Page 31 of Off the Ice

He set a rhythm that was both punishing and addictive, his hips snapping into mine with enough force to make the headboard knock. His lips never stopped moving, whispers, curses, filthy promises in my ear.

“You were made for me. This pussy? Mine.”

I moaned, nails raking down his back, and he cursed, fucking me harder.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he growled. “Not yet. I want you right on the edge.”

I was already there. My body was a live wire, trembling under every stroke, every command.

When I finally broke, it was with a cry, his name falling from my lips like a confession. Logan followed a moment later, burying himself deep and letting out a ragged moan as he came, holding me so tight it felt like he was trying to fuse us together.

He collapsed beside me, his arm pulling me into the warmth of his body.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he leaned in, kissed my temple, and whispered, “Still think I’m cocky?”

I laughed breathlessly. “Always.”

Part Two

Sixteen

Ava

ThebuzzofLogan’stext interrupted my train of thought, pulling my focus from the sea of betting patterns I’d been drowning in all afternoon.

Logan

Back in town. Game tomorrow night. Want to come?

I stared at the screen, torn between irritation at his casual tone and relief that he hadn’t forgotten about me entirely. It had been eight days since the gala and seven since he’d left for a string of away games. Our texts had been light, surface-level banter, but the silence between them left a strange ache I didn’t want to analyze.

Logan had a way of slipping past my defenses, leaving me exposed in a way that both thrilled and terrified me. Every time his name lit up my phone, I felt a flicker of something I couldn’t name—something I wasn’t ready to admit. He wasn’t just a man; he was a story, a distraction, and maybe something more. And if I wasn’t careful, Logan Bennett might turn my world upside down.

Ava

I’ll think about it. I need to finish this article first.

His reply came almost immediately.

Logan

You can write it after. Good luck saying no to Jaymie’s nachos.

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips. Logan Bennett, persistent as ever.

***

I spent most of the next day digging through the files attached to a mysterious email that had landed in my spam folder. The sender was anonymous, but the information was too compelling to ignore: detailed lists of games with suspiciously high betting activity, particularly on losses that should have been sure wins.

The implications were damning. These weren’t just random bad nights for the teams involved—they looked deliberate. Calculated. The kind of pattern that hinted at something much bigger, though I couldn’t yet see how it all connected.

Still, the email raised more questions than it answered. Who had sent it, and why? Why me? And how could I trust that this wasn’t some elaborate trap, or worse, complete fabrication?

I forwarded the email to myself, scrubbing any identifiers, and approached Jake, one of our staff fact-checkers. His cubicle was a chaotic mess of sticky notes, legal pads, and three monitors glowing with spreadsheets and reference databases.

Jake West was a tech wizard with the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel—unless, of course, you dangled a mystery in front of him. He thrived on puzzles, digital breadcrumbs, and the kind of investigative work that made my head spin. He also had a habit of dressing like he grabbed whatever was closest, which explained the faint coffee stain on his polo, just below the collar.

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