Page 65 of Spilled Coffee

Ethan had told him about them.

Logan could still feel that night if he let himself: Ethan’s hands gripping his shoulders, their bodies tangled in a way that felt too natural to be accidental. He’d sworn afterward it wouldn’t happen again, that line they’d crossed was dangerous.

“Christ,” he exhaled through his nose and dragged a hand down his face as he muttered under his breath.

Devon’s smugness wasn’t just an annoyance, it was a warning, a bright red alarm flashing in his mind. He’d seen that look before, back when they were younger and dumber, stationed halfway across the world. Back then, it had been easy to dismiss their attraction, their chaos colliding in drunken mistakes or fists thrown after too many nights spent unraveling at the seams.

But this? This wasn’t about him anymore. Ethan wasn’t just some casual fling or a convenient outlet for pent-up frustration, not like Devon had been.

Ethan was different—too young, sure—but also too damn real for Logan to brush aside like another bad decision. But now Devon had set his sights on him…

Logan stared hard at his reflection. He could see it all so clearly: Devon’s flirtation wasn’t casual, it was calculated. He was on the prowl… and right now he had Ethan in his crosshairs.

The bathroom door opened behind him, and Logan turned to see Brick’s broad frame filling the gap. “Hey, boss,” he said cautiously, not stepping all the way inside. “You good? Only I figured you might wanna know Ethan’s out there talkin’ clubs with Devon.”

Logan didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened as he processed what Brick implied, but finally he gave a curt nod. “I’m coming now.”

Brick gave a quick nod in return, then stepped aside as Logan moved past him.

Outside, the rest of the bar was oblivious to the conversation that had gone on inside the bathroom.

Ethan sat in his chair, his fingers wrapped loosely around a bottle of beer. The tequila he downed earlier still burned faintly in his chest, a reminder of decisions made too quickly. Across from him, Devon had returned and was leaning in close, saying something that made Ethan’s expression flicker between interest and unease.

He tried to play it casual, but every so often, his eyes would dart back to the bathroom door as if drawn by some unseen tether.

He took another pull from his beer, the liquid tepid now. His knee bounced under the table, restless energy betraying what his laid-back posture tried to conceal.

As Logan emerged, his expression was tense with something Ethan couldn’t read from this distance. Their eyes met across the room, and for a fraction of a second, Logan’s expression softened before hardening once more.

Ethan tightened his grip around his bottle. Whatever had just happened in that bathroom had changed something.

CHAPTER 33

The bar’sheat hit Logan like a wall as he stepped back into its chaotic embrace—bodies pressed close under dim lighting, laughter cutting through Springsteen’s rasping voice on the jukebox. The air smelled of stale beer, sweat, and vape smoke that clung to the back of his throat. His senses sharpened, honed by years of training to detect threats in any environment.

He spotted them almost immediately. Devon and Ethan laughing at something Brick had just said, their silhouettes backlit by the neon beer signs. Ethan stood with his jacket slung over one shoulder, looking outwardly relaxed but with tension visible in the tight line of his shoulders, a subtle shift only someone who’d studied him would notice.

Their eyes met across the room. A brief connection, electric and raw, before Ethan looked away quickly like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

Logan squared his shoulders and shoved through the crowd, pulse hammering in his temples. Whatever game Devon thought he was playing tonight? It ended right here.

Devon leaned against a brick pillar, his posture deliberately casual, but his eyes told a different story. They were sharp, calculating, locked onto Ethan with an intensity that betrayedhis smug demeanor. Arms crossed over his chest, he caught Logan’s glare from across the room and held it for a beat. With a cocky tilt of his head, he raised two fingers to his temple in a mock salute, the gesture dripping with challenge.

“We ready to party?” he grinned, slinging one arm around Ethan’s shoulders, pulling him in close. His grip was firm, too familiar, fingers digging into Ethan’s muscle—a casual claim masked as camaraderie. The same possessive grip Logan remembered all too well. He tapped Brick on the shoulder with his free hand. “You in?”

“Hell yeah!” Brick adjusted the battered baseball cap perched backward on his head as he leaned back in his chair with one boot propped against the table leg. “Beats sittin’ here losin’ at darts all night.” He tossed a balled-up napkin at the dartboard in mock disgust before standing and grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. “And you can’t go party without the party king!” He threw his head back, letting out a wolfish howl that cut through the noise. “Now show me the ladies!”

Ethan chuckled, but his eyes flicked to Devon’s hand on his shoulder. The way it lingered, the heat in Devon’s dark gaze—it wasn’t just friendly roughhousing, and Ethan knew it.

He eased from under Devon’s arm as they headed for the exit, Brick leading the charge like a bull through the crowd.

Logan stepped into the frame, blocking Ethan’s path. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, stance wide and unmistakably territorial. “You off?”

Ethan met his stare and lifted his chin, defiance sparking in his eyes. “Yeah. What’s it to you? We’re hitting that club. Brick’s idea, he wants to see those girls again. He says they like to party.” He flashed a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I figured I might get in on the action this time.”

Logan’s jaw ticked, and he took a deep breath that did nothing to calm the storm building in his chest. “Don’t do this.Don’t go with him.” He lowered his voice, the words scraping his throat. “Trust me when I say stay away from Devon. He’s not who you think.”

“Yeah, so you’ve said,” Ethan shot back, heat creeping up his neck, staining his cheeks. “Well, he seems pretty cool to me. And besides that, he’s not afraid to say what he wants.” The last words landed like a punch, deliberate and aimed to hurt.

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