Page 17 of Frozen Hearts
“Is Skye your niece's favorite or yours?” Logan teases.
Wholeheartedly failing at suppressing my smile, I confess, “Okay, so she might be mine.” I nudge his shoulder playfully. “You can’t tell anyone my role model is a dog.”
He mimes zipping his lips. “Your secret is safe with me.” Leaning in, he lowers his voice. “This will probably shock you, but Chase was always my favorite.”
Recalling the brown-haired police dog who is known as the gang’s leader because he’s the mature one, always willing to make the hard decisions and step up when needed, I tilt my head, viewing Logan in a new light. Yeah, he comes across as playful and carefree, but he’s also the captain of the hockey team, which I imagine comes with a lot of responsibility, and it’s a role I doubt he would have accepted unless he’d earned it.
At first, Logan struck me as someone who takes the easy route but here he is, putting in the work. I’m sure he could simply pay someone for the answers or flirt his way into cheating off someone, yet, he’s here. Because he wants to earn it. Because behind that goofy front is someone who values integrity and hard work.
No, Logan is not at all who I believed him to be.
And I get the impression I’m only touching the surface of what might possibly be the real Logan.
An unfathomable depth lies behind his veneer, and against all reasoning, I find myself wanting to delve deeper; to know more. Because, despite myself, I think I might actually like the Logan I'm beginning to uncover.
In a soft voice, ringing with too much emotion, I say, “That doesn’t surprise me as much as you might think it does.”
He stills. It’s subtle. His chest still rises and falls, but there’s an unnatural stasis to his posture that I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t already watching him closely.
Astonishment flashes across his face, and something softens his features for a moment. I quickly glimpse a raw, more vulnerable side to him before he erects his cocky grin, his version of a brick wall keeping everyone at bay.
Turning away, he haphazardly tosses his belongings in his bag. I get to my feet and wait until he slings his bag over his shoulder before falling into place beside him.
“You should come to my game on Friday. It’s our first of the season,” he says casually as we walk through the library toward the exit.
“I’m working,” I answer on autopilot, although it’s not a lie.
He shrugs off my refusal. “Come to the party after, then.”
“I work late, and I’m usually dead on my feet by the end of the week anyway.”
He stops on the steps of the library, the late afternoon sunlight glinting off his blond hair.
“Why do I get the impression that all you do is work and study?” he asks, watching me with a knowing look.
I shrug, unable to meet his eyes.
“I know the workload here is intense, but it’s still college, and you’re only young once, right? You should get out and have some fun every now and again.”
Yeah, that’s easy for him to say. He’s one of those who ‘work hard, play harder’. Only I don’t have that luxury.
“Yeah, maybe,” I mutter noncommittally. “Anyway, I’ll see you in class.”
I turn on my heel, but when I’m two steps away from him, he calls out, “Aren’t you going to wish me luck?”
I glance back at him over my shoulder. “Do you need it?”
He smirks cockily. “No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear it.”
Rolling my eyes, I snark, “I’m sure your fan base will wish you all sorts of luck.”
“Maybe I want to hear it from you.”
Shaking my head, I turn my back on him and walk away.
* * *
I’m wiping the sweat from my face when Ava walks into the studio.
