Logan: An Enemies-to-Lovers Fake Boyfriend Sports Romance (Bad Boys of Hockey Book 1)

The game ends with a score of five to three for the Blades, with a hattrick by Logan. I follow the other reporters down the elevator to the locker room where I’ll conduct the interview. I have no clue what to expect.

When we step in, the air is instantly humid. Steam is pouring in from the showers and hanging in the air. I inhale a mix of hot stifling body odor and men’s deodorant. The players are already undressing and showering. I’ve seen a few bare asses already. I’m trying to keep my eyes to myself but this is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed before.

The other reporters gather around Logan Drake in the back corner of the locker room. I follow their lead as I hang in the back of the crowd. In an effort to see, I lift up onto my tiptoes and gasp. He’s wearing nothing but his underwear! Another reporter notices my reaction. I quickly regain my composure.

Pointy Beard asks Logan the first question: “Why is it so easy for you to get a hattrick like you’ve done multiple times with the Blades so far?”

There are ten different microphones in his face. I fumble as I pull out my phone. Dammit, I should have been more prepared than this! As I turn on my phone, the cat and crow video I was watching earlier automatically starts playing on full volume. The sounds of the cat meowing and the crow cawing fill the locker room.

‘Oh crap,’ I say a bit too loudly.

Logan Drake’s attention shifts to me and, consequently, so does everyone else’s.

“Pay no attention to me,” I say as I swipe at the screen frantically, hoping to close the window, but it just keeps playing. “Crap! Crap! Crap!” I mumble to myself.

Finally, I manage to stop the video. Pointy Beard clears his throat and shoots me a disparaging look before looking back at Logan. Meanwhile, I’m silently praying to all the goddesses out there that nothing else goes embarrassingly wrong for me. Opening the microphone app, I press the big red record button. When I look up, I notice Logan Drake’s captivating dark eyes staring straight at me.

Holy shit, he’s hot.

My eyes dart in every direction in an attempt to avoid his fiery gaze but it’s nigh impossible.

“Practice and hard work,” he says, answering Pointy Beard’s question. His voice is deep and smooth. “I keep my eye on the prize and I go for what I want. That’s all it takes.”

His eyes are still on me, watching. I can’t tell if I’ve pissed him off or intrigued him. More steam tumbles out of the showers, filling the room with a humid fog. I’m starting to sweat.

Another reporter pushes forward. “Logan, there are rumors that you’re aiming your sights on a specific trophy this season. Is that true?”

Logan watches me for a few more seconds before pulling away, looking at the reporter.

“If I keep this point streak going, I’ll either be taking the Corazon home, or I’ll be taking the cup home. I’m going far with these guys, I promise you that.” He makes eye contact with me again. “You,’ he says. ‘I want to hear a question from you.”

Oh shit. I swallow. Here we go. I realize Jane’s questions are still in my pocket.

“Hi Logan, how are you?” I ask in an attempt to stall as my sweaty hand searches my pocket for the piece of paper.

“Pretty damn good after that win.” He flashes his dazzling smile.

My heart is racing. “Right…”

“What is this?” An older reporter scoffs. “A blind date?” He turns back to the hockey player. “Logan, about your power play stats this past week—’

Logan holds his hand up and gives the man a dangerous stare. “The lady is speaking.” He looks back at me. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Looking down at the questions on the crumpled paper, I feel my heart racing in my chest. The once clean, crisp paper is now damp and wrinkled.

Why are my hands so sweaty?

I look back up and see Logan’s lips twitch into a smirk. My cheeks burn even hotter. Avoiding his gaze again, my eyes blur looking at Jane’s inane questions: Do you think your bad boy reputation has affected your on-ice status as a player?

Wtf? Damn, these questions are stupid, I think to myself. But if I don’t get an answer, I can say goodbye to five grand.

“I don’t need this,” I mumble. Stuffing the paper into my pocket, I look up at Logan. “Those goals, especially the second one, were really spectacular.”

Amused, he watches me. ‘Why, thank you.’

There’s that famous swagger of his.

I clear my throat. “But I noticed that you’ve been favoring your backhand. You also tend to favor your right side when you skate. Have you considered seeking a full body realignment for whatever injury you’re recovering from?”

He furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just a suggestion,” I continue. “If you don’t get one, it could be a problem in a few years.”

Logan narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

Pointy Beard turns to me. “Do you think it’ll affect his gameplay?”

The other reporters turn and watch me, waiting for my answer. Their microphones are in my face.

They’re asking me questions now?

“Not if he gets it checked out—”

Logan Drake clears his throat, interrupting me. “That’s enough questions for today.”

There’s a commotion as the other reporters mumble under their breath, their eyes shooting daggers at me. I look at Logan and he’s glaring at me too.

