He turns back toward the table, walking toward his girlfriend, but I stay where I am, desperately trying not to look in a direction I’ve already looked in too many times tonight.
7
LOGAN
I’ve been to a lot of parties.
Enough that they all start to feel the same after a while.
But still… I’ve missed this.
It’s been a little under two weeks since Nathan Hayes hit me with his little lecture about focus and discipline and not dragging the team down. I’ve been a goddamn saint. I’ve been early every morning, studying when I’d rather be doing anything else, and I’ve been in bed before midnight every night.
Alone, I might add, which should earn me a damn trophy.
So yeah. I’ve earned this.
One night to stop thinking about all the expectations I never asked for and the sound of Coach’s voice living rent-free in my head. One night to drink something I probably shouldn’t, flirt with someone I definitely shouldn’t, and not feel bad about it.
The kitchen still looks like a war zone from earlier. Cups everywhere, beer puddled across the folding table. We won, obviously. Nathan played like money was on the line, and I couldn’t stop laughing because of course he was good at it. I don’t think he could ever be bad at anything, and I was just so happy that he decided to come after all.
Someone’s either cranked the heat or maybe it’s just the number of bodies packed into this place, but it’s hot as hell in here. I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead just as someone shouts my name.
“Gray!”
I glance up to see Eli weaving through the crowd toward me, grinning like a fool.
“You’re a fucking legend, man,” he says, smacking my shoulder hard enough to jostle my drink.
Miles isn’t far behind him, looking about three shots past sober. “Dude, this party’s insane. Thanks for hooking us up.”
I let out a laugh, even though part of me feels that familiar flicker of guilt. Nathan’s voice plays in my head—something about focus, early mornings, keeping my head on straight.
Probably not what he meant when he talked to me about team discipline.
But I can’t really judge them. I remember being that guy in freshman year, desperate to prove I belonged, wanting a good buzz and to forget about responsibilities.
My gaze drifts without meaning to, and sure enough, there he is, standing in the same spot as before, with his back against the wall. He looks completely out of place, looking like he’s counting the minutes until he can leave. Figures. The guy’s allergic to fun. He’s not even drinking or talking to anyone. Just watching me.
I take a slow sip of my drink to hide the smile on my lips. Of course he’s watching me. I should have known he only came to be my babysitter. Still, I’m taking the fact that he came at all as a win.
I set my cup down on the counter and make my way through the crowd, brushing off everyone as I do, and by the time I reach him, a grin is already tugging at my mouth.
“Hell of a view from over here, huh?” I say, nudging his arm with mine.
His brows pull together. “What?”
“You’ve been camped in this corner for twenty minutes,” I say, leaning in just a little. “Gotta be something worth watching.”
He barely looks at me, just gives me a quick glance before his eyes go right back to the crowd. “Figured someone should keep an eye on you.”
My grin widens. “Is that why you’ve been staring all night?”
His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t answer. Typical Hayes. He’s impossible to read, which, of course, only makes me want to poke harder.
“Come on, Hayes.” I tip my head, trying to catch his eyes. “Smile once. Drink something. Maybe even flirt. Might do you some good.”
That earns me a flush creeping up his neck, blooming high across his cheekbones before he drops his gaze back to his cup.