Page 1 of Spilled Coffee

CHAPTER 1

Petty Officer Ethan Parkerhad broken three cardinal rules of Special Forces in less than a week:

Never lose focus during mission prep.

Never get distracted by a teammate.

And never, underanycircumstances, fantasize about your commanding officer.

Yet here he was, pen tapping an erratic rhythm against the edge of the desk, completely oblivious to the tactical briefing unfolding around him—all because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Logan Lockwood.

The team leader sat directly across from him, the picture of effortless command. Arms crossed behind his head, broad chest rising and falling in a measured rhythm that seemed to demand attention without trying. The short sleeves of his uniform strained against defined biceps, outlining every ripple of muscle as though the fabric had been tailored just for him.

To anyone else, it might’ve seemed an ordinary posture—almost lazy—but to Ethan, that easy confidence and raw physicality hit like a punch to the gut... every fucking time.

The briefing room buzzed with activity, maps sprawled haphazardly across the tables, their edges curling slightly underthe weight of coffee mugs and piles of stray papers. The scent of stale coffee and the distinct tang of military-issue disinfectant couldn’t quite mask the underlying smell of sweat and gear that had seen too many deployments.

Logan’s brows rose as he listened to one of the Team hashing out details of their next infil. The seriousness etched into his expression only amplified his appeal—those deep lines carved into his forehead spoke of focus, determination, and an unshakable resolve.

Focus, Parker. For fuck’s sake, focus.Ethan shifted in his chair, the worn leather creaking softly beneath his weight. This wasn’t just unprofessional, it was dangerous. Lives depended on these briefings. On his attention. On maintaining boundaries.

The words being spoken barely registered; they were nothing but background noise compared to the magnetic pull of Logan’s presence. His eyes focused on the little things—the way Logan tugged his cap off with one hand, exposing dark, mussy hair that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. The way he raked his fingers through it absently before flipping the cap backward and settling it onto his head again.

It was a simple, almost automatic trait he’d noticed months ago, but it never failed to make him smile. There was something disarming about it, a fleeting vulnerability hidden beneath Logan’s rugged exterior, and it softened the edges of a man who had clearly seen and done too much.

His heart gave a thud as his gaze traced Logan’s face—the sharp angles of his jaw dusted with five o’clock shadow, the slight crook in his nose hinting at past altercations, and those impossibly blue eyes that always seemed to carry a weight far heavier than any one man should.

Each line told a story, a map of survival etched into flesh and bone, and it made him want to know more. To understand whathad shaped Logan into this unshakable force. But more than that... it made him want to touch.

He sighed softly, lost in the fantasy playing out in his mind. An imaginary world where there were no briefings or tactical plans, just him and Logan alone in some quiet place where he could finally run his hands over those strong arms, feel their warmth and solidity beneath his palms. Where he could press his lips to that frown until it melted into something softer. Something for him.

“Hey, Pretty Boy…” Brick’s voice cut through the room, sharp and teasing. “You listenin’ over there?” He snorted, grinning wide enough to show teeth. “You even in there? Hell, we’ve been talkin’ for thirty minutes straight and you’re over there starin’ at nothing like you’ve seen a ghost.” His eyes darted briefly toward Logan before returning to Ethan with a knowing glint.

A balled-up scrap of paper sailed across the table, bouncing off Ethan’s cheek. He blinked, then jolted back with all the grace of a man yanked from deep water.

“What?” he asked dumbly, blinking again as he tried to piece together what he’d missed. “Uh... yeah,” he stammered, frowning as heat crept up the back of his neck. “Sorry—I was miles away.” He shifted awkwardly in his seat, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant as he adjusted himself under the table.

“You sure you’re alright?” Brick pressed, leaning forward with an exaggerated look of concern that bordered on mockery.

Ethan waved him off, desperate to redirect attention away from himself—and more importantly—from the persistent ache throbbing between his legs. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered. “I just zoned out there for a moment.”

From across the room came another voice, low and steady, that sent shivers down his spine. “You sure you’re okay?” Logan asked, head tilting slightly as those piercing blue eyes lockedonto him with unsettling precision. There was something in his tone—concern, yes, but also something else. Something that made the air between them feel charged.

Ethan swallowed. Shit. He must look like a wreck because Logan’s brow furrowed deeper now, worry flickering across his face like a shadow passing over glass.

“I’m fine,” he lied, quickly forcing what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Just tired. Maybe I should grab some coffee,” he added, standing up too fast as he fumbled for an escape route. “You guys want some?”

Logan’s lips quirked faintly at one corner, a smile so small it could almost be missed, but it carried warmth that only made Ethan’s predicament worse. “Yeah,” he said simply. “That’d be good.”

As Ethan hurried through the glass door to the coffee station in the office to the side of the room, he could feel Logan’s gaze lingering on him like sunlight pressing against bare skin—warm at first, but quickly overwhelming.

He busied himself, pouring coffee into mugs as if his life depended on it, focusing on each movement with painstaking precision: grab mug, fill, set aside, repeat. But even as he worked through the motions, visions of Logan refused to leave him alone—the way those rough hands had gripped his shoulders earlier during training. How they’d felt solid yet gentle all at once.

“You think he’s alright?” Eddie asked quietly, drawing Logan’s attention away from Ethan. His brow furrowed as he chewed absently on the end of a pen, eyes flicking toward the glass dividing wall where Ethan lingered on the other side.

Logan shrugged, reclining back in his chair with his hands propped casually behind his head. The picture of nonchalance. “Dunno,” he replied, the word drawn out as if he were tasting it. “Woman troubles, maybe? Brick,” he tilted his head toward the bearded man seated across from him, “you know anything?”

Brick grinned, leaning so far back that his chair teetered dangerously on its legs. “Nope, he’s not said nothin’ to me,” he replied with a chuckle, his grin widening into something more mischievous. “I do know it’s been a while since he’s gotten any action. Maybe the kid needs to blow off some steam. But if someone’s got him twisted up.” He paused for effect, tapping a finger to his temple theatrically. “It beats me who.”

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