Page 5 of The Captain's Curfew
I exhale, weighing my options.It’s not like I have a long list of places to crash, and as much as I hate to admit it, staying with Logan might not be the worst idea.I can focus on work, save money, and maybe—just maybe—get under his skin a little.
A slow smile creeps onto my face.
Declan groans.“No.”
“What?”
“You’re thinking something.I don’t like it.”
“I’m just saying…” I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder.“If Logan Carter is going to be my roommate, I might as well make it interesting.”
Declan mutters something under his breath, but I’m already heading for the door.
Maple Creek, get ready.Violet Hayes is back.
And I have a grumpy captain to torment.
I somehow make it through my orientation, meeting with HR, and tour without bumping into my brother or Logan.I’m guessing they’re in the locker room so I send a quick text to Declan that I’m headed home for the day and to text me when he’s out of practice.
Then I head back to Logan’s place.
The apartment is actually the penthouse and one of Maple Creek's older and more respectable buildings.It fits Logan to a T.The place is museum level clean and organized.
I let myself in and hang my purse on the hook by the door.He shouldn’t be home for a bit, depending on when practice is over, so I decide to make myself at home.
I shower, then turn on the TV and lounge on his couch while I do some work.I need to pull analytics of all their social media accounts from the past few months.
I get lost in my work and barely notice when Logan walks through the front door.
“Hey,” I chirp.
He grunts in response, and I bite back a smile as he heads to shower and change.My stomach growls, and I realize that I somehow skipped lunch and dinner.I get up to see what’s in his fridge and smile when I spot the cheese.A grilled cheese sounds perfect right about now.
There’s something weirdly satisfying about making a grilled cheese in a man’s pristine kitchen.Especially when that man is Logan Carter—captain of the Maple Creek Thunder, king of grump, and now sitting at his spotless kitchen island watching me like I’ve broken every law of his sacred household.
I hum as I flip the sandwich in the pan, the scent of sizzling butter filling the room.Logan’s still glaring at my choice of dinner like it’s offensive.I guess he’s used to protein powder and sad chicken.
“Want one?”I ask him.
“No,” he says, but I can see him staring longingly at the pan.
I pull out the ingredients for another sandwich.
“You’re really not going to eat one?”I ask, glancing over my shoulder.
“I have chicken and rice,” he says like it’s a badge of honor.
I make two sandwiches anyway.
And try to hide my smile when he eats it.
That’s the thing about Logan Carter—he acts like he’s made of stone, but a very human, very real guy lives underneath all that stoicism.I’ve seen glimpses of him over the years.Little cracks in the armor.The way he looks after my brother.The way he carried our golden retriever to the car when she sprained her paw on a hike.He might be cold, but he’s not heartless.
And now I’m living with him.
For a few days,I remind myself.
It’s not a big deal.
