If he keeps on like this, we’re going to come to blows… and we all know how it ends when that happens.
Spoiler alert: Me dripping with his cum.
“Have you heard anything from the Timberwolves’ scouts?” I ask, changing the topic.
“Nah, nothing yet. It’s early days, though.”
“What if they don’t take you on?” I ask, chewing on my lip.
Logan shrugs. “Then they don’t take me on.”
“How can you be so calm about it all? I mean, what if you turned down the Penguins and now you don’t get an NHL contract at all?”
“I’m sure my agent will be able to get me something, but as long as I have you, whatever happens, it’ll be fine.”
I sigh, shaking my head. I hate how I’m the reason he might never play professional hockey. “You shouldn’t have to give up your dreams,” I tell him.
Pulling me closer, he looks down at me with a smile that’s all sunshine and rainbows. “Who said anything about me giving up my dreams? I’m holding the most precious dream of all.”
“Grayson will have to go with you to Lux tonight,” Royce says that afternoon. We’re sitting in his truck outside my building. Logan had a team meeting before tonight’s game, so Royce brought me home after class, saying we needed to talk. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh.”Fuck.
I know it’s stupid, but disappointment stabs through me. It was only last weekend that I was telling him he didn’t need to apologize for not being able to babysit me for one shift, and now alarm bells are going off because he’s skipping again.
“Did something come up?”
Rubbing at the back of his neck, he glances away. “Yeah. There’s something I need to deal with.”
Vague.
“You can talk to me, you know.”
His smile is fleeting, not reaching his eyes. “I know, Babydoll. It’s nothing you need to worry about.” He reaches across the truck to stroke his thumb over my cheek. “How are your nightmares?”
“They’re better. I’ve only had a couple this week.”
This time, his smile is more genuine. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.”
“Do you want to come up? We can chill for a while before I need to get ready.”
“Sounds perfect, James.”
He follows me up to my apartment, and while I grab my book from my bedside table, he retrieves a sketchbook and pencil he keeps here, and we settle on the sofa. I read while he draws, and it feels so natural and so us that it extinguishes all my fears.
However, as the sun goes down, he starts spending more and more time texting someone on his phone. The way he keeps constantly frowning, it’s clear something is bothering him. Something he doesn’t feel comfortable talking to me about.
I shouldn’t push, but after showing him that I knew about the accusation in his past and didn’t believe it or care, I thought he’d be able to trust me.
“I know you said I don’t need to worry,” I begin, sitting upright on the sofa when he sighs at his phone for the third time in the past half hour. “But something is clearly wrong.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
My brows scrunch. “That doesn’t mean you should handle it on your own. It’s okay to lean on me, Royce.”
“Ry,” he says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve had so much to deal with recently. I don’t want to add to your load. My problems are my problems.”
“So if I told you that my problems were my problem and that I didn’t want to worry you with them, you’d just leave it be?” I argue with an arched brow.
