Page 27 of Frozen Hearts
I feel eyes on me, and I glance in Logan’s direction, finding him watching me with an expression I’ve never seen before. His lips are slightly lifted in a soft smile, a twinkle in his eye that I can’t place.
“So…” I look around as I grasp for something to talk about. “What are you majoring in that you need Statistics? I would have thought most degrees athletes usually obtain require very little mathematics.”
“My degree’s in Marketing.” He must see my surprise and confusion as he explains, “My dad owns Bolt Media.”
“The marketing company?” I question in awe. Everyone knows Bolt Media. It's world-renowned for its year-on-year growth, even when we’ve been going through a recession.
“That’s the one.”
Well, damn.Now I feel even more inadequate to be in his presence. I mean it’s one thing to have the attention of the campus hockey god, especially knowing how popular and beloved he is by students and teachers alike. And obviously I knew Logan came from a wealthy family since, unless you’re a scholarship student, it’s basically a requirement for Halston. However, I had no idea he wasthatwell off. Success is practically woven into his DNA.
Logan’s dad is a true inspiration. I remember reading an article regarding his climb to success. Unlike a lot of the students attending Halston, Logan’s family doesn’t come from money. His dad has earned every penny they have. He worked his way up from nothing and founded the number-one marketing company in the world. I mean, talk about inspiring!
What I remember most about that article is how his dad said his family was his motivation, the driving force behind his success. It was something I really resonated with. It helped me connect with him as a person and gained him role model points in my book.
My goals aren’t as grand as to earn my own billions, but who doesn’t dream of being successful in their career and providing for their family?
“Is that your plan, then, after college? To go into marketing? I thought hockey was your passion.”
“It is. Playing for the NHL is my dream. I actually have scouts from the Pacific Penguins coming to one of my games this weekend.”
“That’s amazing, Logan.”
His excitable grin is adorable.
“And your parents support your decision to play hockey for a living?”
“Yeah, my parents are pretty great. Dad is all for pursuing your passions. Although, I think he was hoping I’d discover a love for marketing while studying it.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t. Or at least, not as much as hockey?”
His chest vibrates with a short laugh. “Nothing compares to hockey. I don’t hate marketing…” He trails off, his face pinched as he stares at a spot in the distance.
“But it’s not hockey,” I finish.
He turns to face me, nodding. “It’s not hockey.”
It feels right when I touch his arm, giving him that little bit of comfort. “It sounds as though your parents love you. I’m sure they just want you to be happy.”
He gives me a small half-smile, but it lacks its usual shine. His chestnut hues sear into mine, searching for I don’t know what before he breaks the moment and shakes his head. “I don’t know why I told you all that. It’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”
“I was the one who asked what your plans were after graduation, why wouldn’t I want an honest answer?”
Unable to look me in the eye, he shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “Most people don’t want the truth. They just want to talk about hockey. I’m not even sure of the last time someone asked me what my major is.”
My hand, which I’d left resting on his arm, tightens, garnering his attention as he stares at the point where we’re touching before slowly lifting to my face.
“Logan, you’re worth more than purely the goals you make on the ice and the wins you bring home. Anyone who only sees you for those things is missing out. At the risk of inflating your ego any further, you’re a good guy, and anyone who can’t see that… that’s their loss.”
The air crackles between us, alive with anticipation, as Logan's gaze drops to my lips. Memories of the kiss we shared engulf me, and I can't resist any longer; I lean into him, instinctively seeking his touch and craving another kiss even though I know it will destroy me entirely.
He closes the distance, gaze heavy on my face, and I hold my breath. His fingers skate up my arm, eliciting little bolts of lightning that send sparks straight through my veins to jumpstart my pulse. Fingers sinking into my hair, he tilts my head back and holds me in place as his lips linger over mine. Our breaths mingle. Teasing. Tantalizing. Torturing. Until I'm ready to beg for more.
“What are you doing to me, Shortcake?”
His voice is a low rumble that has my nipples pressing painfully against the restraining fabric of my bra while desire pools within me like molten lava.
My eyes dart between his. “Only what you’re doing to me.”
