Page 123 of Wicked Minds
He groans, eyes closing as he swipes a hand over his face. It looks as though it takes monumental effort to compose himself. By the time he focuses back on the screen, that desire has been replaced with lethal determination. “I’m going to make a hat trick look like child’s play. I’ll score so many goals, your legs will be nothing but jelly by the time I’m through with you.”
Well, fuck.
“Great one, Babydoll,” Royce drawls, startling me where he’s leaning against the doorframe, having caught the tail end of our conversation. “You just waved a red flag in front of a bull.”
Based on Logan’s feral grin through the screen, I’d have to agree. And I’m not sure if I should be thrilled or terrified.
Someone calls his name in the background, and he turns away, giving whoever it is a lift of his chin in acknowledgment before returning his attention to me. “I’ve gotta go. Have fun watching the game with Royce, Shortcake. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I wish him good luck and he ends the call with a filthy wink that does nothing to diminish the need unfurling in my belly.
Royce sets snacks and drinks on the coffee table before joining me on the sofa. His gaze slides over my jersey, and reaching out a hand, he toys with the hem. A sadness seeps into his eyes, his voice quiet as he confesses, “I never gave a damn about seeing a girl wearing my number. It did absolutely nothingfor me.” He’s silent for a moment before dragging his eyes away from the jersey and up to my face. “I wish I could see you in the stands, wearing my jersey, cheering me on.”
That’s twice today he’s brought up football. It’s surprising because he very rarely talks about it, and I haven’t wanted to push or pry too deep and cause him unnecessary pain.
“Oh, yeah?” I intend for the words to come out teasing, an attempt to lighten his mood, but the weight of the conversation, the despair in his gaze, sucks any brightness out of them. “What was your number?”
“Seventeen.”
Reaching out to touch the back of his hand, I say with sincerity, “I would have loved to have worn your number.” The lines around his eyes soften as he holds my gaze, his hands banding around my hips as he pulls me to straddle him. There’s nothing sexual about it. Purely a need to feel close to one another.
A teasing smirk comes to my lips as I place my hands on his chest, feeling the tensing of his muscles through his t-shirt. “I’d even have paired it with a big foam finger and screamed like a lunatic. In reality, the whole thing would have been highly embarrassing for you.”
That cracks a smile, some of that anguish he permanently carries dissipating as his hands squeeze my waist.
“Probably just as well that we didn’t know one another back then.”
Leaning in until we’re a hairsbreadth apart, he whispers, “Never,” before closing the distance and kissing me. It’s deep and passionate, slow and filling. “There is no existence where I’m not better for knowing you, James,” he says, pulling back to rest his forehead against mine.
Running my hand through the hairs at the back of his neck, I tell him earnestly, “You are a far better man than you allow yourself to believe.”
Pulling away, his gaze drops. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew everything about me.”
I hate seeing him put himself down like that. I suspect I know what he’s referring to, but even if he’s talking about something else, he still couldn’t say anything that would make me change my mind.
Cupping his cheeks with my hands, I lift his face to mine. “I would because I know you… in here.” Sliding one hand down to his chest, I rest it over his heart. “Whatever has happened in the past, I know the person you are at heart. That doesn’t mean you always do the right thing, or that you don’t do the wrong thing for the right reasons. Hell, you could confess to killing someone, and I’d tell you he deserved it because I know that’s the only reason that would justify your actions.
“It doesn’t matter what you have to tell me, Royce. I will never think the worst of you.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he rasps, throat bobbing with emotion. “But I’m too selfish to let you go.”
“Good,” I say with a smirk. “Because here with you is exactly where I want to be.”
Loud cheering from the TV pulls us from our moment, and I glance over my shoulder to see the players coming onto the ice. Royce sighs before shifting me off his lap and pulling me into his side instead, and together, we watch the puck drop and the game begin.
Logan is like a man possessed every time he hits the ice for his shift, scoring multiple goals and assisting others. And after every single one, he stares directly into the camera—at me. It sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine, my legs trembling with how hard I’m clenching them.
The Huskies are decimating their opponent, and it’s mostly thanks to Logan. Their defense is on point, and their goalie has done a fantastic job of catching most shots, but Logan is the clear driving force of tonight’s success.
Winning 6-1, Royce turns to look at me while the team celebrates on the ice before heading toward the locker room to change.
“Huh.” He chuckles, glancing down at me. “Looks like your incentive worked. Guess Logan was right when he said you were his lucky charm.”
“That was all him,” I contest.
Royce shakes his head. “Logan is an amazing player, but the way he plays when he knows you’re watching… it’s next level. He’s practically unstoppable. You do that. You give him a sense of purpose he’s never had before.”
He leans in closer with every word, tone dropping an octave.
My brows furrow. “Logan has always known what he wants and worked to obtain it.”
