Page 60 of Logan
I smile. “Give me five minutes to change.”
The sound of the impact makes me flinch, and I avert my gaze. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to accompany Logan here. The sparring looks so...violent. And I feel out of place as I wait for him to change clothes.
I survey the gym. In the center are two rings, one occupied by two fighters wearing uniforms and pads on their chests and shins, their heads protected by helmets. They strike at each other with kicks aimed mercilessly at the head. I’m fascinated and repulsed at the same time.
I turn my gaze to the training area over to one side, where there are several exercise machines and a few human-shaped punching bags. My eyes are drawn to a man punching one of them. He’s not wearing a shirt.
His muscles stretch and contract with each blow, his body slick with sweat. Damn, I must be in a bad state if I’m getting turned on by a sweaty and probably stinky man, but fuck, he looks hot.
“Like what you see?”
I jump in my seat. “Fuck, Logan! You have to stop sneaking up on me like that.”
“I wasn’t sneaking. You were just very focused on the...view.”
His lips stretch into a small smile, and my breath catches. He’s so beautiful when he smiles. “You should smile?—”
“All the time,” he finishes for me, but the gorgeous smile vanishes from his face. “Yeah, you already told me that.”
I tilt my head. “When did I say that? I don’t remember admitting—I mean, saying anything like that.”
He shrugs. “Never mind. Maybe I got confused.”
“So why don’t you smile more?”
“Guess I don’t have many reasons to.”
“That’s sad,” I mumble. “Everyone needs reasons to smile.” I turn my head back to the sparring mats. “Why are you wearing workout clothes and not a uniform like them?”
“Because what they’re wearing is specifically for sparring, and I didn’t schedule a match. This isn’t my home club, and I rarely fight here. Just came for a quick training session. Come on.”
I follow him to the corner of the club, sneaking a quick glance at the shirtless man. If Logan wasn’t here, maybe I’d dare to talk to the guy, but with Logan scrutinizing my every move, no chance.
I sit on the bench against the wall, in a spot where I can watch Logan.
This is weird.
I shouldn’t have come. I look like some groupie following him around and ogling him.
Logan stretches, raising his arms above his head, and I try hard not to stare at the narrow strip of skin exposed to my eyes. Solid, chiseled abs and golden skin.
I cross my legs. Maybe Iama groupie.
From the moment Logan starts training, my eyes are locked on him, and I forget about the man I saw earlier. Logan looks like a lethal panther, moving with grace, executing the familiar motions.
He moves, almost effortlessly, delivering precise kicks tothe bag one after another at a rapid pace. The power is evident in his every motion, a veiled threat.
I bite my lower lip as beads of sweat dampen his brow, and he pauses for a moment, pulling his shirt over his head, wiping his face and tossing the shirt to the floor beside me.
My heart rate spikes as his glistening muscles are revealed to my eyes. Fuck. His body is perfect, lean and muscular, but not too much. Just my type.
I stare at his sculpted chest and abs, the way his muscles flex as he performs the movements, dominating the mat and controlling his body flawlessly.
He executes double and triple kicks, appearing to soar through the air. Who would have thought Taekwondo training could be so arousing? Maybe I should learn.
How would it feel to run my tongue over his body? To taste the saltiness of his skin, to be on the receiving end of all that pent-up energy, when his strong arms grip my body, when he slams into me.
God. It’s scorching. I press my legs tightly together.
