by Elise Faber
But the truth was that nothing was guaranteed.
Least of all her accepting or forgiving him or even coming to an understanding of why he’d done what he’d done.
He needed to show her what she meant to him.
He needed to prove he was worth her taking a chance on him again.
Because he’d helped build those walls around her heart, had effectively handed her the bricks, the mortar. Maybe he didn’t regret the decision he made, knew it had to be done, but also . . . fuck, he’d been so young, so stupid.
So fast.
Always moving too fast.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, saw the war within himself—the knowledge of what he needed to do fighting against his instincts to barrel in and get her back.
But there was only one outcome in that scenario that resulted in winning back Char’s trust.
So, Logan knew exactly what he had to do.
He needed to slow way down.
In fact, he thought he was going to slow down so much that he’d be late to the party.
Fourteen
Char
She didn’t normally get to sit around with the team like this.
No barriers.
No necessary professional distance.
Just some adults and kids hanging out, eating way too many baked goods from Molly’s—something even Nutritionist Rebecca couldn’t get too mad about, considering the season was over.
Well, that and the fact that someone had bought Rebecca’s favorites—a gluten and sugar-free pastry filled with eco-friendly chocolate.
Char personally thought it tasted like sand.
But she had dutifully taken the bite Rebecca had offered, and clearly the nutritionist liked it, so she kept her opinions to herself.
Plus, she was too busy filling her stomach with Triple-Chocolate Orgasm cookies to be focused on much else. Brit had plunked a bottle of dark lager into her hand and told her to prepare to have her mind blown.
She had something blown.
Stifling a snort because that might have been funny if she’d had something to blow or if someone had blown her—which, side note, was maybe not possible, or perhaps more accurately, wasn’t something she particularly wanted. Lips and teeth and a tongue, yeah that was more her speed—
Logan walked into the room, head bent slightly as Max stood next to him, chatting his ear off.
Probably about the latest fantasy show that had taken Netflix by storm.
God, he looked good. He was tall and lean, with a thick black beard that she wanted to feel against her skin, especially if he paired it with his teeth and lips and tongue. Because . . . God, they’d been good together. After they’d broken up, she’d never had sex with one iota of the intensity as it had been with Logan. Their chemistry had been off the charts.
And based on the kiss the other morning, it was still that way.
As though he knew she was staring at him, he turned his head and those gorgeous emerald eyes met hers.
Even from across the room, she felt the intensity, felt what he wanted to do to her. Char’s breath caught and she shifted, an ache between her legs, heat dripping down her spine like honey.
Eight years and she still wanted him like it was the first time.
She knew she should look away.
But she was held captive.
“Is your tongue having an orgasm?”
No, but something else is desperate to have one.
Brit dropped onto the cushion next to her to punctuate that question, or maybe the thought—fuck, she hoped it had remained just a thought.
“What?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at—”
Char inhaled, fear gripping her when she realized how transparent she’d been by staring at Logan, by basically eye-fucking him from across the room when she was supposed to be a fucking professional.
And because the world was the way it was—read: a cruel motherfucker—Brit got a full glimpse of Char nearly choking on her last bite of orgasm—she meant cookie.
Cookie, dammit.
Not sex.
Brit patted her on the back. “Easy,” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“All”—cough—“good”—cough—“it’s”—cough—“my fault.”
Char inhaled, this time managing to not choke on her cookie, and then took a long sip of beer. “I’m fine,” she said when she’d finished. “I should have been paying closer attention instead of woolgathering.”
Brit’s blue eyes locked onto hers and Char had to resist the urge to fidget.
“I’ve never”—Char braced herself for Brit to call her out, to say something like I’ve never seen a GM who wants to fuck one of his players—“heard someone use the term woolgathering in actual conversation before.”
Char snorted, gaze darting to the side. Logan had moved farther in the room but hadn’t come over to her, wasn’t even looking at her, even though she’d just nearly choked to death giving that double chocolate orgasm cookie a blowjob. “Oh, no, don’t give me that nonsense. It’s not that uncommon.”
“You sure you weren’t born in 1950?”
Char smacked her lightly on the arm.
“Goaltender abuse!” Brit joked. “I need that shoulder.” She grinned. “And so do you.”
“Maybe my plan is to devalue the price of you and that shoulder.”
Brit froze for a heartbeat before a grin broke out on her face. “You’re devious, and I, for one, love it.”
“Because I want to injure you so I can pay less when I renew your contract?”
“Yup.” Brit took a sip of her beer. “Well, that and the fact that you’ve got a sense of humor and don’t take yourself too seriously.”
Char shrugged. “It’s part of the job, part of the needle we women find ourselves having to constantly thread. We can be tough, but not too tough. We can be outspoken, but only so long as we don’t hurt some man’s feelings. We can assert ourselves, but only so far, otherwise we’re a bitch.”
Brit’s eyes went sad. “Are you feeling that way here? With us?”
Shit.
