Colliding Love - Tucker Billi...

The minute Logan comes out of the team dressing room, he stops in front of me, frames my face and gives me the longest, slowest kiss. It's soft lips, the bristly scrape of his beard, minty breath, and a hint of tongue.

And god, if my knees don't almost give out.

Whatever pheromones he summons should be sold as a lust potion. On instinct, I grab the lapels of his suit, and that only makes him deepen the kiss. Hell, yes.

How wrong is it that I'd let him do whatever he wanted right here in the hallway, and I might not even notice that other people exist? If being with him didn't feel so good, those thoughts would scare the shit out of me. Those kinds of thoughts are ones that will make me forget how easily trust can be broken and then wielded like a weapon.

"You gave me the best surprise," he mutters between kisses, "and you should be thoroughly rewarded."

"Is that what's happening right now?" I ask, breathless.

"Not even close." He tugs me tighter. "We won today, and we weren't predicted to. Means I don't need sleep tonight. We can lose tomorrow. I won't even care."

"Not true," I murmur before kissing him again. "That's not how you really feel."

"I'm feeling all kinds of things right now, doc. Most of them aren't hockey related."

"Anyone got popcorn?" Radek asks, his Czech accent pronounced, and other players and their wives or girlfriends laugh along. "Seems like Bishop actually knows what he's doing. Might be a good show, after all."

Logan releases a deep sigh, and he frames my face again, his forehead touching mine. "Radek thought I was a virgin," he says, his voice deep and rumbly with desire.

I can't help the laugh that bursts out, and the corners of Logan's lips quirk up before he turns to face Radek, his hand still on my lower back.

"A virgin?" I ask.

Radek gives an exaggerated shrug. "Young hot shot had little interest in women on the road or at home. Thought maybe he was shy or inexperienced."

"He's not shy," I confirm. "Or inexperienced." Hearing what I sort of already suspected—that Logan hasn't had a woman waiting in every city—causes a flutter in my stomach. He already made me feel safe, but I'm also becoming sure I can trust him on other levels too.

"I see he is very confident," Radek says. "Actually, the whole WHL sees this now. That fancy goal, just to get some—"

"Do not go there. You already know I'm not taking any shit where she's concerned," Logan practically growls. "Don't you need to catch the bus?"

"Are you two coming...on the bus?" He raises his eyebrows and gives us a cheeky smile.

"Tamiko got us a car," I say. She wants Logan and I seen together as much as possible, but after the show he put on without even realizing it, that might be more than enough. "Coach Keller is aware."

"And traveling tomorrow?" Radek asks.

"I'll be on the bus and the plane," Logan says. "Doc's gotta get back to the people who need her."

My stomach swoops low. There's no hesitation. He's not holding out for a different answer, a chance to persuade me in private to stay longer. To demand more than I've told him I want to give. A more perfect response couldn't exist.

And yet, at least this time, it's not true. Since I don't know what else to do, I'm going to trust Tamiko's plan. My instincts aren't reliable.

Logan takes my hand and leads us out of the arena behind Radek and several of the other players. At the player exit, crowds line the barriers, and there are so many phones pointed at us that I'm even more glad I deleted all my social media apps on the plane. As though he can read my thoughts, Logan squeezes my hand.

When I glance at him, he doesn't say a word, but he holds my gaze, pouring his own confidence and certainty right into my veins. And if I hadn't read the comments earlier, I might not even need his steady, silent support. But someone in this crowd or the fans in the arena will post something, and people will tear me down. From my age to my clothing to my weight to...well, anything, really. Once people get into a hate spiral, nothing is off limits.

I've seen it in action in Bellerive, but I've never been the target.

He guides me to the car waiting behind the bus, and after we've both slid into the back, I let out a whoosh of air.

"I'm not sure I'm meant to be in a relationship with someone so high profile."

"On the island, you're the famous one."

"I wouldn't say that." I turn to face him as the car pulls away from the arena. "I'd say we're equals there."

"You've got deep ties. Sometimes it feels like the island is one giant small town. Gossip fucking central."

He's not wrong. The island of Bellerive has a population of a small city—thousands and thousands of people—but due to the country's strict immigration laws to avoid overpopulation or a housing crisis, a lot of citizens are six degrees of separation or less from each other.

