Page 122 of Wicked Minds
Logan’s pained gaze when he believed I’d duped him.
Royce’s ambivalence the first day he stared down at me on that couch.
Grayson’s hand around my throat, choking me.
Royce crouched in front of me while I came through my panic attack.
Logan’s world crumbling when I confessed the truth to him.
The feel of hard soil beneath my socked feet.
Nights spent sleeping in Logan’s bed.
Afternoons curled up on the couch between Royce and Logan.
Good and bad, traumatic and cathartic, the memories flicker through my mind. I lost a part of myself in this house, to theseboys, but I also found a long-buried strength I’d forgotten I possessed.
The front door opens, jarring me from my memories as a stoic-faced Royce appears before me. His gaze drops to take in the Huskies jersey I’m wearing, one corner of his lips quirking.
“At least this time, I don’t have to watch Logan maul you in his jersey.”
My returning smile is wide, and it is with zero hesitation that I climb the steps and walk into the house.
“Admit it,” I tease, “You were getting hard watching us.”
He only smirks in response, following me inside. “The only thing I was thinking, James, was how much hotter you’d have looked inmyjersey.”
I pause in the hall, turning to face him as a pang cinches my chest. He’s teasing, but he’s also not. “I’d have worn your jersey to every single game, too.”
His smile is small but genuine, fleeting. “I know.”
Before I can comprehend what he’s doing, he snaps a photo, and barely a minute later, my phone rings with a FaceTime from Logan. When we got back to campus yesterday after seeing Aurora, he had to head straight for the bus. I had to work last night, meaning I missed his game. So when Royce suggested watching it together tonight, I jumped at the opportunity—once he assured me Grayson wouldn’t be there. Apparently, he’s been staying in an apartment close to his office for the last few days. I feel both relieved and guilty, knowing that. Relieved that I don’t have to see him after the Bertram bomb. Guilty because if he’s not even living here at the minute, then how dire is the situation between him, Logan, and Royce.
Despite what Grayson thinks, I don’t want to come between him and the guys. I sense he needs them more than ever. He looked like a shell of himself in the food court that day. He’sfalling apart at the seams and incapable of stitching himself back together. I know the guys see it, too.
“Hey,” I say, answering Logan’s call and bringing the phone to my face.
“Let me see,” Logan growls.
It takes me a moment to catch on, before realizing that Royce must have sent the photo to Logan, knowing exactly what it would do to him.
I flick my gaze to Royce, his soft expression warming me as he slips past me and toward the kitchen, offering us a moment of privacy.
Bringing my eyes back to Logan’s heated ones, I fight back a smirk as I move into the living room, sitting down on the sofa and bringing my feet up. The TV is playing pre-game footage, but my entire focus is on the golden-haired man staring at me like I’m all he sees. “See what?”
“Riley.” My name is a low rumble, a decadent promise, and god do I wish he was here right now.
“Oh, you mean this?” I angle the phone so he can see the black and gold jersey, eliciting a predatory vibration from the back of his throat that resonates through my entire body, settling low in my core.
“Fuck, baby. All I’m going to see tonight is you in my jersey. I’ll be lucky to spot the puck never mind score a goal.”
“Logan Astor,” I say in a mock stern voice. “You better dominate on the ice tonight.” I lower my voice, listening for noises of Royce moving about in the kitchen before hastily blurting, “Or I won’t let you fuck me in this jersey.”
My cheeks are bright red, but I ignore them. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently, especially with the fooling around we’ve been doing the last couple of days. Both Logan and Royce have proven themselves. These last few weeks, they’ve made me feel special. Cared for. Protected in a way that I’venever felt before. I want to take this next step with both of them. Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer I can ignore the chemistry between us. It’s practically begging for us to get naked and fuck.
“Fucking hell, Shortcake,” Logan groans, looking visibly pained as his hungry gaze eats me up through the screen.
“When you get home tomorrow,” I promise. “Come over then, and for every goal you score in tonight’s game, I’ll let you fuck me in a different position… with the jersey. If you want.”
