Page 7 of Spilled Coffee

As he finished tugging on his shirt, Logan leaned in just enough for their shoulders to brush. “I certainly hope so.”

It took Ethan a few seconds to register the double meaning, but when he did, his head shot up and he stared after Logan for several more seconds before managing to shake himself out of it.

Keep it together, he told himself as heat continued to coil low in his belly. Today had been a lot, but if nothing else… it proved restraint wasn’t just about holding back physically, it was about fighting every damn urge clawing at you emotionally, too.

And God help him... around Logan… that might just be damn near impossible.

CHAPTER 4

The reception areawas a stark contrast to the gritty confines of the base. The walls were a blinding white, the kind that seemed to repel dirt and imperfections with an almost aggressive sterility. The tiles on the floor gleamed under the soft overhead lighting, polished to such a high shine that they reflected every movement like a mirror.

Plush couches, upholstered in soft cream leather and adorned with oversized sage-green pillows, broke up the starkness. Their vibrant color offered a warmth that felt almost out of place. In every corner, lush green plants spilled over their pots, their leaves cascading in gentle arcs that reminded Ethan of waterfalls.

A gentle melody hummed through hidden speakers, soft and lilting, designed to soothe. But instead of calming his frayed nerves, it only seemed to amplify them.

Ethan moved to the couch and sank down, as if he was testing its stability. His fingers brushed against the worn denim of his jeans, and he tugged at them, absently trying to find some semblance of comfort.

The leather couch gave a soft groan as he sprawled his legs out in front of him, shoulders slumping in what he hoped was an air of nonchalance.

Every muscle inside his body was wound tight, a sparking tension that usually only came before a firefight. Firefights were predictable. He could handle chaos—bullets ricocheting off rocks, orders barked over comms, the adrenaline surging through his veins. That was simple. That was clear-cut survival. But this? Sitting here in this antiseptic room waiting for a stranger to knead their hands into his bare skin while Logan watched? That was an entirely different battlefield.

Across the room, Logan stood at the desk, leaning casually against it like he had all the time in the world. The receptionist—her makeup thick but expertly applied—flashed a bright smile as she chatted, her cheerful voice carrying easily over the soft music.

Logan looked at home here in a way Ethan envied. The ease with which he moved, the relaxed set of his shoulders beneath that snug T-shirt, only made Ethan feel more out of place.

“You okay?” Logan asked with a hint of concern, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Ethan’s tense posture.

Ethan’s pulse thudded against his throat, a reminder of how out of place he felt. He clenched his jaw, then forced himself to still his hands as he offered what he hoped was a convincing nod of assurance.

Logan wasn’t buying it and tilted his head as if trying to read between the lines before he finally took a step closer. “You done this before?” There was no judgment in his tone, just curiosity.

Caught off guard, Ethan blinked. “Done what before?” The question came out sharper than intended, betraying his unease.

“A full body massage.” Logan’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, drawing out each syllable like he was savoring them. “Ever had one?”

“No.” Ethan swallowed and shook his head. “Never.” Heat rushed to his cheeks as though confessing something far more intimate.

“First time, huh?” Logan mused as his hand came down with a lighthearted clap on Ethan’s shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the corners, but there was a gleam in them that suggested something beyond simple amusement. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s one you won’t forget.”

There was something in what he said—something deliberate—that sent Ethan’s heart hammering against his ribs like it was about to break free.

Desperate for some kind of distraction from whatever game Logan was playing, Ethan reached for the nearest magazine on the sleek glass coffee table next to him.

The glossy cover promised wellness tips and spa secrets in bold lettering, but the articles barely registered as he flipped through its pages with jittery fingers. The images of serene landscapes and smiling models wrapped in towels blurred together, and no matter how hard he tried to focus, his eyes kept straying back to Logan.

The way the man moved as he filled out paperwork, his broad shoulders shifting beneath his shirt, only made Ethan more restless.

“Here...” Logan returned with a clipboard and handed it over. “You need to fill this out before we go in.”

Ethan took it, avoiding Logan’s gaze as he gripped the pen tightly, his hands trembling as he wrote his name. His jeans felt tight around his thighs, the denim digging into his skin like a punishment for his earlier wardrobe choice.

Why the fuck didn’t I wear sweats?he thought as he adjusted his stance. The soreness from this morning’s five-mile run and combat drills flared in his muscles, a reminder of thegrueling training they’d completed before Logan had suggested this “recovery” session.

But worse was the dull, insistent throb between his legs—a visceral reminder of how exposed he felt in Logan’s presence.

He risked a glance up but immediately regretted it.

Logan was watching him, not with judgment, but with an intensity that made his heart leap. The man’s eyes had darkened slightly, his jaw set in a way that suggested concentration.

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