Page 25 of Puck Struck
“Cameron,” the sponsor says, nodding approval. “You’re as good off the ice as you are on it.”
“I try. Gotta be good at something,” I reply with a grin, knowing it doesn’t reach my eyes. Not with Logan out there and the truth clawing at my insides.
“Keep it up,” he says, moving on, and I’m alone with my thoughts again. My dirty secrets.
Smile pretty. Lie better.
I stand at the bar, fiddling with a glass of club soda and wondering how much longer the torture of the night will last for.
My phone buzzes again and I pull it out of my pocket with shaking fingers.
This time, it’s not only a message but a photo.
Me. Back then. A blurry screenshot. Rented tux. Cheap smile.
Four words follow.
You can’t outrun this.
NINE
logan
I can’t stop replayingCam’s words from the event last night. The way his voice dropped when he spoke…low and laced with challenge. The whole scene loops through my mind like a broken record.
“If you kiss me, I’m going to let you.”
And fuck me, I almost did.
His tie was undone. His heart was racing. I felt it under my fingertips when I fixed it. That stupid tux hugged him like a glove, and he wore it like he owned the place. He looked like trouble wrapped in Armani, and for those few fleeting seconds, he almost owned me.
And I almost gave in to the temptation gripping me.
Almost.
But I didn’t.
Because I knew if I kissed him, it wouldn’t stop at one kiss. It wouldn’t stop at all.
I fought harder against the need to kiss him than I ever fought for any goal in my fucking career. His face, cocky as hell and so sure of himself, has wallpapered my brain ever since hewalked away from me. Like he knows I want him, like he believes I’ll be the one who breaks first.
It pisses me off to no end that he’s got me so obsessed and on edge. I tossed and turned for hours last night in the hotel room, waiting for him to show up, wondering where he was, why he didn’t come looking for me. When I finally heard the door lock click, my blood bubbled with some crazy mix of desire and fury and it took everything in me to swallow it all down and stew quietly under the covers because all of the emotions swarming my mind scared the shit out of me.
I kept my breathing steady, like I was dead to the world. His footsteps got closer, close enough that my mind shifted into all the ways I could get up and fuck him senseless against the wall.
But instead, I just lay there, listening to the dull pound of blood between my ears as he dropped onto his bed with a quiet, tired sigh. And it made me wonder about what he wanted to say on that balcony, what stopped him from saying it, what that phone notification had to do with it. It’s the worst part of wanting him this much, that every flicker of curiosity about his past and what he might be hiding doesn’t do shit to kill the urge I have to make him happy.
But wanting him isn’t enough, not for me, not when it feels like he’s holding something back. I want his story, his truth, everything he won’t say. Maybe he feels out of control of parts of his own life, too. Maybe I just want to know we’re more alike than I thought.
We got back to Oakland the next day, the stress about Ethan’s upcoming appointment hanging over me like a dark cloud. I drop my bag in the hallway at home, barely having time to stretch my shoulder before Tessa walks in with Ethan.
I pull him in for a big hug and he wraps his arms around me, squeezing tight. Taking in a deep breath, I say a silentprayer that the appointment doesn’t reveal anything concerning. I pray for status quo, always.
“You guys played a great game against the Scorpions, Uncle Lo,” Ethan says once we get into the truck. “And you scored the game-winning shot. It was awesome. All my friends saw and texted me about it. There are tons of edits online of you, too. I’ll show you later.”
Tessa smiles, glancing at Ethan in the backseat. “It sure was awesome.”
“What’s an edit?” I ask.
