

“Where are you going to go shower?”

You remained silent.

“Let me guess, Logan offered you to go shower at his place.”

“How can you read me so well?”

“Being a psych major has it’s perks. So you’re going to the hockey house? Girls have told me its a nice house.”

“I seriously doubt that if its 4 dudes living there.”

“Four hot dudes.” Olivia replied with a wink. 

“Anyways I have to go, Logan’s waiting for me.”

“He’s here?!” Olivia immediately turned to look out the window to see Logan’s truck waiting in front of our dorm hall.

“Can you keep your voice down? Our window is open. I’ll see you at the fundraiser”

“See ya, have fun!”

You left your dorm and went back to Logan’s truck, throwing your small duffel into the backseat of his truck. You assured him everything was all set, and you drove off to the hockey house. You were nervous about meeting all his roommates, seeing the house, his room, everything. Logan could tell something was off because you were quiet and looked out the window for most of the ride. 

“We’re almost there, are you ok? Do you need to use the bathroom?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just feels awkward having to use the bathroom in a house I’ve never been in before.”

“Don’t worry about that, I texted my roommates about it, and they were cool with it.”

Great. Now all his roommates are going to walk on eggshells around me, wondering who this mystery girl is coming to their house to shower and have dinner. Totally not panicking. We pull up to a big house with a long staircase. It has a big front porch and looks decent from the outside. Logan grabbed all of the bags and opened the car door for you, gesturing for you to follow him. He opened the front door and let you in first. 

In all honesty, you’ve seen worse. You see the living room with very lived-in couches, an air hockey table, a pool table converted into a dining room table, and a kitchen with a counter. You can also see another glass door in the back, which you assumed led to the back yard. You see the people you knew as Tucker, Dean, and Hannah in the kitchen, helping make dinner. Well, Hannah and Tucker were cooking, and Dean was tasting everything while looking at his phone. 

“Hey guys, this is Y/N, Y/N, the one with the pink apron is John Tucker, but you can call him Tucker, and Dean Di Laurentis, you’ve already met Hannah.”

They all said their "his" and "hellos". 

“Thank you guys so much for letting me stay here for a bit and borrow your shower.” You kindly replied.

“I’m sorry about what happened at your dorm. That sucks,” Hannah said as she went to cut up vegetables for a salad. 

“Well, Logan kindly offered, I’m gna head up and shower, I smell like BO.” 

“Let me show you the way,” Logan quickly added. Logan let you go up the stairs first, trailing shortly behind. Logan shot looks at Dean and Tucker, who were busy pretending they were minding their own business. In the upstairs hallway, you run into Garrett, who looks fresh out of the shower in new clothes. 

“Oh, hey, Y/N, don’t worry about me, my room has its own shower. I didn’t mess up the communal one.”

You smile as Logan guides you into his room. It’s surprisingly neat. You see some Boston Bruins hockey posters in his room, a toolbox tucked next to his dresser, and a closet full of flannels and hoodies. His bed had grey bedsheets, and there was a small photo on his nightstand of him, Garrett, and Dean, presumably from last year’s hockey season. 

“You can leave your stuff in here and change in the bathroom before and after you take your shower, need anything?”

“Not that I can think of, thanks again.”

“Not a problem, enjoy a nice shower. I’ll try to keep the boys downstairs so you have some privacy.”

Logan then closed his door, and you heard his footsteps down the stairs. You grabbed your t-shirt, underwear, and leggings and brought them into the bathroom. You stared at the Head & Shoulders shampoo and Old Spice body wash options and thanked yourself for packing your Sol De Janerio travel kit. Your mom gave you this before you headed off to college, in case you were going to spend the night at a teammate's apartment or go on a school trip. You undressed and hopped in the shower, tuning out that you were in Logan’s bathroom. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Downstairs became a nightmare for Logan. 

“So Logan, you’re not going to join her?” Dean teased.

