Page 63 of Puck'N Enemy
His thick brows furrow, confusion flashing in his eyes. “You don’t want me to stay?”
Oh, I did. God knows I want him right by my side in bed. But I can’t let Logan keep obsessing over my safety. He can’t mess up his own life trying to watch over me all the time.
“You need your own space,” I say gently. “You’ve got classes, training, and a whole team depending on you. You can’t keep shadowing me like this. It’s not fair to you or your friends.”
He shakes his head with a stubborn look on his handsome face. “It’s not about fairness. It’s about making sure you’re safe.”
Placing a hand on Logan’s chest, I feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath the hoodie. “I’m safe. You’ve already done enough. You drove me home, and I’m fine. But you can’t be here every single night. It’ll wear you down.”
He stares at me with a silent, unreadable expression.
So, I give him a nod and a reassuring smile even though my chest aches. “Go home. Sleep in your own bed for once. I promise I’ll text you first thing in the morning, okay?”
Logan hesitates. I can see him fighting a silent, internal battle.
But finally, he exhales, giving a reluctant nod. “Fine. I’ll go home. But you'd better text me when you wake up or I’m coming back here.”
I grin. “Deal.”
He hands me my bag and leans down to capture my lips.
I open my lips to him, letting him swirl his tongue over mine. Heat erupts deep in my belly, making me almost regret sending him back home.
“Don’t forget to text me,” he says, looking deep in my eyes.
“I won’t. Promise!”
Pulling me closer, he presses a lingering kiss on my forehead. It’s sweet but heavy with something unsaid. He’s seriously worried about me.
“Goodnight,” Logan murmurs, stepping away from me.
“Night,” I say, watching him climb into the car.
Left alone on the deserted street, I feel the tiniest flicker of unease.
Just shake it off, I tell myself as Logan’s car disappears down the street.
Taking a deep breath, I walk inside the dimly lit lobby of the building and head up the cracked staircase.
Reaching the apartment, I quietly unlock it and push open the door.
The creak of hinges is awfully familiar. Walking into the living room area, I breathe in the air soaked with the smell of medicines and the lemony scent of the bleach I use to clean the apartment.
Coach Becker’s on the couch, a blanket over his legs, glasses perched on his nose as he reads a battered old book. He looks up just as I enter the room.
“Hey, kid,” he says with a small smile. “All done for today?”
“Yeah,” I reply, setting my bag down by the door.
“Logan’s not with you?”
Even Coach has noticed him hanging around me too often. “He went home for the night.”
Coach nods. “That’s good. I thought he’d permanently moved in here.” He lets out a chuckle. “Anyway, I’ve had my dinner. The soup is still warm, so don’t wait too long to eat it.”
“Got it,” I say softly.
Walking past him, I go into the kitchen. My stomach groans with hunger after tonight’s brutal hockey session. Opening the fridge, I take out some cold leftover pasta and meat.