“God, no.” She reached over and squeezed Brit’s hand. “This organization is incredible, and I think that’s not only because of the focus on gender and racial equity but also because of the men here. We’ve got allies, not barriers.” Straightening, she smiled at the goaltender, who was older than her, but also seemed very young in many ways. Maybe it was the fact Brit was a goalie and goalies were weird, or maybe it was just that Brit was young at heart and had an innocence to her that no one had managed to dim. “I was thrilled to be offered the job, and my experience has been incredible. It’s just all the rest of it—the media, the blogs, the nasty headlines. You’ve been there, done that.”
Brit made a face. “Yeah, I know a bit about how rough the media circus can be.” She leaned back. “My advice is to avoid looking at the sports blogs. It’s a brutal world of misogyny. Hell, they’re still saying I’m a publicity stunt, and I’ve won the fucking Cup. Twice.”
“You’re my first choice in goalie, any day of the week,” Char told her, and she meant it. Brit was smaller than male goalies, but she was beyond talented and a critical part of the Gold roster.
“Yes!” Brit fist-pumped.
“What?” Char asked.
“My contract offer just went up.”
Char lifted her gaze to the ceiling and sighed, her eyes flicking to the side when she felt Logan come closer. But the man was apparently engrossed in his conversation with Max, and he didn’t once look at her. Shaking herself, she forced herself to pay attention to Brit. “Didn’t my invite tonight come with the promise that we were forgetting I’m technically everyone in this room’s boss?”
When the other woman had texted and invited her to the team party, Char had been conflicted—and not just because Logan would come (though he’d just shown up, so if he really wanted her and her friendship, wouldn’t he have arrived earl
ier?). Instead, she’d struggled with the urge to refuse on principle, because she should keep distance between herself and the rest of the world.
But how could she keep her distance and also encourage the organization to be a family?
Families didn’t keep their distance.
Or good ones didn’t.
Brit shrugged, teased lightly, “You’re the one who brought up contracts.” But she didn’t belabor the point. Instead, she changed the subject.
To one that Char was trying and failing to ignore.
“Did you need to discuss something with Logan?”
“What?” Char tore her gaze away from the beautiful man who made her thighs clench together and her pussy ache.
“Logan. Did you need me to get him for you?”
Yes. Yes, she did. She wanted Brit to go over there and bring Logan to her, to offer him up like some sexual gift where there would be no consequences for her heart or her job.
But there were always consequences.
“No.” She blinked, dispelling the memory of how good Logan had been at giving her orgasms and how much better he might be with eight more years of practice. Char turned to the woman next to her and lifted a brow. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you look like you either want to fuck or kill him.”
What had Char been thinking about this woman being innocent? Because clearly Brit wasn’t, or at least she saw too fucking much.
“You’re wrong.”
Brit patted her shoulder, shook her head slightly. “Why does it sound like you’re trying to convince yourself?”
Because she was?
Char tipped her beer bottle and took a long swallow, buying time, but also rocked to the core. If Brit noticed, then who else would?
Would Logan?
And if he did realize how much she wanted him and he pushed or began pursuing her in earnest, how in the fuck was she going to be able to resist him?
She wouldn’t be able to.
Her pulse sped, heart thudding in her chest. Maybe it was because she was the boss and trying to interject some distance between herself and this woman who saw too much. Or maybe because the thought of Logan recognizing too much and realizing she had no defense against him, made her panic. Either way, Char knew in that moment that coming to the party had been a horrible idea.
She had to go, and she had to go now.
“You know what—” She started to stand.
Brit dropped her hand to Char’s wrist. “I was like you.”
Saw too much. Brit saw too much.
Char forced a smile. “We women in a men’s world have to stick together.”
“That’s not—” Brit stood, dropped her voice. “Look, I know I’m overstepping”—a chagrined smile—“but that’s my M.O., so I’m just going to say it. I almost let the best thing in my life go because I was too scared to step outside myself, because I was too worried what the world would think.” A light squeeze of those fingers. “Logan is a good guy. He—”
“He broke my heart.”
It just slipped out.
The admission was critically embarrassing. Char should be way over a young love gone wrong, some hurt feelings from nearly a decade before.
But the door had been pushed open, and she remembered.
How hopeful she’d been.
How much it had hurt when he’d gone.
Her eyes burned, and it took her a moment to realize that Brit hadn’t said anything back. She turned to Brit, words tumbling out. “It was a long time ago, way before either of us were here—” A sharp shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He is a good man, and I wish him a good future. I just—”
“I understand,” Brit said softly, after Char struggled to find out exactly what she just.
Just what?
Couldn’t? Shouldn’t? Was too scared to? Was too furious to?
Take her pick.
They all fit her churning emotions.
“I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”
Pulse still pounding, cheeks scorching hot, Char knew she had to keep it together. She reached over and gave Brit a quick hug. “No,” she murmured. “Thank you for caring.” She pulled back. “But I think I’ve had enough tonight.”
