Page 9 of Spilled Coffee

Joanne’s gaze lingered probably longer than it should, her professional veneer cracking just slightly as her eyes traced the contours of Logan’s torso. Her attention flitted over the defined ridges of his abs and the broad expanse of his chest with barely disguised interest before she caught herself and quickly pasted her smile back into place.

Logan noticed. Of course he noticed. He always noticed when someone was looking at him—when they wanted him. His lips curved into a smile that was equal parts charm and mischief. A subtle flex rippled through his arms as he shifted just enough to draw even more attention to himself.

Ethan’s stomach twisted with something hot and possessive that he couldn’t tamper down and he coughed—loudly—to break the moment.

Joanne’s eyes flicked toward him before she excused herself and slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Logan’s knowing smirk said it all. Joanne had been checking him out. And so had Ethan. He’d clocked that, too. But there was something different in his eyes when they landed on Ethan—a flash of heat that hadn’t been there when he’d acknowledged Joanne’s attention.

“You planning on getting undressed,” he drawled with that same teasing lilt that it always did when he was amused by Ethan’s discomfort. “Or are you just gonna stand there staring at me all day?” His voice dropped slightly on the last words, the invitation in them barely disguised.

“Uh… yeah, I was just getting to it,” Ethan muttered, heat climbing his neck like an invading force. His usual composure was nowhere to be found under Logan’s gaze, and his hands hovered indecisively at the hem of his shirt before he finally settled on pulling it off first.

He folded it with an absurd precision—anything to keep his hands busy—and set it carefully on the chair next to Logan’s discarded pile.

The ceiling fan whirred softly above them, its gentle breeze skimming across his bare chest like a ghostly touch. He shivered involuntarily as goosebumps rose along his skin, and even his nipples betrayed him, tightening against the cool air.

He turned away, desperate for something else to focus on—anything but Logan sprawled out on the table like some kind of Greek god lounging on Mount Olympus. He was naked—completely naked—and utterly unabashed about it. His arms tucked casually behind his head, biceps flexing just enough to draw attention without it seeming intentional.

Logan’s eyes tracked Ethan’s movement, his own breath visibly catching before he quickly recovered, shifting his position on the table as though suddenly uncomfortable.

Ethan could feel those piercing eyes watching him. It was unnerving—and infuriating—and yet… something thrummed deep inside him under that scrutiny.

Christ, this is psychological warfare.

Ethan’s hands trembled as he unbuttoned his jeans, each pop of fabric against metal sounding louder than it had any right to in the quiet room.

The denim shushed against his legs as he shoved them down and his calf gave a faint twinge, a leftover ache from training. It was nothing compared to the knot tightening low in his stomach.

“Still sore?” Logan asked, his tone surprisingly gentle. There was genuine concern beneath the teasing lilt, a momentary crack in his usual cavalier facade.

The room felt like a furnace, the air almost too thick to breathe. Ethan stood still, white boxers his last tactical line of defense, when the door swung open.

A man entered first—a towering wall of muscle and easy confidence, his sun-kissed skin glowing as if he’d stepped straight from a California beach. His tank top barely clung to his broad shoulders, the fabric stretched taut over biceps that seemed sculpted from stone.

He carried himself with the kind of ease that came either from a lifetime of being adored or simply not giving a damn. Hisflip-flops smacked against the floor with an unbothered rhythm as his sharp blue gaze scanned the room.

“Logan, brah!” His voice boomed, his wide grin infectious.

He crossed the room in three long strides and delivered a loud, resounding slap to Logan’s bare ass.

Logan didn’t flinch—instead, he sat up with a lazy smirk, extending a fist to meet Devon’s in a casual bump. “Devon,” he said, his tone smooth and warm. “Been a minute.”

“A hot minute,” Devon replied, that smile never wavering as he towered over Logan’s reclined form. His gaze darted briefly to Ethan, sizing him up with the subtlety of a hawk circling prey. “And this is…?”

“Ethan,” Logan said, gesturing to his side. “He’s wound tighter than a drum, so I figured you could work some of your magic on him. Maybe one of your specials?” The words dripped with playful provocation.

Ethan’s stomach dropped like an elevator in free-fall as he shot Logan a glare. “Hey,” he said awkwardly, extending a hand and forcing what he hoped was a passable smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Devon gave him an approving nod before clasping Ethan’s hand in a grip that was firm but not overbearing, and Ethan was instantly reminded how utterly outclassed he felt in terms of raw physical presence.

“Yvette’s got you covered,” Devon said, jerking his thumb toward the stunning brunette who had followed him into the room. “I’ll handle this one—give that ass a proper workout.” His lips quirked into a grin that was equal parts teasing and predatory.

Logan dropped down on the massage table like a king settling into his throne. “I’d like to see you try,” he fired back effortlessly.

Devon arched a brow, clearly enjoying the banter. “If I remember right…” he leaned in closer as if sharing a secret meant only for them, “you cried last time.”

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched, but there was no denial forthcoming.

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