CHAPTER FOUR: PRACTICE

CHAPTER FOUR

PRACTICE

By the time the football team took the field, the bleachers were already filled with girls. They formed tight groups at the bottom with their phones in hands, giggling every time one of the players ran past them to take a drink of water.

Dylan sat a little higher up, a few rows behind, with Lucas sitting next to him. He held a textbook over his lap, one he clearly wasn't going to read.

He was just wasting time. That was the lie he told himself. He had been telling himself a lot of lies lately.

Every few seconds, his eyes drifted back to the same place on the field–to the tall, broad-shouldered guy doing drills close to the center. Dylan caught himself looking at Logan and looked away immediately, only to do the same three seconds later.

"Okay." Lucas snapped his own book shut. "What happened back there?"

"What?" Dylan asked absentmindedly.

"In class." Lucas cocked his head to one side, studying him. "My brother asking to partner with you. That's–Dylan, that's never happened. Logan doesn't do partners. Logan does whatever gets him the least amount of work and the most amount of attention. When did that involve you?"

"I don't know," Dylan replied quickly, looking back down at the field as though answers would appear there. "Maybe he just wanted an easy A."

"Right." Lucas didn't seem to believe that either, but he let the matter go, like he always did whenever he felt Dylan didn't want to speak on a topic.

On the field, Logan turned around.

His gaze traveled straight to the bleachers, right at the row where Dylan was sitting, like he already knew that was the place to look for him. A slow grin appeared on his face and he waved lazily.

Dylan's stomach dropped to his feet.

"I have to go," he said suddenly, starting to gather his things.

"What?" Lucas asked, frowning up at him. "Why? We have twenty minutes until–"

"I left something in my locker," Dylan answered, the lie spilling clumsily as he shoved his books into his bag. "I'll… I'll see you in class."

He didn't give Lucas a chance to protest. Before Lucas could even speak, Dylan was already halfway down the bleachers and across the field.

Lucas closed his mouth and adjusted his glasses before returning his attention to his note.

________________________

Dylan pushed through the doors and entered the bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty, the silence calming after the commotion on the field.

He headed straight to the sink and put his hands on the porcelain before turning on the faucet. Holding his breath, he splashed his face with cold water.

Maybe if he washed thoroughly enough, he could wash away everything that had happened that night. Maybe it would help him forget about the party, the bed, the pressure of an arm that was definitely not supposed to be there.

It wasn't going to work and he knew that. Yet, he tried anyway.

Turning the faucet off, he wiped his face dry and stood straight, looking at his reflection in the mirror when his eyes widened.

Logan was standing right beside him.

Dylan yelped and backed away, nearly slipping on the wet floor. He cursed out loud as he snapped his head back.

Logan stood there, covered in sweat from practice, his damp undershirt matting to his clean-cut chest as he grinned at Dylan. Like he had been waiting to see that reaction all day long.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dylan asked, panting.

"I saw you leave the bleachers," Logan replied calmly, leaning a hip against the sink as if their interaction was normal. "I was wondering why you decided not to stay and watch me practice."

"Are you serious right now?" Dylan reached for a paper towel, mostly using it as something to keep busy with. "You are still doing this?"

He turned around, ready to leave when Logan's hand shot out to catch his arm.

Dylan shook it off roughly and turned around to face him. "What happened last night was a mistake," he said, voice sharp. "We were supposed to forget it. Don't you fucking remember?"

Logan didn't back off. Instead, he stepped even closer, so close that Dylan had to tip his head back slightly to meet his eyes. He didn't know why but his heart beat even faster whenever Logan was around now.

Maybe it was his striking resemblance to Lucas. Maybe it was because that was who Logan reminded him of–the boy he truly loved.

But it didn't make sense. Because every time Dylan looked at him, it wasn't Lucas's face he remembered. It was the warm light, the feeling of an arm around his waist and the taste of his lips.

"Then stop me," Logan murmured. "If it really was nothing. Push me back."

Dylan froze. His breath caught in his throat.

"Do it." Logan leaned forward even further, lowering his voice. "Push me back, Dylan."

Dylan didn't do anything. He just stood there, holding his breath as his heart beat loudly while the space between them seemed to disappear completely.

Logan stopped a few inches away. He was so close that Dylan could feel the warmth of his breath against his lips. He closed his eyes before he could stop himself, waiting–

Suddenly, Logan laughed.

Dylan's eyes flew open, and he found Logan already pulling back, laughing loudly. Dylan's stomach churned with hot embarrassment.

"You–" He shoved Logan hard with both hands, knocking him back with enough force to make him stumble a step. "Fuck you."

He didn't even stop to think about what had happened. He turned and pushed past Harry, the second-string quarterback who came walking into the bathroom. Dylan immediately rushed out while Logan's laugh followed him all the way through the halls.

"What the hell was that about?" Harry asked, laughing too, probably thinking he was messing with the kid.

"My art partner," Logan replied, calm and carefree as if nothing happened at all.