Series: Fast Break #2 -- Stand-alone
Between his intensity and his sweetness, he turns me into a melted puddle of goo, which isn’t as gross as it sounds. And who knew I liked my men to wield facts like they’re as essential as oxygen, all while being so smart that sometimes his brain-to-mouth function has no filter?
There’s something else you need to know about Tyron. He’s all in and holds nothing back from our new friendship. Because that’s totally what this is, right? Carrying my bag to classes, handing me my favorite coffee when I least expect it, being my defender, and introducing me to his teammates... they’re all normal actions when people become study partners. I’ll keep telling myself that—anything more with Tyron seems impossible.
That doesn't stop me from fantasizing or holding out hope that one day, Tyron will see me as more than the geeky math nerd who just happens to have caught his attention.
I don’t call out as I follow the shuffling. There’s no one I can see milling around, but I know what I heard.
Once around the corner of the building, my eyes take a second to adjust to the slip of light seeping out of the side window. A quick scan of the area shows me a couple of trash cans and mountain bikes. There’s a shift of movement, and my gaze drops to a sneakered foot.
I react immediately, my pulse picking up speed. “Hey, you okay?” Two steps forward, and I crouch.
“Fuck.” A groan. “Yeah.”
From the gruffness and strain in the voice, it doesn’t sound like the guy’s okay. “You need a hand? What happened?” My gut tightens.
A grunt escapes him as he pushes himself to sit, revealing his face. Even in the shadows I see the scrape on the side of his temple, and it looks like he has a bruised eye too. “I can manage,” he says gruffly, and I ease back, taking in his face entirely.
Surprise flickers through me. “Logan?” As soon as his name escapes, the feeling in my gut pulls taut. A pulse of vibrating energy fills my muscles, making my limbs shake.
I know this guy.
Logan’s gaze connects with mine. His wince is immediate; whether from the movement or the fact it’s me, I have no idea. “Fuck. Tyron.”
Well, that clears that up. His reaction doesn’t do a thing to release the tightness in my limbs. It does the opposite.
My feet propel me forward, and for the first time, I’m touching him. Logan. I carefully tug him up, but rather than stepping away, I palm his cheek, tilting his head, forcing him to look at me. “Who did this to you?”
You hear that deep-ass grumble in my voice? Yeah, it kind of surprises me too. While I don’t like seeing anyone hurt, my reaction to Logan is over the top. But between you and me, I’ll be honest here and let you know there’s no reining it in.
And why’s that exactly?
Here’s the thing. Logan Bryce is fucking beautiful.
It’s something I thought for the first time last semester, after listening to him interact with the class and the professor in one of our shared subjects. He’s eloquent and funny. Smart too.
There’s also this embarrassed smile that quirks his lips just so when he realizes he has the room's attention. There’s usually a slight flush of his cheeks as well.
That I felt all this had taken me by surprise, for sure. But one thing I’ve learned from growing up in such an open family is you follow your gut and what feels right.
Last year that meant me staring a hell of a lot.
But now…
After searching my gaze and swallowing, he closes his eyes. “No one. I’m honestly fine.”
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