“Lay off of him, Dean, he’s nervous around the poor girl,” Hannah said while holding a fruit knife mildly threatening him. 

“She’s staying for dinner, right? No food allergies?” Tucker chimed in, seasoning some salmon before sticking them in the oven. 

“I’m not sure, should I ask her?” Logan replied. 

“Unless you want to land that girl in the hospital before her figure skating season, I suggest you go ask her.” Tucker spoke seriously. 

Logan walked up to ask you, knocking on the bathroom door. 

“Hey Y/N?” 

“Yeah?”

“Tucker’s asking if you have food allergies. He’s making salmon, rice, and a cucumber salad.”

“That should be all good for me, I don’t have any.” 

“Sounds good.”

“Hey Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“I forgot to ask about a towel. Can you bring one into the bathroom for me?”

“Sure.”

Logan walked across to his bedroom and neatly folded a towel. He went back and quietly opened the bathroom door, trying to place the towel carefully on the sink. He heard a quick rustle of the shower curtain opening and panicked, looking up at you. Fully naked. That turned him on immediately. The way your wet hair dripped along each curve of your body. He didn’t even know how fit figure skaters were. You had a small imprint of abs, muscular thighs, and a great ass. Not to even mention your breasts. They were perky and the perfect size for him. You were surprisingly clean-shaven down there, with nearly not a single hair on you. 

“Sorry, here’s your towel.”

Logan quickly closed the bathroom door before cursing to himself about how stupid he was. He should've sent Hannah to drop off the towel. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Logan was distraught.

He noticed he had a giant boner from the sight of you. He wasn’t sure if he just messed everything up. He was still unsure of his feelings for Hannah, but with you, he felt at ease. He loved your sarcastic remarks and never gave in to his flirtatious moves. Even though you kept your ground, you still let him in bit by bit. Logan didn’t even bother to go downstairs. He waited for you in his room to apologize before you both had to sit down for dinner. 

You were stunned, getting déjà vu, as if this hadn’t happened the other way around half an hour ago. You could hear Logan lightly pacing in the hallway before hearing him retreat to his room. You picked up the towel he neatly folded for you and dried yourself off before changing your clothes. You walked out with your hair still a little wet, holding your dirty clothes. You went into Logan’s room to see him on his bed, sitting as you had just put him in timeout. You put your clothes into a laundry bag you had stashed in your duffel.

“Hey”

“Hey, I’m so sorry about that, I should’ve knocked or something.” Logan kept glancing between you and the floor. 

You walked towards him and sat next to him.

“Let’s just call it even? Ok?”

Logan stayed silent. 

“I promise I’m not mad at you, ok? I mean I saw you naked too.” 

Logan looked up at you. “Really? I feel like I completely invaded your privacy.”

You laughed, “How do you think I felt half an hour ago?”

You don’t know what compelled you, but you decided to kiss his cheek. 

“Does that make you feel better?”

Logan was stunned. Logan looked at you with your damp hair and your old high school t-shirt. You smelled freshly of your Dove body wash and whatever good-smelling shampoo you put in your hair. Compared to Hannah, you smelled like fresh fruit from the farmer’s market, and he loved it. 

“Y-Yeah, uh let’s go downstairs to help Tucker with dinner.”

Logan got up and reached out a hand to lead you downstairs. Once you reach the bottom, he lets go and asks Tucker if there is anything else the two of them can do to help. Tucker tasked you guys with setting the table. By the time Tucker was done plating all of the food to perfection. You all finally sat down for dinner, with Logan sitting on your right and Hannah sitting on your left. Dean was about to scarf the food down when Tucker swatted his hand so he could take a selfie to send to his mom. Then he let everyone eat. Everyone thanked Tucker and Hannah for cooking and for you and Logan for setting the table. 

“So Y/N, talk to me, how is it tasting?” Tucker asked eagerly across the table

“It’s really good, thank you so much for cooking it.”

“What about the flavor profiles? Is there anything that sticks out or-”

“Dude, just let the girl eat.” Garrett chimed in, shutting Tucker down. 

