Page 51 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

“Mine,” he said simply.

I could feel his words breaking something inside me, something I didn’t know was fragile until he touched it. I ripped my chin away from him and walked back into the room, my hands trembling as I clutched the roses and tried to ignore what he’d just said.

Because it was insane.

“How did you even find out…about me?” I asked softly, trying to ignore how it felt when he came up behind me, so close that with every breath, his chest brushed my back. “Did Tyler tell you? Because he’s not supposed to do that.”

“Tyler is an asshole,” he mused.

I shook my head. Tyler was going to pay for breaking the rules—even more than what he’d already lost with his suspension.

I glanced around the hotel room and realized I didn’t know what to do with the flowers. There didn’t seem to be any vases floating around.

I stared at the roses again, my fingers clenching the stems a little too tight, and one of the thorns tore into my finger.

“Ouch,” I huffed, staring down where a drop of crimson blood was dripping down my fingers.

Before I could even react, he was there, his larger hand gently but firmly capturing mine.

“Careful,” he hummed, his voice low, almost hypnotic. His thumb brushed over my palm, sending an electric jolt up my arm.

“I’ll survive,” I said, my voice coming out softer than I intended. I tried to pull back, but he held on.

Tilting my hand toward him, he focused on the drop of blood that was sliding down my finger. His lips curled into a frown, one that sent a rush of heat straight to my cheeks. “You’re bleeding,” he said, like it was some kind of revelation.

“Just a scratch,” I replied, my words stumbling over themselves. I tried to tug my hand free again, but he didn’t let go.

His eyes flicked up to mine, something unreadable swirling in their green depths. Before I could process what was happening, he lifted my finger to his lips.

My breath caught as his tongue flicked over the cut, his mouth warm and soft as he pressed a kiss there, slow and deliberate. The sensation was startling, intimate, and entirely unexpected.

“Logan,” I breathed, not sure if it was meant to be a protest or a plea. My heart was pounding, a wild, erratic rhythm that matched the heat crawling up my neck.

“Relax,” he said, his voice a playful rumble. He licked his lips, smirking as if he’d just done something as casual as wiping ketchup off his chin. “Just making sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“You know that’s not how first aid works, right?” I said, my voice shaking more than I wanted it to.

“It’s howmyfirst aid works,” he countered, finally releasing my hand but not stepping back. His eyes lingered on me, his grin widening as I tried to shake off whatever spell he’d just cast. “And admit it, I’m better than a Band-Aid.”

I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to steady my breathing as I glared at him. “You’re crazy.”

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Crazy for you.”

“Stop saying that!” I snapped, but there was no heat in it. “That’s not how anything works in the world.”

He leaned closer, his grin morphing into something more wicked, more intoxicating. “How about this…I’ll stop when it stops being true.”

My cheeks burned, and I looked away, trying to gather my thoughts…but he seemed to be taking up all the space in my head lately.

The thorn? Barely a sting. His smirk, plus the sweet, ridiculous words coming out of his mouth?

Those were inflicting a wound far more dangerous.

I forced myself to back up, ignoring how amused he looked at my efforts. He was underestimating me if he thought I was going to fall into his arms after a few sweet words.

Had I experienced them before?

No.

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