Page 42 of Spilled Coffee

Logan remained where he was despite every instinct screaming at him to put distance between himself and whatever this was before it unraveled completely.

He raked his hands through his hair again and stared at the tiled floor beneath him. The room felt unbearably warm, a cloying heat that clung to his skin even though he wasn’t under the spray himself. He took deep breaths to steady himself, but only succeeded in conjuring up an even sharper image behind his closed lids: Ethan’s body glistening wet, every line etched so vividly it was seared into his memory.

I can’t do this.The thought came hard and fast, like a slap across the face.I can’t do this with him.That rule—that wall he’d built so carefully over years of discipline—wasn’t just for show, it was there because he needed it to be there.

This wasn’t just wrong, it was reckless. Crossing into that world with a team member wasn’t just a bad idea, it was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

And yet... Ethan pulled him in ways no one else ever had. In a way that left Logan off-balance at every turn. Even at work amidst barked orders and grueling drills there’d been moments where he’d caught himself staring for too long... noticing too much.

Now? Now it was worse—ten fucking times worse—because Ethan wasn’t just beautiful, he was vulnerable: drunk and hurting and looking at Logan with eyes that begged for something he couldn’t give without breaking everything apart.

Devon’s words from earlier echoed in his mind like a taunt:“Ethan’s gonna get hurt if you’re not careful—and you’re damn good at that, aren’t you? Hurting, then shutting down...”

Logan clenched his jaw. As much as he hated to admit it, Devon was right—he had a history of walking away when things got complicated. But this was different. This wasn’t just about him, or even about Ethan. This was about the team, about responsibility. He couldn’t afford to blur those lines, no matter how tempting that blur might be.

“Stay there,” he said abruptly, forcing steel back into his tone as he stood up. He didn’t wait for a response before turning toward the door. “I’m making more coffee.”

CHAPTER 21

Logan setthe two mugs of steaming coffee on the table beside the bed, where the gray quilt was sprawled in a rumpled heap, half-swallowed by the floor.

The shower had stopped, replaced by the chaotic sound of Ethan stumbling around, drunken groans reverberating through the thin wall.

Logan took a deep breath, raked a hand through his hair, and without hesitation shoved the bathroom door open.

Leaning against the frame, a humid wave of steam rolled out, thick with the sharp tang of lemon and the warm bite of spiced soap. “You okay?” he asked, his brow knitting with concern as he stepped inside. “I made some fresh coffee.”

Ethan braced a hand against the wall, palm flat against the slick tiles, standing naked and swaying, his towel dragging clumsily over the planes of his chest. He looked fractionally more lucid, eyes less glassy, movements less wild than before.

“Yeah,” he muttered, giving a slow, unsteady nod, the towel swiping haphazardly across his abs. “Head feels like a jackhammer going off, but…”

“What the hell did you drink?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve never felt this fucked up before.” His words slurred, a faint drawl clinging to them.

Ethan’s admission twisted Logan’s gut, and something in that sluggish tone—raw with genuine confusion—lit a flare of unease in the back of his mind. “C’mon, let’s get you in bed. Sleep it off.” He gripped Ethan’s arm, fingers firm against damp skin, guiding him back to the bedroom and steering him to the mattress.

“Sit,” he ordered, reaching for a small towel draped over a nearby chair—a faded blue scrap, threadbare and pitiful. Standing behind Ethan, he began drying his back with broad, deliberate strokes. The muscles rippled beneath his touch, water beading along Ethan’s spine before Logan’s steady hands swept it away.

Ethan slumped, and Logan handed him a mug of black coffee. “Drink,” he said simply.

With trembling fingers, Ethan clutched the mug and sipped. The first taste hit like a scalding punch, twisting his face, nausea flashing in his eyes. “Ugh…” he groaned, shaking his head as he shoved the mug back at Logan, his expression an apology.

Logan took it without comment, setting it on the table with a soft clink beside its twin. “C’mon,” he said, voice softening, frustration melting into something tender and patient. “Get in bed. Sleep it off. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He straightened the quilt, pulling it back to reveal sheets creased from restless nights. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on Ethan as he sank naked beneath the covers, the dim light tracing every curve of muscle and glistening skin.

His breath hitched—a shaky exhale escaping as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was too much, too raw, and too fucking tempting. Draping the quilt over him, he forced the image from his mind.

“Logan…” Ethan’s voice was faint, a fragile plea. “Stay with me… please.”

“Just go to sleep,” Logan replied, voice steady but strained as he met those wide, bleary eyes staring up. He wanted to—God, how he ached to slide in and press against that warm, bare skin—but he couldn’t. His jaw tightened, and he rooted himself in place, fighting the magnetic pull that clawed at his chest, sharp as a wound. “I’ll be just out there.”

He turned before he could waver, snagging a mug from the nightstand as he retreated.

The coffee grounded him, and he refilled it for a second time—black, no sugar, a bitter jolt to steady his fraying nerves.

The living room felt cooler, the air crisper—a stark contrast to the lingering heat of Ethan’s presence in the bedroom. Muted shadows flickered across the walls, the quiet pressing in, a reminder of how hollow he felt despite the man in the next room.

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