“The cucumber salad is really good” 

“That was all, Hannah,” Tucker gestured a small applause towards her. 

Garrett then kissed her on the cheek, proud of his little chef. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Logan’s jaw clench slightly at the sight of their brief PDA. You tapped Logan’s foot under the table to get his attention, and Logan began to look at you. 

“Thanks for inviting me over. This was really nice.”

“Of course.”

Logan thought to himself that no other girl had ever thanked him when they stayed the night. You only stayed for an hour and were nothing but grateful for everything. He looked at Hannah and Garrett, then at you. He felt a small jump in his heart when he saw you smiling after each bite. You looked so happy eating the dinner that you had finished your meal before Logan. 

“Damn, Y/N, you sure know how to pack food away,” Dean smirked. 

“I might not be a 6-foot-whatsoever hockey player, but I’m still an athlete.”

Logan laughed at your response.

“And a good one at that.” Logan noted.

Everyone also finished their meals shortly, and you offered to take everyone's plates and wash them. But before you could turn on the sink, Tucker stopped you in your tracks. 

“Woah, woah, woah, Y/N. You’re a guest. You definitely do not need to do the dishes. Also, my mom will kill me if I have a guest wash the dishes.”

You raised your hands in defeat but offered to wipe down the table, which Tucker obliged with. Logan was watching you openly help and talk with the guys. You looked so at home. It made his heart feel warm. Logan invited you to help load stuff for the fundraiser into his truck. The moment you stepped outside, you realized how cold it was. You kicked yourself for forgetting to bring a jacket. Logan noticed you rubbing the sides of your arms. 

“Are you cold?” 

“A little, I should be fine. I’ll go grab my jacket from the rink.”

“No offense sweetheart, but that jacket definitely smells like sweat and BO. Just grab something from my closet, dealer’s choice.”

“Thanks.”

You walked upstairs to Logan's room and found his closet. You grabbed the first hoodie you saw, which was a Briar U Hawks hoodie with his name on the back. You threw it over your head and realized how oversized it was. You even had little sweater paws that you rolled up so they wouldn’t get in the way of helping Logan move things. You immediately smelled the same warm leather and musk mixed with a hint of his laundry detergent. When you stepped back outside with another box, you noticed Logan smiling and walking towards you to take it. 

Logan didn’t realize he had a thing for girls in his clothes until he saw you in his hoodie. He originally thought it was because he was jealous of Hannah in Garrett’s clothes, wishing it were his own. But seeing how oversized it was over your torso made Logan a little flustered. 

“Sorry, the hoodie’s too big on you.”

“It’s alright, it's keeping me warm. Thanks.”

Logan caught himself staring at you for a little too long before you snapped him out of his trance.

“So, is there anything else we need to grab?”

“What? No, I think we got everything.”

You and Logan walked back inside, realizing it was almost time to leave. You grabbed your duffel from Logan’s room and accidentally heard a conversation you probably weren’t meant to hear. 

“What do you mean you don’t have the signed jersey from your dad?”

“I told you I’m not speaking with him at the moment.”

“You couldn’t put your petty drama aside for a fundraiser? I’m sure your dad would gladly send one over. I’ve seen the Graham merchandise room.”

“It’s not that simple. It’s not like everyone has perfect relationships with their parents. It’s not my fault my dad is an NHL hockey star, and yours isn’t.”

“You know what? Fuck you, G. You didn’t have to go there.”

“Fuck you too, Logan, and your stupid fundraiser!”

Logan almost jumped across the table to punch Garrett, but Dean, Tucker, and Hannah stopped them before you rushed down the stairs. Hannah held Garrett and started lecturing the two of them.

“Guys! Stop it! You guys are best friends. Garrett, you know how much this fundraiser means to Logan. Logan, you know Garrett has a rocky relationship with his dad right now. Let’s focus on getting as much money as we can, ok?” 

