Page 2 of Spilled Coffee

Logan’s lips twitched in amusement and he leaned forward, gaze flicking toward the window that offered a clear view of the younger man hunched over the counter, broad shoulders tense under his standard-issue t-shirt.

His sandy-blond hair caught the light, giving him an almost halo-like glow that felt at odds with the vulnerability radiating from his posture.

“Well…” Logan sighed, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge a thought as he got up from his chair. “Something’s definitely up with him. Guess I need to find out what.”

He moved toward the coffee station, ignoring the strange tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with concern for a team member’s focus. Nothing to do with the way Ethan’s t-shirt stretched across his shoulders as he leaned over the counter, or how his hands—steady in the most dangerous situations—now fumbled with coffee mugs and creamer.

Professional concern, Logan told himself firmly. Nothing more.

It couldn’t be anything more.

CHAPTER 2

Alone in the side office,Ethan let out a long, shaky exhale and pressed his palms flat against the coffee station counter.

Get a fucking grip,he berated, silently trying to keep himself from unraveling completely.You know it can’t happen.He clenched his jaw and stared at the steaming mug of coffee he’d just filled.Why keep torturing yourself like this?

His fingers trembled as they brushed against Logan’s favorite cup—a battered black mug with a faded anchor that had seen better days. Hell, the thing was practically an antique, but Logan told him it had seen him through numerous deployments and countless sleepless nights. Ethan knew he shouldn’t linger on it. Hell, it was just a fucking mug, but he couldn’t help himself.

Touching the mug felt like he was touching Logan.

He poured some of the freshly brewed coffee into it, and watched as the steam curled upward, dissipating into nothingness just like his thoughts.

Through the glass partition, he caught a glimpse of Logan slumped in his chair, his cap still perched backward on his head.

A familiar ache that only grew sharper with every passing day bloomed in his chest before another sigh escaped his lips—longer this time, tinged with something between longing and frustration.

Oh man… stop it.

Ethan’s hand drifted, almost unconsciously, to press against the growing bulge straining against his khaki pants. Every thought of Logan—his strong hands, that low rumble of a voice that could command attention without even trying—stoked the heat rising within him until it threatened to consume him whole.

I can’t keep doing this.“This has to fucking stop.”

The words slipped out in a harsh whisper before he could catch them.

“Stop what?” A deep voice rumbled directly behind him, too close for comfort.

Ethan jolted, nearly knocking over both the mugs in front of him. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of one and spilled onto the counter. “Shit!” he hissed through clenched teeth, spinning around so fast it made him dizzy.

Logan stood there, steady as ever, his hand reaching out to clasp Ethan’s shoulder. The warmth of that touch seeped through his t-shirt like a brand.

“You okay?” Logan asked, brow creased as his eyes scanned Ethan’s face for answers. “Looks like you’ve got a spillage going on there.” His lips quirked up at the corners, teasing but not unkind.

Ethan swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. The way Logan said those words, they would have looked innocent enough on paper, but damn if they didn’t feel loaded with innuendo. Or maybe that was just Ethan’s overactive imagination, because everything about Logan felt charged these days.

“No,” he stammered, a little too quickly, his voice cracking as he avoided Logan’s gaze. “I mean, yeah. I’m fine.” He waved ahand dismissively at the mess on the counter, as if that somehow proved his point.

Logan didn’t seem convinced. If anything, he stepped closer—close enough that Ethan could now feel the brush of his breath against his cheek when he spoke. “Look,” he began quietly, voice softening into something almost... intimate? “If something’s up, you know you can talk to me.”

His hand slid from Ethan’s shoulder to rest lightly against his upper back—a simple gesture that somehow sent shivers racing down Ethan’s spine like electricity crackling along frayed wires. “I mean it,” he continued, his thumb pressing into a knot of tension between Ethan’s shoulder blades, as if testing it out before kneading deeper into the muscle. “You seem to be wound pretty tight lately, and yeah, I get it, we’ve all got shit going on, but maybe you need to find a way to relax.”

Relax? Fucking relax?! Is he serious?

Ethan’s brain short-circuited entirely as Logan kept talking—something about massages and after-training plans—but all he could focus on was those damn hands working magic on his back and how badly he wanted them somewhere else entirely.

“That feels... good,” he breathed out before he could stop himself—the words unguarded and husky enough to make him blush moments later when they fully registered.

Logan grinned broad and easy, as if completely oblivious (or worse: utterly aware) of what kind of effect he was having right now. His teeth were white and perfect, his dimples deep enough to drown in, and his eyes sparkled with a warmth that could disarm even the most guarded heart.

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