"I'm just not used to this," I say. "The intensity is different." While the extended Tucker family might have a spotty reputation on the island, I've only ever been written about in a positive light. A privilege I obviously took for granted. Be a good person, people will see you as a good person.

"The only people who matter are the ones in this car right now." He raises my hand and kisses the back of it.

At the hotel, Logan leads the way up to his room. He paid the bellhop at the door to bring my bags up "in an hour or so."

My stomach flutters with nerves when the hotel room door closes behind us, and Logan's arms cage me in against the wall. He peers at me for a beat, as though trying to memorize this moment—and I recognize that feeling, it's one I have a lot too. This need to cling onto whatever this is, to how being with him makes me feel, to squeeze every ounce of positivity out of each moment.

"Fuck you make me happy," he murmurs, and then he kisses me deeply.

Instead of breaking it off, telling him we need to talk, I give into my desire to be close. Maybe we were just together this morning, but the separation was a lifetime the minute my front door clicked shut. When we're together, time sprints, and when we're apart, I'm running marathons until I'm with him again.

With my arms wrapped around his neck, I let him carry me deeper into the hotel suite. Guilt niggles at me when my phone buzzes in my purse, and I wonder if it's Tamiko. Pretending I came because I couldn't be away from him is dishonest, even if it's actually incredibly honest. There's nowhere else I want to be than in this room with him, but I wouldn't be here without Tamiko's visit.

"We should talk," I murmur between kisses.

"Now?"

"I think now is important," I admit.

He sets me down and steps back. Immediate space, which I usually love. He figured out quickly that any attempt to negotiate put my guard up super high, and he's stopped doing it.

His gaze shutters, as though I've flicked the "off" switch on his emotions. It would be unnerving if I didn't understand that it's instinctual. As soon as he's out of his comfort zone, he shuts down. The only time that's not true is when whatever has pushed him to the brink is a physical task—then he doubles down, works harder, digs in.

Emotions, though? I'm noticing he's more guarded—the shields go up—especially if he senses any uncertainty about our relationship from me. We tiptoe through each other's traumas, even if we don't fully understand them.

"Did you come here to break things off?" he asks, and his tone is matter of fact, as though we could be discussing the weather.

"No!" I wrap my arms around his neck, and I kiss his cheek. "No," I repeat, making eye contact. Physical closeness usually snaps him back into himself, and with him, it often recenters me too, if I have been uneasy. "Unless something goes horribly wrong, we've got a deal to the end of season. I promised, and I keep those."

"Okay," he says slowly, and his hand sneaks up the back of my shirt for the skin-on-skin contact, and he buries his nose in the valley at my shoulder. "God, you smell good." He pulls me tighter. "Why does it seem like I won't want to hear what you have to tell me?"

"I'm just not sure how you're going to react," I admit.

"As long as I've still got you, you could tell me anything, and I'll react just fine."

"I should have called or texted you before I came, but there just wasn't—"

"Spit it out, doc," he says, drawing back and smoothing down my hair with his big hands.

"Tamiko says that the way our relationship is being framed is bad for business."

"I could not fucking care less. I couldn't. It's literally impossible for me to care less about how other people feel about us. I have zero fucks. They'll get nothing from me about you. I'm not feeding any negativity—that's someone else's problem."

"Tamiko doesn't like avoidance as a strategy."

"Tamiko isn't in this relationship. You and I are. What's happening between you and me has nothing to do with the team."

"That's just not realistic, Logan. You're a star player, and I'm... your physiotherapist, which is part of the team. And I come from a family of billionaires. People are going to talk."

"She wants me to talk about us? About you?"

"After tonight, you might not have much of a choice?" I suggest, remembering the various ways he greeted me at the arena.

"I've always got a choice."

"Okay, yes, but there was nothing low key about what happened at the game tonight."

"What are you getting at?" He steps back and rubs his thumb and forefinger between his eyes. "You were being strategic at the game, and I was just being me?"

"No," I say, and I can't help the hint of annoyance in my voice. "I was being me too. That was all me."

He scans me for a beat, as though he's trying to determine what's accurate and what's spin, which also raises my hackles. Part of his reaction is also my fault because I haven't explained anything well.

"But you came because Tamiko asked you to?"

He's got me there, and I can tell from his expression that admitting that is going to slice open something I don't want to cut.

What will she say?

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