Both of them huffed, but it seemed to calm both of them down for now. You hated how much grasp Hannah had on Garrett and Logan. You could learn a thing or two. You grabbed Logan’s arm, suggesting that you two should leave to set up and also to get him away from Garrett. He harshly yanked his arm off you and stormed to the front door, slamming it. A part of your heart chipped away seeing him close off after one argument. Hannah looked at you with sympathy. 

“Go catch up with him. I’ll talk some sense into Garrett, and we’ll see you both at the fundraiser.”

You walked out to see Logan sitting on the porch, his hands resting at the sides of his head. 

“Hey, we should get going before people show up.”

Logan was still looking towards the ground.

You put your duffle down and sat next to him. 

“Earth to Logan? We gotta go.”

“These kids really need the money. I need this fundraiser to go well.”

“I’m sure it will still go well. I invited Olivia and my whole team. I’m sure dozens of people will show up and donate.”

“I just know what it feels like, you dream to play a sport your whole life, but your family can barely afford it and don’t approve of it.”

His words hit home for you. When you were growing up, your dad always wanted you to play hockey. He was the one who got you on skates in the first place. He wanted you to play in college and go to the PWHL. But one ice skating video changed your life. It was 2010, and you were watching Yuna Kim’s free skate routine. Mainly because you loved her outfit, but the way she effortlessly spun and glided on that ice made you fall in love with figure skating. When you told your dad, he was heartbroken and stubborn. So stubborn that he had never once been to your competitive ice skating recitals. 

“Yeah, I know what it’s like. My dad was furious when I told him I wanted to do ice skating.”

Logan looked up at you in confusion. “Why? You’re clearly very talented.”

“Do you want to know who my dad is?”

Logan nodded in anticipation.  

“My dad is Mike Modano.”

Logan looked at you, as if he had never heard that name before. 

“Ok, Boston boy, he’s huge in Dallas, he got them a Stanley Cup. He wanted me to play hockey my whole life. Despite my achievements, he still hasn’t attended my recitals, claims it’s not a real sport, or is busy with NHL appearances.”

Logan looked at you with sympathy. He wondered how a parent could be so heartless. It made him put Garrett’s dad into perspective. He can’t imagine the insane pressure Garrett must be under. 

“Damn, why are hockey dads the worst?”

“Don’t count them all out, I have amazing NHL uncles who are great parents.”

You stood up and reached a hand out to Logan.

“So are we going to sit here and pout, or are we going to kick ass at this fundraiser?”

Logan grabbed your hand. 

“Let’s go kick ass at this fundraiser.”

You smiled and grabbed your duffel, which Logan took out of your hands. He put it in the back with the rest of the stuff, and you both got into his truck. He reached out to grab your hand and made eye contact. 

“Thanks, by the way.”

“Anytime, Boston boy.”

“You’re seriously going to start calling me that?”

“Until you brush up on your sports knowledge outside of Boston, yes.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Logan let go of your hand as he started driving to Malone’s. You both unloaded his truck and set up. It wasn’t too hard. You put out the silent auction cards while Logan hung up some fun decorations and checked in with the band. Shortly after, Garrett, Hannah, Dean, and Tucker show up to help and support. Garrett walked up to Logan, who was on the stage hanging up some streamers. 

“Hey man, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I know getting a lot of money for this fundraiser means a lot to you.”

Logan jumped down to meet Garrett’s eye level.

“No worries, G, I’m sorry I said those things about your dad. I’m sure it’s hard having him breathe down your neck 24/7 about hockey.”

“As an olive branch…” Garrett brought out two box seat tickets for the New York Rangers. 

“I know it’s not Boston, but I still wanted to help out.” Garrett looked apologetically.

“Thanks, G, you didn’t have to.” Logan brought him in for a hug. 

You were sitting at the counter, talking to Allie and Hannah, making sure they had enough food and drinks for tonight, and if they needed any help serving. Garrett floated over to Hannah. 

