"Next time, bud," he says, ruffling his hair. "Maybe you'll even beat me."
The two of them tidy the mini sticks set and put it back on the shelf in the closet. Logan bought it after the last time he watched Matilda's son during a session because he figured he might as well do something they could both enjoy. 
When the bell sounds to signal Matilda and her son's exit, Logan sweeps me into his arms and plants a lingering kiss on my lips. 
"Be waiting at my apartment when I'm done all this sponsorship, brand deal bullshit?"
"What's in it for me?" I ask, nuzzling his neck.
"I got a package delivered today, if you're still up for experimenting. If not, I totally get it."
It's the closest he's come to alluding to what I told him about the videos and pictures a few days ago. He's been treating me with kid gloves—extra attentive, even more aware of any cues I give in terms of my mood. 
Maybe the tender treatment should annoy me because I'm not some fragile thing who can't cope, but I like his softness more than I would have expected. Months ago when we met, he was a gruff giant who was sometimes borderline rude. Now I see that for what it was. Armor. Self-protection. Someone with this soft of an underbelly can't go around showing it to everyone all the time. 
And god help me, do I ever love that I'm the one that gets to see it.
"I'm down for opening your package," I say, rising on my toes to give him quick kiss. "As long as you also give me an update on the new family situation."
"Before or after you open my package?" He lifts me up and presses my spine against the wall. I lock my ankles at the small of his back. "The minute I see you, my first thought is always fuck, she's beautiful. But my second? This overwhelming need to bury myself so deep inside you that you never forget what it's like to be with me."
"What's stopping you?" I dig my hands into his hair, and I kiss him.
"Stupid work," he mutters. "Work interfering in my very important Doctor Tucker time."
"Technically I'm work too."
"Never feels like it."
"Not even when I'm kicking your ass?"
"Any part of you touching me is exactly what I want." He cups my cheek and kisses me again, long and slow, as though he's not in danger of being late. While he kisses me, he shows me how turned on he is with tiny thrusts that skim along my most sensitive parts. It's delicious foreplay that makes me want to wiggle closer, sustain the contact. One of his hands goes up my shirt and along my side to rest beside my breast, his thumb skimming the edge of my bra. 
"If you don't leave, I'm going to make sure you're late," I say when he flicks my earlobe with his tongue and then sucks on it gently. 
"I haven't had a "what the fuck are you doing" call from my agent and manager in a while," he murmurs against my neck. "I wouldn't want them to think I was too reformed."
I thread my hands into the back of his hair, and when he presses a little harder against my core, I can't help a moan.
"Is the front door locked?" he asks.
"No," I admit.
He releases a deep sigh and presses his forehead to mine. "I don't know what I thought about before I met you."
"Hockey," I say with a little laugh. "I think you thought about hockey a lot. Logan Bishop, are you telling me you can't stop thinking about me?"
"You already know that," he says, and his voice is gruff. "The more time I spend with you, the more time I want to spend with you."