Brit nodded then glanced over Char’s shoulder, eyes widening. “He’s coming this way. Do you want me to run interference?”
“No.” What Char wanted to do was to turn around and run into Logan’s arms, to pretend nothing bad had happened between them, and to trust him like she once had. That he was her other half, that he was a good man who would treat her like her dad did her mother.
But that trust was gone.
“I have to do this.”
“You don’t,” Brit whispered. “You really don’t.” Respect in her pale blue eyes. “But I get why you feel like you have to.” She stepped back and scooped up her beer from the side table, voice raising in volume and chipperness. “Well, I’ll just go grab another one of my crappy beers.”
Then she was gone.
And Logan was at Char’s back.
Fifteen
Logan
She turned slowly to face him, and the weariness in her eyes killed him.
But . . . actions.
Show not tell.
He shoved down how much that hurt him and extended the bottle of water he’d grabbed for her after watching her almost choke to death while talking to Brit. He’d wanted to storm over, to cradle her in her arms, but he’d promised to show, promised friendship, promised to go slow.
So, he’d extracted himself from Max’s inane conversation about whether druids was the proper term for some magical being in the show he was currently bingeing then had made his way to the cooler.
Now, he struggled to contain his body’s reaction when her fingers brushed his.
“What’s this?” she asked when the damp exterior of the bottle met her skin.
Which got him thinking about damp things he shouldn’t be thinking of, especially when he was trying to firmly friend zone himself.
“I’m guessing your throat hurts,” he said, then mentally kicked himself.
Throat. Damp. Next he’d be discussing how hard things were.
And speaking of which—
Focus.
“You were coughing,” he said lamely. “I figured you might need something to drink.”
Her gaze moved from the bottle up to his, those chocolate depths indecipherable as they held his stare for long moments. Then she dropped her eyes back to the beer bottle she already held.
“O-oh, I-I—” he stammered. “I’ll—”
“Thanks, Log.” She took the water from him and he had a difficult time looking away from the slender fingers, their nails tipped in pale pink polish. Somehow, it suited her, though it made part of him crave how she’d used to sport all sorts of shades.
Bright green and red for Christmas.
A plethora of autumn tints when the leaves began changing.
Team colors when they’d been on a winning streak.
Now they were pretty but subdued.
He’d done that.
Or maybe it had been a combination that he’d kicked off, but that life and professionalism had required.
Or maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about her fucking nail polish when he had so much to make up for.
“Did you get some food?”
She glanced up at him, brows drawn together, and Logan was so twisted up by his longing for this woman that it took him far too long to connect the pieces. Fucking hell, of course she got some food. She’d just been choking on it.
He’d brought her the water bottle because of it.
Good grief.
Logan closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. He needed to stop fucking this up. The stakes were too high and—
Fingers on his hand. “Are you okay?”
He swallowed, cleared his throat. “I’m fine. I—”
Fuck.
He what? Had thought himself
into such a circle that he was absolutely terrified in this moment of saying or doing the wrong thing. All he could think was show not tell, slow down, actions not words on repeat through his brain.
And funny story, that made it incredibly difficult to think of anything reasonable to say, to do.
“Log—”
Get a grip.
“Char, I—”
“I’m pregnant!”
The room went absolutely silent, everyone turning to PR Rebecca.
“What?” Brit asked into the quiet. “I thought you couldn’t have—” She broke off, shook her head. “Oh, my God! Rebecca, are you serious?”
The slender brunette nodded, and it was the first time that Logan had ever seen her appear the least bit uncertain. “It was a surprise,” she said, teeth nibbling into her bottom lip as she glanced up at Kevin.
Logan’s teammate’s face was soft, gentler than he’d ever seen. “A great surprise,” he said, brushing a tear that escaped Rebecca’s eye.
Someone sniffed.
The sound seemed to propel everyone into motion.
Mandy, heavily pregnant with Blane’s second daughter, rushed over to Rebecca, hugging her as tightly as her belly would allow. “Honey! I’m so happy for you. That’s amazing!”
Brit was only a step behind. “Congratulations! I’m thrilled for you both.”
Sara—a quiet brunette and former international figure skating champion, who was married to Max Stewart, a defenseman who’d retired from the Gold last season at the same time as Stefan, their former captain—joined the huddle, followed by Max’s and Blue’s wives, Angie and Anna, respectively. Nutritionist Rebecca was there a heartbeat later, her soft voice nearly inaudible. Soon everyone was talking, excitement filling the room.
Logan didn’t know the whole story, but he could pick up enough to understand that Rebecca being pregnant was happy, amazing news.
“I should—” Char’s fingers were still on his arm, and he briefly covered them with his own when she jumped and blinked. “I’ll just go congratulate Kevin and Rebecca.”
Her lips parted. A breath shuddered out.
“Char?”
“Yes?” she said and visibly shook herself. “You’re right. We should go offer our congratulations.”