“How’d it go?” Hannah inquired.

“Strangely well, he also seemed empathetic about my dad for once,” Garrett responded. 

“Not sure that has anything to do with you, does it?” Hannah pointed her head towards you. 

You gave in, “Just gave him some perspective on life, that’s all.”

Garrett whispered a thank you before focusing back on Hannah. Eventually, it was time to start the fundraiser. Massive groups of people came in, from various athletic teams, theatre students, and even general students who were fans of the hockey team. Olivia eventually showed up and hugged you, complementing the setup. She also tried to inquire about the hoodie you were wearing and wouldn’t buy the “I was cold” sentiment. Olivia then walked off to greet some friends she had met at a few parties. 

Eventually, your figure skating team showed up, and they all put down bids at the silent auction, bought raffle tickets, and requested a few songs. Towards the end of the night, Dean, who was emceeing, started listing the winners of each raffle. You had put your name down for a few, but definitely did not beat out the other students in the crowd. Dean then announced a last-minute live auction, a date with John Logan.

Dean, earlier that night, had been going on and on about how hot and single Logan was. Several girls came up to him, saying they’d be willing to pay hundreds of dollars even to have a chance to go on a date with him. You looked at Logan, who was busy collecting donations, and he turned to Dean with his face looking like he saw a ghost. He tried to argue, saying he hadn’t agreed to that before the girls started shouting dollar amounts. It was at times like these that you secretly wished you were dating Logan. You didn’t have much left and jokingly said $50. Logan looked at you offensively and headed over to you. “I didn’t think you’d be willing to pay money to hang out with me.” Your smile lasted as long as another girl shouted $100. The bidding eventually reached $500. A girl sitting by the stage won and started jumping up and down. Logan looked back at you. What could you be jealous of? It’s not like you guys were dating. But Logan did something unexpected. 

Logan started to walk towards the mic and swiped it out of Dean’s hand while trying to keep a smile. 

“Ladies, ladies, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, I am unfortunately not up for auction.”

The girl looked immediately upset.

“But, how about you can keep your $500, and I give you these box tickets for free?”

The girl looked pleased and took the tickets. Logan then encouraged the other eager ladies to donate directly if they so choose. A few slipped some 5s and 10s his way. Why did he do that? 

Logan walked back over to you, starting to count up the money for tonight. 

“Wow, I can’t imagine turning down $500.” 

“I just wanted people to donate for the right reasons. Selling my time the day I have to set up for a party isn’t ideal.”

So there was the real answer. Logan didn’t want to overbook himself. Why would he turn down a date? Cause he had feelings for you? Crazy for you to even think that. Logan counted up all of the money and realized he had raised more than enough to support the Hurricanes. He looked over the moon, running over to the mic.

“Hey everyone, I just wanted to thank you all for coming out tonight. I can officially announce that we raised over $2,000 for the Hurricanes! Thank you all again. This will help support so many kids who dream of playing hockey. Cheers!”

Everyone raised their glasses in celebration, and Logan briefly stopped to talk to the Hurricane’s organizers. They were thanking him, and he’d send them a check in the mail for the donation money. He then met your eyes with you before coming over to hug you. You let go of the hug, still holding onto his arms. 

“I knew you could do it.” You smiled. 

“Only cause you were here.” He smiled back. 

Eventually, all of the other hockey teammates came over to congratulate him. Giving him little head rubs and big bear hugs. You had stayed late with him, his roommates, Hannah, and Allie to help take down decorations and clean up. 

“Y/N, you really don’t have to stay.” Logan insisted.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not like we have school tomorrow.” You stood up on a stool to take down some hanging stars from the ceiling.

Logan walked over subconsciously to hold onto the stool to make sure it was stable in case you fell. You noticed Logan behind you and smiled as you safely got down. You thanked him for packing everything back into boxes. They wanted to reuse some of the decorations for the party tomorrow. About an hour passed, and you let out an audible yawn, and Logan looked at you, concerned.  

