LOGINHarper POV I wanted Logan. That was the only thought left in my head. Every kiss he pressed against my skin sent heat rushing through me, setting my body on fire in a way I couldn’t ignore anymore. Maybe it was the risk—the fact that we were outside, that someone could walk by at any second—but instead of stopping me, it only made everything feel sharper. More intense. Logan’s hands slid to the hem of my shirt, slowly pushing it upward, exposing my skin inch by inch. Cool air brushed against me, but it didn’t matter. Not when Logan leaned down and pressed a slow kiss just above my belly button. My breath caught. “Perfect,” he murmured softly, like it was a fact, not a compliment. His lips brushed my skin again, slower this time, like he was taking his time. My fingers slid into his hair without thinking, gently threading through it as I looked down at him. He glanced up at me, his eyes darker now. More focused. “You are perfect, you know that?” he said quietly. A soft l
Harper POVBy the time Logan and I reach the quiet side of campus, the noise from the Ice House is gone.No music.No shouting teammates.Just the soft buzz of streetlights and the sound of our footsteps on the pavement.Logan’s hand is still wrapped around mine.Warm.Steady.Like he has no intention of letting go.I glance sideways at him.“You really just left your entire team’s celebration.”“They’ll survive.”“You’re the captain.”“They’re drunk.”“That’s not the same thing.”Logan just grins.“You worry too much.”I shake my head.“You don’t worry enough.”He suddenly stops walking.I almost run straight into him.“What—”The rest of the sentence disappears when Logan pulls me closer.The warmth of his body hits me instantly.My heart begins racing.“Logan…”“What?”“You’re doing that thing again.”“What thing?”“Standing too close.”He leans down slightly, his voice dropping.“I’m standing exactly where I want to.”My breath catches.“You’re impossible.”“Yet you’re still here.
Harper POVThe Ice House is chaos tonight.Music pounds through the walls, bass vibrating through the porch floor. Someone inside is shouting Logan’s name like they’re announcing another goal, and every few seconds a burst of laughter explodes from the living room.The team is celebrating.Which makes sense.They just won.But instead of being inside with them, Logan is standing out here on the porch with me.Cold air brushes across my cheeks as I lean against the railing, watching him.His hair is still damp from the post-game shower, falling messily across his forehead. He pulled on a dark hoodie before coming outside, the sleeves pushed up slightly at his wrists.He looks relaxed.Loose.Still riding the adrenaline of the win.I tilt my head slightly and study him.“So, Mr. Shaw,” I say sweetly, “how exactly do you plan on celebrating this win?”Logan groans immediately.“Oh God.”“What?”“Don’t call me Mr. Shaw.”“Why not?”He runs a hand through his hair.“Because it makes me sou
Logan POVThe Ice House is loud tonight.Music blasting through the speakers. Guys shouting over each other. Someone already opened another case of beer.We won.Not just won—dominated.And when the final horn sounded and the crowd started chanting our names, it felt like everything clicked again.Skating felt effortless.Every pass landed.Every shot had purpose.Coach even clapped me on the shoulder in the locker room.“Keep playing like that and scouts will be lining up.”The guys are still riding the adrenaline now.Marco is trying to convince Cole to do a keg stand in the kitchen.Someone shoved a hockey stick into the ceiling fan.Typical post-win chaos.Normally I’d be right in the middle of it.Tonight?I’m slipping away.I grab my jacket and head toward the back hallway, ignoring Marco yelling after me.“Shaw! Where you going?”“Out,” I call.“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”“That’s a very short list,” Cole adds.Laughter follows me as I step outside into the cold night air
Logan POVThe quad is busy.It’s always busy this time of day—students cutting across campus between classes, people sitting on the grass with laptops, a couple guys throwing a football near the fountain.Normally I wouldn’t even notice.I’ve walked across this quad a thousand times.And most of those times people stare.Whisper.Point.That part has never really bothered me.You get used to it when you’re the captain of the hockey team.When your face ends up on posters for games.When people know your name before you know theirs.Attention becomes background noise.Something you tune out the same way you tune out the hum of the arena lights.It’s just part of the deal.I push open the doors of the academic building and step outside, slinging my bag over my shoulder.A couple guys from one of my classes nod at me.“Shaw.”“What’s up.”“Nice move last night, man.”I shrug.“Charity.”They laugh like they don’t believe me.Whatever.I start across the quad toward my next class.And abo
Logan POVThe locker room after practice smells like sweat, tape, and bad decisions.Pretty standard.Guys are scattered around the benches—some still half-dressed, others already in the showers, the constant noise of chirping and locker doors slamming bouncing off the tile.Normally I’d be right in the middle of it.Today I’m just… listening.Cole drops onto the bench next to me, pulling off his shoulder pads.“You’re still flying out there,” he says casually.“Practice was good.”“That’s one way to put it,” he snorts. “You were skating like someone insulted your mother.”I shrug, unlacing my skates.Maybe someone did.Just not my mother.“Seriously though,” he continues, lowering his voice, “whatever mental hurricane you had going on last week? Keep channeling it like that.”I chuckle faintly.“Noted.”Across the locker room Marco tosses a towel at someone.“Yo Shaw!” he shouts. “Five thousand dollars, man! You planning on auctioning off your truck next?”A few guys laugh.Another v
Logan POVIt starts on the ice, because of course it does.The rink feels colder than usual — crueler. Every stride slices, every breath scorches on the way in. I’m skating like I’m trying to outrun a ghost, and I already know which one.Her voice keeps replaying in my head.You don’t get to be jea
Logan POVCampus mornings are supposed to feel quiet.Fresh.Simple.Today the cold air feels like a slap I deserve.Hood up, backpack slung low, I cut across the quad toward my 8AM lecture. My head feels cracked open—like I didn’t sleep at all, just replayed six stupid words on loop:Maybe I like
Harper POVThe lecture hall smells like coffee, chalk dust, and too many lives moving forward without hesitation.My notebook is open in front of me, but the lines blur. Professor Keene is talking about demand elasticity — a concept I normally love — but today it may as well be ocean noise.Because
Logan POVFor a second, I can’t move.The door is open, the hallway empty, and the only sound left in the room is the echo of her footsteps running away from me.My pulse hits hard. Too hard.Sophia smooths her hair like she was just interrupted in the middle of a photoshoot. “Guess the little pres







