Page 80 of Cross the Line

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Boone draped his arm over my shoulder as we followed Zayn, Holden, and the others into the club. After everyone had had a chance to hoist the Cup, we’d all headed into the locker room, where tarps had been hung to protect the walls. Bottles of champagne had been laid out, along with goggles.

The champagne shower had been messy but fun. I’d lost count of how many times we’d filled the Cup with champagne, only to empty it and drink again. Needless to say, I had a good buzz going.

The lights were low, the music thumping. Lord Stanley floated above the crowd ahead of me, colorful lights glinting off the silver surface and drawing even more attention to the large trophy.

“The party has arrived,” Boone said as a loud cheer rang out through the club.

Everyone’s eyes swung our way, and I could see more than a few women angling themselves to gain our attention. Frasier had gone straight to the hospital after the game, wanting nothing more than to be with Bryn. As I searched the crowd for Logan, I could understand how he felt. Because all I wanted was to be with her. To celebrate with her.

I can’t wait to see her again.

She’d looked so fucking cute on the ice—cheeks glowing, decked out in her vintage Hawks gear. But it was the pride radiating from her, the secret smile we’d shared, that had meant everything to me. I could see how happy she was for me, and it felt as if it was our accomplishment—Logan’s and mine—not just mine and the team’s.

Her words still rang in my ears, her admission. I don’t want this to end.

Fucking finally. Finally, we were on the same page, because I didn’t want it to end either. And it was such a relief to hear her say that.

“KT’s coming tonight, right?” Boone asked as shots were passed around. He accepted one, tossing it back.

Oh, I definitely planned to make her come—on my hands, my mouth, and my cock—but that wasn’t quite what Boone was asking. Just thinking about Logan and all the ways I wanted to take her was making me hard.

Fortunately, Boone was suddenly too distracted to care much about my answer. “Damn.”

But when I followed his gaze, I realized he was looking at Logan. She was on the dance floor with Georgia, hips swaying, her hair down and sexy. She’d changed since the game, keeping the crop top but ditching her jacket and jeans for a short electric-blue skirt that showed off her powerful legs and that gorgeous ass. She was so confident, so sure of herself, and I loved that about her. I loved her.

Shit. I squeezed my eyes shut. I needed to be careful before I blurted out the truth and ruined everything. Despite her admission on the ice, I had a feeling a declaration like that would send her running. And when I finally told her how I felt, I fully intended that both of us would be completely sober.

Boone was already headed her way, the crowd swallowing him as he neared the dance floor. I followed, trying not to show my annoyance every time someone congratulated me or asked for a photo. The last time the Hawks had won a Stanley Cup was over thirty years ago. The fans had waited a long time for this.

I’d worked almost my entire life for this. And somehow, spending time with Logan, seeing her let me in, felt like an even bigger prize than winning the Cup. Especially when she smiled at me the way she was now.

Boone joined the group on the dance floor, standing closer to Logan than I’d like. It was times like this that I hated keeping our relationship a secret. And god, it had taken all my willpower not to kiss her on the ice after the presentation of the Cup.

I stalked over to the dance floor so I was standing behind Logan, placing my hand on her hip. Mine.

She glanced back at me over her shoulder and smiled. We started moving to the rhythm, and I’d never been more grateful for low lighting and loud music as I was then. I was trying to respect her boundaries, trying to maintain this secret. But it was really fucking hard when all I wanted to do was kiss her in the middle of a packed dance floor, surrounded by friends and fans.

Boone stepped closer to Logan, lifting her hand to his chest in a sultry move. Without thinking, I curled my hand more tightly around her hip. I couldn’t see her expression, but I could feel the way she leaned into me, trusting me.

She might be sandwiched between us, but she was telling me that she was mine. And I was hers.

She lifted her hair slowly, before allowing it to fall over her shoulders. Her scent wafted over me, calming me. But then I stilled, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. When I gave her hip a squeeze—a silent question—she pulled her hair aside so I could see the back of her neck where the number twenty-eight was on her skin.

The sight of it made me feral. It didn’t matter that it was a temporary tattoo. I didn’t care that it would wash off in a few days. She had marked herself—with my number.

“You are so fucking hot,” I rasped in her ear, grateful for the excuse to touch her in public. Grateful that everyone around us chalked our closeness up to the dancing.

Hell, maybe I should be thanking Boone for joining us. At least this way, there’d be less speculation about Logan’s and my relationship. We were all just having fun after the game.

Before things could go any further, we were interrupted by the arrival of Zayn, who was accompanied by a waitress with a tray of shots, limes, and salt. “Time for body shots.” He grinned, and the waitress placed the tray on a table at the edge of the dance floor.

I didn’t like the way Boone was eyeing Logan, so I blurted, “I’ll go first.”

“Perfect,” Zayn said. “Do you want to be the giver or the taker?”

“Giver.”