“Hey guys, do you mind finishing up without me? I’m going to take Y/N back to her dorm.” You were about to tell him it was fine until your eyes started to droop.

You probably should go to bed. The group assured him they’d leave it spotless, as they also said goodbye to you and Logan. Logan once again opened the car door for you and drove off to your dorm. On the way, you had fallen asleep in the passenger seat. When you guys arrived, Logan was nervous to wake you up. You looked so comfortable in his hoodie, leaning against the window. He brushed some of the hair out of your face. You looked beautiful, even without makeup. When he opened his car door, the noise woke you up, as you blinked, realizing you were back at your dorm. Logan opened the door for you and gave you a hand as you stepped out of the truck. He handed you your duffel. You quickly realized you were still wearing his hoodie. 

“Oh, sorry, this is your hoodie.” You started to take off the hoodie.

“No.” Logan stopped you in your tracks. “You keep it, it's cold.”

He raised the hood over your head. And leaned in to kiss you lightly on the forehead. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Goodnight.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

He waited for you to go safely into your dorm building. He didn’t want the night to end. Some part of him wished you had invited him up to your dorm room. But he can tell you were exhausted and needed the sleep. Plus, you looked so comfortable in that hoodie. He smiled bitterly as he drove back to Malone’s to pick up some more boxes. 

You had wandered into your dorm room with Olivia’s night light on. Thank god Olivia was a heavy sleeper, she’s not the happiest when people wake her up from a nap. You changed out of your leggings and into sleep shorts. You briefly stepped into your ensuite bathroom to brush your teeth and tucked yourself into bed. You smelled Logan’s hoodie one last time before drifting off to sleep, wondering if this was all still real or if it was a dream. 

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the support in part 1! I never realized how much I missed writing, I hope you all enjoyed! And yes, there will be a part 3 coming soon! If you aren't already on the taglist and want to be added, be sure to comment!

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Since the night you almost said something real and Logan almost let you, things had settled into a rhythm that felt too fragile to name and too obvious to ignore. 

He still wasn’t your boyfriend, technically. You weren’t his girlfriend, technically. 

Technically had become a very convenient word for two people who kept finding excuses to be alone in his truck, who texted about nothing until one of you fell asleep, who knew each other’s coffee orders and class times and the exact kind of silence that meant the other person was tired instead of upset.

 Logan had continued to appear in your day with an ease that made you nervous if you thought about it too long, leaning against the wall outside your lecture hall with his hands in his pockets like he had not crossed half of campus just to walk you somewhere you were perfectly capable of walking alone.

It was not dating, because neither of you had called it dating.

It was not casual, because casual did not look like Logan keeping a spare perfume sample in the cup holder of his truck after you left yours there twice. 

Casual did not look like him slowing his steps automatically when you were wearing impractical shoes, or you texting him photos of produce displays at the grocery store because a tomato looked “ suspicious” and knowing he would answer like the tomato had personally offended him. 

Casual did not look like his hand finding the small of your back in crowded rooms and then leaving too quickly, like he had remembered he was not allowed to want that kind of closeness unless one of you was brave enough to say it out loud.

You had become friends in the way people became friends when they were very badly pretending not to fall in love. 

There were inside jokes. There were routines. There were looks from Hannah and Allie that made you talk faster and Logan look at the floor. 

There was a spot in the passenger seat of his truck that had started to feel like yours, though you would rather have eaten one of his protein bars dry than admit that. 

There was the night he drove you back from the farm and did not kiss you at the door, even though he looked at your mouth for so long you forgot the entire English language. There was the morning you found him outside the coffee place with your order already in his hand, and when you asked if he had started stalking you, he only shrugged and said, “You’re predictable, Cherry,” with a smile that made you want to throw the cup at him and kiss him at the same time.

So no, nothing had been decided.

That was the problem.

Nothing had been decided, but Logan looked at you differently now. Like he knew there was something between you and was trying very hard not to scare it off by reaching for it too quickly.

