Chapter 42 Chapter 41
Logan POV
Cold air hits my lungs like punishment as I walk, hands shoved deep in my pockets, head down. The streets between campus and the Ice House are quiet at this hour—just the hum of passing cars and the crunch of gravel under my sneakers.
I should feel good.
We won. I played my ass off. I shut everything out and became exactly what I’m supposed to be.
But the second the noise faded, the second the guys pulled me into that bar full of neon and bodies and too-sweet perfume, everything crashed right back in.
Every fucking thing about her.
I didn’t even last twenty minutes before I bailed.
Now I just need to breathe. Or break something. Or sleep for ten hours.
Preferably all three.
I cut across the parking lot, the Ice House glowing faint behind the trees. Almost there.
Then I hear it.
“Logan!”
I stop.
That voice. Sharp, breathless, maddeningly familiar.
I turn and see her jogging toward me, red coat unzipped, hair bouncing around her face, cheeks flushed from the cold.
Harper Lane.
Of course.
She slows when she reaches me, breathing hard, hands on her knees for half a second before she straightens.
“Why are you here?” I ask, and my voice comes out rougher than intended.
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “I—I don’t know.”
I arch a brow. “Not a great start.”
She glares like she wants to throw something at me. “I heard you left the bar. The guys said you walked home alone.”
“And?”
“And,” she huffs, stepping closer and pointing a finger at my chest, “you shouldn’t be walking around by yourself this late.”
That actually gets a laugh out of me—short, sharp, disbelieving. “Harper, I’m a six-foot hockey player who fights grown men on ice. I think I can handle walking down the sidewalk.”
She crosses her arms. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Her eyes flicker—frustration, concern, something else she won’t name. “I just—okay? I just didn’t think you should be alone tonight.”
That lands somewhere deep. Too deep.
I clear my throat. “So you came running out here in the dark because you were… what? Worried?”
She scoffs, but it’s weak. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Harper.”
“I wasn’t worried about you,” she says too fast. “I was—annoyed. And curious. And confused. And—” She breaks off, frustrated.
I take a slow step forward. “Confused about what?”
She stares at the ground, voice low. “You.”
My pulse spikes.
I shouldn’t like that.
I do anyway.
The wind cuts between us, cold enough to bite, but she doesn’t back away. I don’t either.
“Come inside,” I say, nodding toward the Ice House. “It’s freezing.”
She hesitates for half a second, then follows.
The house is dark except for the hallway lamp. Everyone else is still at the bar, loud and drunk and oblivious. The quiet is jarring, thick, almost intimate.
I lock the door behind us, turn—and nearly collide with her.
She’s closer than I realized, close enough for her perfume to hit soft and warm. Vanilla and something sharper underneath.
We stare at each other.
Something shifts.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “You left fast.”
“So did you,” I counter.
“I had a ride,” she mutters.
“So did I. My legs.”
She almost smiles. Almost. “You’re impossible.”
“Pretty sure you invented that word for me,” I say, stepping closer. “Why did you come out here, Harper?”
She shakes her head, pacing a few steps before turning back. “Because I don’t understand you! One minute you’re kissing me like you’re drowning and I’m the only air you’ve got, and the next minute you’re acting like I’m some… some nuisance you tripped over on your way to a party.”
I swallow hard. “It’s not like that.”
“It feels like that!”
Her voice cracks at the end, and I feel it like a punch.
She runs both hands through her hair, exhaling shakily. “You’ve been messing with my head for days, Logan. And I don’t need this. I don’t need you confusing me or—whatever it is you’re doing.”
I step toward her. “I’m not trying to confuse you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know how.
She shakes her head like she’s angry at herself now. “God. I shouldn’t have come. This is exactly why—why I didn’t want to—”
“Why you didn’t want to what?”
She stares at me, eyes bright, voice cracking raw. “Why I didn’t want to like you again.”
The room tilts.
My chest goes tight. “Again?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” She looks away, jaw clenched. “Middle school? That closet? You kissed me and then ran out like I’d burned you. And I’ve been a joke to you ever since.”
