Page 6 of The Captain's Curfew
Except that it is.
Because I’ve had a thing for Logan since I was seventeen and he walked into our house for the first time.All quiet intensity and broad shoulders, trailing my brother like some aloof shadow.And now I’m crashing in his guest room, sharing grilled cheese and trying not to stare every time he walks by shirtless.
He’s not shirtless now, but his fitted black T-shirt isn’t helping.The man is annoyingly built.
When we finish eating, he rinses his plate and dries it immediately.Like, full scrub, towel dry, and return to cabinet.I leave mine in the sink to see if his eye twitches.
It does.
“You’re going to hate living with me,” I say cheerfully.
He doesn’t respond.Just walks toward his bedroom like he can’t wait to be rid of me.
I sigh and rinse my plate, then retreat to the guest room.It’s cozy, in that minimalistic, Logan Carter way.Everything is gray or navy, with the occasional plant that I’m ninety percent sure is fake.Still, it smells like him—clean and woodsy, with a hint of whatever cologne he wears that should probably be illegal.
I flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, I officially start my new job.I should be nervous, but all I can think about is the look on Logan’s face when I hugged him yesterday—like I short-circuited his brain.
Maybe this temporary setup won’t be so bad after all.
Morning comes way too early, mostly because Logan is apparently incapable of using a regular alarm.Instead, he’s up at five, doing god-knows-what in the kitchen.There’s clanking, footsteps, and the smell of coffee strong enough to wake the dead.
I groan into my pillow, then drag myself up and shuffle to the bathroom.The mirror reveals a pillow-creased cheek, a messy bun, and sleepy eyes.
Perfect.
By the time I’m dressed and halfway through fixing my makeup, there’s a knock at the door.
“Yeah?”
“You want a ride?”Logan’s voice is muffled but unmistakable.
I blink at the door.That was...weirdly nice of him.
I pull it open.He’s already dressed in his Thunder jacket and jeans, keys in hand.
“You’re offering me a ride?”I ask.
He shrugs.“You work for the team.I’m going there anyway.”
Wow.So warm.
Still, I smile.“Sure.Let me grab my bag.”
The drive to the arena is quiet but not uncomfortable.I steal glances at him when he’s not looking.He’s got that early-morning focus—brow furrowed, jaw set.I wonder if he’s always like this or if the captain role has hardened him.
He parks and turns to me when we pull into the staff lot.“Don’t be late leaving.I’m done at four.”
“You’re picking me up, too?”
He gives me a dry look.“Or you can walk.”
I smirk.“Four it is.”
The first day goes fast.I meet the media team, set up my desk, and spend the afternoon brainstorming content ideas.I already have a few in mind—things fans would love.The team has a solid following, but it needs personality.Heart.Something real.
And, well, Logan Carter might be a walking wall of grump, but he’s exactly the kind of brooding enigma the internet eats up.