 Like the confession-not-confession had left a mark on him too. Like every time you brushed against him, every time your scent lingered in his truck, every time you smiled at him over the rim of a milkshake or called him handsome in that careless, sunny voice that made his ears go pink, he had to remind himself that wanting you did not automatically mean he got to keep you.

And you, because you were apparently not as sensible as you had always assumed, kept letting him almost try.

You loved costume parties.

You loved the drama of them, the absurd seriousness that descended upon otherwise normal people when a theme was introduced. You loved how quickly a room could transform once everyone agreed to abandon dignity in the name of a bit. You loved the planning, the references, the tiny details nobody else noticed until you pointed them out with both hands and an alarming amount of enthusiasm. You loved that a costume could be pretty, funny, clever, historical, slutty, sweet, stupid, or all of those things at once, depending on how committed someone was to the narrative.

And you were committed.

Deeply and religiously.

The problem was that your commitment to a theme had apparently created tension in the room before you had even left the house.

Allie said this was because you looked “insane.”

Hannah said Allie needed to use kinder adjectives.

Allie corrected herself and said you looked “insanely good.”

You accepted that with only mild suspicion.

The three of you had taken over the bathroom and most of Hannah’s bedroom, which now looked like the backstage area of a very underfunded but ambitious cabaret. 

Makeup bags lay open across the dresser. A curling iron sat cooling beside three lipsticks, two pairs of false lashes, a packet of bobby pins, and one emergency granola bar Hannah had insisted on placing within reach because “someone in this room will forget to eat if we don’t assign snacks.”

That someone, based on history, was you.

Tonight, however, you were too excited to forget anything.

You sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the mirror while Hannah adjusted one of the glossy pin curls at your temple. You had decided against a wig ever since Nana had said a wig would flatten the ‘romance of it’- instead you decided to pin it into a vintage shape that had taken an hour, two instructional videos- each of them increasingly millennial and Allie standing behind you with a can of hairspray like she was armed.

Soft curls framed your face, shining deep under the bedroom light, while the rest was pinned close enough to evoke Betty Boop without turning you into a theme park employee.

The dress was red. Of course.

A low sweetheart neckline, thin straps, a short fitted shape that hugged your waist and hips before ending in a hem you kept forgetting was shorter than anything you would normally wear without tights. 

The fabric had a faint sheen under the light, not quite satin, not quite costume-store shiny, and it moved beautifully when you did. Too beautifully, according to Allie, who had nearly swallowed her lip gloss the first time you spun.

There were matching red heels waiting by the bed.

A little gold heart necklace at your throat.

Red lipstick, glossy and precise.

And, currently causing major distress, a vintage garter Nana had sent in tissue paper with a note that read: 

For the costume. Do not let anyone boring tell you it is too much.

Love, Nana.

You had nearly cried.

Then you had tried to put it on and discovered it came with opinions.

“It keeps slipping,” you said, frowning down at your thigh.

Allie, who was midway through becoming J.Lo and therefore already glowing like a woman with an agenda, looked over her shoulder and froze.

Hannah’s hands paused in her hair.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed now, one leg bent, carefully sliding the red garter higher up your thigh beneath the hem of the dress. It was pretty, lace-edged and vintage, with a tiny embroidered heart at the centre. It matched perfectly. It also refused to stay where you put it.

“Do we think the garter is too much?” you asked.

Allie looked at Hannah.

Hannah looked at Allie.

“For the costume?” Hannah asked.

“Yes.”

Allie’s mouth curved slowly. “No. For the costume, it’s perfect.”

“Good.” You exhaled, relieved, and adjusted it again, “Because Nana said boring people would object, but Nana also wore a velvet cape to Thanksgiving once, so I do have to consider her scale.”

“Nana sounds hot,” Allie said.

“She is. Granddad tells people he married above his station, and Nana tells him that he can’t confess to obvious things.”

