Colliding Love - Tucker Billi...

"Did you get everything you need?" Logan asks, wiping sweat off his forehead with a towel, his bicep flexing, after I jot down the last set of numbers.

He's shirtless and glistening. I've been so focused on making sure I didn't screw up this evaluation, that right now is the first time I've fully absorbed the glory of his professional athlete physique. Really athletic guys haven't set me on fire in the past, but there's something about the way his muscles ripple with the simplest movement, the fact he absolutely demolished all these test sets, that's sinfully sexy.

It's an unfortunate time to realize I might have an elite athlete kink.

At least I'm sure it's not him I'm attracted to—not really—it's his talent.

And maybe his physical appearance, which is a result of his talent.

My phone on the bench in the workout room lights up, and I glance at it. Ava, again. She's been sending a flurry of voice memos to the family group chat for the last hour. I'm guessing Dad told her about his Wino Wine Bar plan for tonight.

"Do you need to get that?" Logan nods at my phone.

"Nope." I scan the clipboard to make sure I've gotten all the essential tests done to establish a baseline. "It's just my sister."

"Which one?"

His question registers a beat later, and I glance up, surprised. "You know I have more than one?"

"Season's just starting. I was bored. Looked you up."

"You googled me?"

"Yes?"

Then I register that he said he was bored, and my earlier conversation with Alex and my father rings in my ears. The fine line that I'll have to walk makes me roll my shoulders with discomfort.

"My sister—Ava—is hosting a party at Wino Wine Bar tonight." When I see his disinterested expression, I adjust my sales pitch. "Not even a party. A gathering. Of a few people. Help the team and their partners get acclimatized to the island."

"You going?"

"I am. Do you want to go?"

"Not really." He tosses the towel toward the bench. "Just the team?"

"I'd have to check Ava's eight thousand voice memos to be sure before I make any promises."

"Ah," he says, a hint of a smile. "So, it might be more of a party than a gathering."

"I mean, a gathering is a low-key party."

"Is it?"

"For sure. A gathering is an entry level party."

"For the inexperienced?"

"Or for those who would prefer not to have the experience at all."

Another ghost of a smile. "I feel like you're calling me antisocial."

"Selectively social."

"I'm indifferent to most people."

"I did get that impression." From his interviews, from our conversation, from the little Tamiko shared with me about his past. Unlike him, I've resisted the lure of searching the internet for tidbits about his life.

He doesn't say anything, but the way his gaze trails over me makes me think that the column he's slotted me in doesn't have "indifferent" at the top.

Since I hardly know him, I'm probably reading that completely wrong.

"Whenever Chayton tries to get me to go somewhere, he calls it a get-together."

"He makes the stakes even lower," I say, nodding. "Smart."

"He knows me better than anyone."

"Is that what you want? To only be known by him?"

"Never thought about it." He shrugs. "It's just the way it is."

"Do you think you'll come?"

"Unlikely."

"You said you were bored..."

"Boredom isn't a bad thing." Another wisp of a smile. "Sometimes it forces you to learn new things."

"Forces?"

"Inspires."

"Boredom leads to inspiration?"

"It can. Most of the time when I'm bored, I focus on hockey. Watch game tape. Practice a skill I suck at. Pinpoint a team or player weakness. Haven't you ever been bored and then learned something new?"

"I keep myself pretty busy," I admit. "Most of what I've learned has been through necessity."

"Not financial, though. So, what drives you?"

I tuck my phone into my pocket, and I sink onto the bench across from him. He picks up the towel and wipes off the sweat that's still pouring off him.

"What drives me," I say, mulling it over, thinking of what I did as a teenager, what I've been doing on the island since I came back from Northern University. "A desire to help people, I guess. Most of the time when people come to me, something is wrong, and I get to make them feel better. Or I try to."

"A medical doctor does that even more."

"Yeah, well," I say with a little laugh, standing up, "I'm not good with death. Most of the physio I do is rehabilitation based."

"You gonna make me better, doc?"

Now I can't help giving him a bit of a smile at the casual nickname. "I am." I take a deep breath. "I definitely am."

"Just the right amount of confidence is half the battle," he says. "I need a skate. Do you know if the ice is free?"

"I don't. But I can walk over there with you to see."

"Do you want to skate?"

"I don't know how." I glance at him as we exit the fitness room. "I heard the government bought a bunch of skates to make ice rentals easier for small and big groups. Probably have open skates when the team is off the island. Offset the cost of the building and startup. Maybe I'll learn someday."

When we get to the rink, there are two figures already on the ice—a man and a woman.

"Is that the king?" Logan asks with a hint of disbelief.

"And the queen," I say, watching Rory try to help Alex skate.

"She looks like she knows what she's doing," he says.

"She's Canadian."

"Explains it." Logan crosses his arms beside me, and his biceps flex.

God, I wish I could stop noticing his arms.

"He looks like he'd better have good dental care for when his face hits the ice."

"Rory'd never allow it. She'd be on the ice before he is."

"Really?" Logan gives me the side-eye.

"Really," I say, turning to meet his gaze. Alex and Rory's fierce protectiveness of each other and their daughter is my favorite thing about the trio. That level of intensity isn't something I've ever experienced, but it always gives me warm fuzzies to see it in action. It's especially poignant when I remember who Alex was before Rory.

My phone buzzes loudly in my pocket, and I suppress a sigh.

"Based on how many messages she's sent, that party sounds like it'll be hopping."

"You know, it's more of a get-together. Casual."

"A few friends..." He plays along, straight-faced.

"Family, mostly. Small. Intimate." I pause for a beat before adding, "At the busiest wine bar in Bellerive."

"Do you actually like parties?"

"I do," I say. "I actually like people, in general." Then I reconsider. "Most people."

"I can't remember the last time I liked a party."

"Means the bar is pretty low for tonight. You should come."

He lets out a light chuckle. "Persistent."

"Obstinate," I volley back.

"The list of people I like is short. Careful you don't get yourself crossed off it."

"You wouldn't dare," I say, giving him a real smile. "I'm the best thing about this island. But that does sound like my cue to leave." I start walking backward away from him, my clipboard still in my hand. "Despite the name, the bar is upscale. Don't come in your sweaty gym clothes."

His lips quirk up, another almost smile, and he shakes his head.

"Take a shower. Trim the beard. Studies have shown women like a light beard, not a heavy one. If you care about that sort of thing."

"Goodbye, Doc."

"Until we meet again...in a few hours." I give him an exaggerated wink, and he shakes his head again. Why I'm pushing so hard, I'm not sure. But it hasn't seemed to annoy him, which only made me more determined to push his buttons.

As I leave the arena, I can't decide whether I truly want him to turn up at the bar tonight or not. On one hand, I do think socializing would be good for him, but on the other—Alex and my dad will think I'm capable of working miracles. The reality is that if Logan shows up later, it'll be because he wanted to, and it'll have nothing to do with me asking. 

What do you think? Will he show up?

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