He just laughs, head tipping back as he bumps my elbow. “Relax, Hayes. I’m glad you’re here.”
He hands me a cup, and I take it mostly because it feels rude not to.
The beer’s warm and flat, probably having been sitting out all night. I take a sip anyway, because it’s something to do with my hands.
Logan doesn’t wait for a reaction. He never does. “Beer pong,” he says, his chin jerking toward the kitchen. “You’re up.”
“I don’t play.”
“You do tonight.”
Before I can argue, he presses a ping-pong ball into my palm. His fingers brush mine—barely a second of contact—but my brain apparently didn’t get the memo to ignore it. Then he’s already moving, cutting through the crowd like it parts for him on instinct.
There’s a girl watching him from the doorway, the same one who was glued to his side earlier. Her gaze follows him like he’s gravity.
“What about—?” I ask, nodding toward her.
“She can wait.” He doesn’t even look back. “You showing up takes priority.”
His eyes meet mine for half a second before he turns away again, and I hate how easy he makes it look, like I didn’t just spend fifteen minutes trying to decide if coming here was a mistake.
Before I can answer, he lifts his chin toward the others. “Reed. Rhodes. You in?”
Austin raises his eyebrows, already grinning. “Against you two?” He claps Ryan’s shoulder. “Sure. Let’s wipe the floor.”
Logan just snorts, already weaving his way through the crowd. “That’s cute,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Just know I’ve never lost a game of beer pong in my life.”
I raise an eyebrow, falling into step behind him.
It’s even worse in here. Hotter, louder, packed shoulder-to-shoulder. There’s a long table covered in red cups, beer spilled everywhere.
Ryan’s already posted up on the far side, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Austin’s beside him, grinning, spinning a ball between his fingers like a show-off.
“You’re going down, Gray,” Ryan says.
Austin lifts his drink at me. “Don’t worry, Hayes. We’ll go easy on you.”
Logan bumps my shoulder as he passes. “Ignore them,” he says quietly, his mouth too close to my ear. “We’ve got this.”
I snort, because it’s either that or acknowledge that the fact he got close just did something weird to my stomach.
The game starts when Ryan grabs a ping-pong ball, rolling it over in his hands and blowing on it before he sinks a shot. The crowd around us erupts into cheers, and he lifts his hand up as Austin high-fives him in celebration.
Logan rolls his eyes, grabs the cup, and drains it in one long swallow. His throat works as he sets it back on the table, and when his gaze finds mine, it’s that same challenge I’ve seen a hundred times on the ice.
“You’re up,” he says, bumping his shoulder into mine. “You got this?”
I roll my eyes, even though the corner of my mouth is already pulling up. “You know I played before you even came to this school, Rook.”
He grins, that cocky, smug grin that makes him look like he was born to flirt. “Oh, right. Back in the olden days.”
I shake my head as I grab the ping-pong ball, giving it a lazy spin, just to buy myself a second. I’ve been to more of these parties than I can count, played more games than I can remember—beer pong, flip-cup, every half-assed drinking game in the book. I just don’t make a habit of getting wasted when I have a 6 a.m. practice the next morning.
Still, the noise around us is loud and full of laughter, and for a second, I get why Logan likes it here.
My eyes narrow as I line up the ball, flick my wrist, and watch the ball drop straight into the center cup.
The second the ball lands, Logan wraps his arm around my neck, tugging me toward him. “Fuck yes, Hayes!”