“That’s not—”
“You made it clear for years I wasn’t your type,” she pushes on, biting out the words. “Not Latina, not wild, not whatever it is you chase. I get it.”
I step closer. She backs into the edge of the table but doesn’t move away.
“I never said you weren’t my type.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Her voice is barely steady now. “And the kiss? The one the other night? I don’t know what the hell that was, Logan, but I can’t—” She inhales sharply. “I can’t do mixed signals.”
I’m close enough now to see the little tremor in her hands. The quick rise and fall of her chest.
Close enough that the truth slips out before I can stop it.
“It wasn’t a mixed signal.”
Her breath catches.
I reach up, just barely, brushing my fingers along her jaw—not touching, not really, but close enough she feels the heat.
She whispers, “Then what was it?”
My pulse is a thunderclap.
“A mistake,” I start, then shake my head. “No. Not a mistake—just bad timing.”
She swallows hard. “Logan…”
“And I didn’t run because I didn’t want you.” My voice drops lower, darker. “I ran because I did.”
Her eyes widen. Her breath stutters.
The house feels too quiet. Too dark. Too full of something thick and electric.
Then she whispers the one question that ruins me.
“Then why were you with Sophia?”
I close my eyes for half a second. “Because I was angry. And confused. And stupid. And I thought maybe I could—forget you.”
Her voice breaks. “So you grabbed another girl?”
“I didn’t touch her.”
“You were about to.”
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “I was about to. And then you walked in and I realized I couldn’t do it. Not with her. Not with anyone else.”
Silence.
Heavy. Charged.
Her chest rises, falls, rises again—too fast.
“Logan… this is too much.”
“You came after me.”
“I know, but I didn’t think—”
“That’s the problem, Harper.” I step even closer, her breath hitting my mouth now. “We keep thinking instead of just feeling.”
Her lips part on a shaky inhale.
I whisper, “Tell me to back up. Tell me to stop.”
She doesn’t.
She grabs the front of my hoodie, knuckles white, holding on like she can’t decide whether to push me away or pull me closer.
“Why is it you?” she whispers, voice cracking. “Why now?”
“I don’t know,” I say softly. “But it is.”
Her grip tightens.
My heart starts hammering.
Every part of me wants her—wants to taste her again, wants to press her into the wall, wants to feel that same shock of heat from the last time.
But I force myself still.
“Say something,” I breathe. “Anything.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, terrified and wanting and furious all at once.
“This is insane,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Probably.”
“And if we do this—”
“We’re already doing it.”
Her breath catches.
She leans in—just an inch, just enough—and it destroys me.
“Logan,” she whispers, “I don’t want to get hurt.”
I brush my thumb along her cheek, finally touching her, feeling her tremble under it. “Then don’t fall.”
She gives a shaky laugh. “You make that sound easy.”
“It’s not,” I admit. “Not with you.”
Her eyes flick to my mouth.
That’s it.
That’s the spark.
That tiny, involuntary flick that tells me exactly what she’s thinking.
The room shrinks to her body pressed against mine, her breath mixing with my breath, her fingers curled in my hoodie like she can’t let go.
I lower my voice. “Tell me to stop.”
She doesn’t speak.
She just tilts her chin up the slightest degree.
And that’s all the permission I need.
I press her back against the wall, slow but decisive, my hand sliding to her waist, her breath leaving her in a sharp, quiet gasp.
Our lips are a breath apart.
Heat surges between us, thick enough to drown in.
She whispers, “Logan… don’t.”
But her hands fist tighter in my hoodie.
And when I lower my mouth that last inch—
She doesn’t stop me.
Not even a little.
The kiss hits like an explosion.
Not soft.
Not patient.
Not careful.
It’s weeks of tension, days of frustration, years of something unspoken finally breaking open.
Her mouth opens under mine, hot and desperate, her fingers sliding up into my hair, pulling me closer like she’s starving and I’m the only thing that can fix it.
I groan against her lips, grip tightening on her waist, her body pressed full against mine.
She lets out a soft, helpless sound that damn near kills me.
I break just long enough to breathe against her mouth.
“This isn’t over,” I whisper.
She exhales a shaky, “I know.”
And then she pulls me back in—hungry, reckless, gone.