Hannah laughed, then placed another pin in your hair, “Hold still.”

“I am holding still.”

“You are vibrating.”

“I love costume parties.”

“We know,” Allie said, “You’ve said that twelve times.”

“That seems like an undercount.”

“It is.”

You smiled at your reflection, giddy. It was not even about looking sexy. You liked the costume because it was theatrical and sweet and vintage and silly. Betty Boop had always seemed like a little animated contradiction, huge eyes, tiny waist, ridiculous voice, all innocence and flirtation at once, like someone had drawn glamour and then made her bounce. 

The costume felt like play. Like being allowed to step inside a childhood cartoon and commit fully.

Apparently, everyone else had decided it felt like something else too.

Allie leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, “Logan is dead tonight.”

You looked at her in the mirror, “Why?”

Hannah’s lips pressed together.

Allie stared at you.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing.”

“That was a something tone.”

“It’s just a good costume,” Hannah said carefully.

You smiled again, “Thank you.”

Allie muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

You turned, “What?”

“Nothing, Betty.”

You narrowed your eyes but let it go because Hannah was adjusting the final curl, and you did not want to ruin an hour of structural labour by interrogating Allie’s tone.

Hannah, already dressed in her bunny costume for the couples costume she was doing with Garrett, looked painfully pretty in soft white and little ears that made you clap when she first put them on. Garrett was the magician, because obviously. 

Allie was J.Lo, all glowing skin, confident hair, and enough body shimmer to be seen from space. Dean was Maverick, someone named Beau was therefore Goose, Logan was apparently “the bird,” and Tucker was “the bee,” which, according to Allie, was one of those jokes men thought up and then congratulated themselves for like they had invented theatre.

“The birds and the bees,” you repeated for the third time while slipping into your red heels, “That is so stupid.”

“It gets worse,” Hannah said, “They’re proud of it.”

“I respect pride in bad work.”

Allie pointed at you with a lip gloss wand, “Do not encourage them.”

“I encourage themes, not men.”

“That should be on a shirt.”

You stood carefully, balancing in the heels as the dress settled around you. The garter slipped half an inch immediately.

You looked down, “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Allie’s eyes widened as you lifted the hem slightly to fix it, “Babe.”

“What?”

“You cannot be doing that in public.”

“Doing what?”

Hannah made a soft strangled sound, half laugh, half warning, “Adjusting it like that.”

“It is sliding.”

“Yes, and every man at that party is going to walk into the ocean if you fix it like that in front of them.”

You blinked. Then looked back down at your thigh.

“It’s a garter.”

“It’s your thigh,” Allie said.

“Yes. I brought it with me.”

Hannah laughed so hard she had to sit down.

You frowned, “You two are being strange.”

“We are being realistic.”

“I have grown up around farms, baby cousins, goat births, and men who wear shorts in February. A thigh is not a national incident.”

Allie gave Hannah a look, “She’s going to kill him.”

“Who?”

“Betty,” Hannah said gently, “Finish your lipstick.”

Beau’s beach house was already glowing when you arrived.

The house sat low and wide near the water, all glass, weathered wood, and warm lights spilling across the porch. Music drifted out through open doors, thudding under the sound of the ocean beyond the dunes. Cars lined the drive and half the road. People in costumes moved across the lawn and through the house in bright, ridiculous clusters, angels, devils, athletes, cowboys, superheroes, one very committed pirate, and two people in inflatable dinosaur suits trying to drink from plastic cups.

You stopped at the bottom of the steps, eyes wide.

“I love costume parties,” you whispered.

Allie hooked her arm through yours, “We know.”

Inside, the party was louder, warmer, and already much less structurally sound than it should have been. 

The living room had been cleared for dancing, furniture pushed back, drinks spread across the kitchen island, a table near the back stacked with snacks and bottles, sliding doors open onto the porch where people were clustered in the ocean air.

You saw Hannah’s face light up before you saw Garrett.