Page 54 of Spilled Coffee

Why didn’t you say goodbye?

Where are you? Maybe we could grab breakfast? x

He read it once, twice, three times, and a dry laugh escaped before he could stop it—a short huff that carried no real humor but softened enough for a fleeting smile to touch his lips.

His heart twisted at the sight of that single ‘x’ tacked onto the end of the message. It was casual but warm, and so easygoing, it made him ache.

It was so... Ethan.

Logan’s smile fell away, replaced by a deep frown that furrowed his brow and tightened his jaw. “A kiss…” he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with incredulity. “A fucking kiss on a text.” He shook his head as if trying to dislodge the anxiety rising within him. “Is this kid for real?” That small gesture—the twenty-fourth letter of the alphabet—it said too much and yet not enough all at once.

The coil in his chest wound tighter until he couldn’t breathe, and he pressed his fingers to his temple, kneading the skin hard enough to leave faint red marks.

“Shit,” he hissed through gritted teeth, pacing again as if moving around could shake loose the thoughts tangling his mind. “What the fuck am I gonna do? Hell, I knew how he felt—dammit—I knew.”

Logan’s voice cracked, frustration bleeding through every syllable. He glanced down at the phone, staring again at that solitary ‘x’ like it held all the answers.

He hurried back to the bathroom. The tiles were cool beneath his bare feet, and as he stepped inside, he let out a slow exhale.

Without hesitation, he twisted the faucet, and the shower roared back to life.

He stepped under its relentless stream, and the water hit hot and hard against his chest. It should’ve been soothing. It should’ve dulled the edge of everything clawing at him. Instead, it was a punishment.

He grabbed the soap, lathering furiously between calloused hands until thick suds coated them. He scrubbed at himself with an almost frantic energy: across his chest, down his arms, over his thighs, everywhere Ethan’s touch had lingered.

It didn’t matter how hard he scrubbed or how many times he rinsed himself clean, Ethan’s scent still clung to him: faint but unmistakable, with an edge of something uniquely Ethan that defied description. Usually that scent would’ve been a comfort, but now it mocked him.

“Damn you, Ethan Parker,” he yelled, as if somehow Ethan might hear him.

Thoughts of Ethan flooded his mind: his smooth skin beneath his hands, the way their bodies moved together in a perfect rhythm, the soft gasps and rough moans that filled the room until they’d both come undone in each other’s arms.

Heat stirred low in his belly, a familiar ache that sent blood rushing southward faster than reason could keep up.

Logan wanted to hate himself for what had happened—for crossing lines that should’ve never been blurred—but part of him didn’t regret it at all. And maybe that’s what scared him most of all. It wasn’t just that he’d fallen into bed with Ethan, but that some part of him… wanted to fall again.

He pressed his palms flat against the tiles, trying to ground himself, trying to will away the ache that pulsed between his legs.

It was impossible.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, and every time he closed his eyes, Ethan’s face came surging back into focus: sharp jawline, lips slightly parted, those eyes—those frickin’ blue eyes—looking inside him with the same hunger he’d seen last night.

There was no fighting this anymore.

He exhaled with a frustrated growl and dropped one hand lower, wrapping his fingers around himself. His body gave ashudder, as he began slow strokes, deliberate and measured, but enough to feed the craving.

The friction sent sparks up his spine and his grip tightened.

“Fuck.” The word was a confession.

His movements quickened, each stroke sending fresh waves of heat. His pulse surged violently as Ethan’s image blazed in his mind—sprawled naked on the bed, chest rising and falling with barely restrained need. The memory was vivid enough to almost make his knees buckle and the way Ethan’s voice trembled when he whispered his name, the way his hands had clutched at him like he couldn’t bear to let go…

It hit fast—too fucking fast—and there was no stopping it.

As pleasure overtook him in an unstoppable rush, Logan clenched his jaw. His body tensed and he groaned loudly, raw and unrestrained as the climax tore through him. It was like a strike of lightning, leaving him trembling in its wake.

White strands of cum splashed the tiles before being swept away, twisting and disappearing down the drain. He braced himself, trying to catch his breath. The ache inside him wasn’t just physical, it was deeper than that. It was rooted in everything he couldn’t say and everything he didn’t know how to feel. His release had dulled it, but it hadn’t quelled it entirely.

He pushed away from the wall and turned off the shower. Stepping out, he grabbed the towel and dried off.

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