Uh-oh. I messed up.

“Thanks for nothing,” one reporter mumbles as he bumps into me with his shoulder. The reporters start to shuffle out of the locker-room.

“I didn’t mean to,” I say, but it’s too late. Great. I’ve made enemies out of all the sports journalists in Seattle. My physio career is off to a wonderful start. I sigh as I decide whether I should hang back to avoid walking with the disgruntled journalists or if I should run far away from a furious Logan Drake before I embarrass myself in front of him again. Oh god, can’t I just disappear?

As I busy myself stuffing my phone and Jane’s questions into my purse, I realize something. Crap. I didn’t get any questions answered. Jane is going to be pissed.

Looking around, I notice I’m the only non-player still in the locker-room.

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that.” A deep voice startles me. I turn to see Logan Drake still standing behind me. “If it gets around that I’m not in top shape, Coach will stop playing me. Other players will start targeting me. My stock will go down.”

“I was only trying to help with that realignment stuff. I noticed you were shooting differently and I was just trying to help.”

He watches me for a moment. There’s a strange spark in his eye. “You were able to tell something was wrong just by the way I score?”

My cheeks instantly feel hot. “Your shooting technique has favored your backhand, meaning everything else gets twisted. Why aren’t you shooting on your forehand anymore?”

He hesitates. “Is it bad?”

“It’s not bad.” I take a small step closer to him. I’m about to touch his shoulder to show him why it’s a problem, but I stop when I realize he’s still mostly naked. “But when you twist one part of your body, everything else twists with it. Everything’s connected. It’ll get worse if you don’t get it checked out.”

He watches me curiously. “Don’t tell the other reporters any of this next time. And don’t tell your paper either.”

Next time?

“Don’t worry,” I say. “There won’t be a next time.”

There’s that curious stare again. He narrows his beautiful brown eyes. “Who are you?”

“My name is Riley. I’m a student from the university. I’m filling in for my friend.”

“So, you’re a journalist student?”

“No, not really. Well, not at all. I’m filling in for my friend. It’s a long story. I should go… but I didn’t get a single question answered. She’s going to be so angry with me, unless…” I look up at him with big eyes.

He raises his eyebrow. “You want me to answer a question for you? After all that?”

“Can you?”

He watches me with an intensity bordering on the intimate.

“Fine.” He crosses his arms. “But just one.” His stoic demeanor breaks for a second and a smirk shows through.

God, he’s cute.

“Just one. Great. That’s all I need.” I fish out Jane’s questions.

“And I get to ask you one back.”

I stop and look up at him. “What?”

“I’ll let you ask me a question as long as I get to ask one back.” His dark magnetic eyes entrance me. The corners of his lips pull into a smile. Everything about him catches me off guard.

“Oh.” Tucking my long hair behind my ear, I nod. “Okay.”

Logan Drake is going to ask me a question… Cool, cool, cool…

“So, what’s your question?” He cocks his head to the side.

There’s a strange spark between us that I try to ignore. But it’s nearly impossible. My cheeks are heated and my hands are shaking. What is he going to ask me? And why am I reacting like this?

My hands tremble as I ready my phone. I turn on the microphone app and press record. Pulling Jane’s questions out, I stick to the script this time. Improvising clearly isn’t my forte.

“Do you think your bad boy reputation has affected your on-ice status as a player?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, Logan’s expression sours. Uh-oh. I’ve hit a nerve.

“Define bad-boy reputation.”

“Umm, I guess she’s asking about the nude photos on Instagram, the fight with Harrison Cooper, the affair with his girlfriend…”

“Are you from one of those tabloids?” His tone turns icy as he squares his shoulders in a defensive stance.

“No! I didn’t want to ask about this stuff, that’s why I asked you about your gameplay instead.”

“Which went so well,” he says in a sarcastic voice. “These rumors need to stop.”

“If they’re rumors, then clear them up right now.” I hold up my phone. “Now’s your chance to put them all to rest!”

“I didn’t start that fight,” he says. “If you watched the story closely, you’d know that.”

“But you did sleep with Harrison Cooper’s girlfriend?”

“She wasn’t his girlfriend at the time—” Logan shakes his head. He steps closer so that I can smell the stifling sweat dripping down his body. His stature blocks out the light. “People don’t know what really happened.”

I look up into his eyes. “What happened?”

He shakes his head and smirks. “You already asked me a question.”

“You didn’t even answer it!”

“I think you’ve got everything you need.” He pulls back.

“What about the nude photos?”

“Those girls posted them, not me.”

“I’m sure your mom is very proud.”

“Are you slut-shaming me?”

I’m taken aback. “No? I don’t think so…”

“What I do in my personal time is my own business.”

I force out a sharp sigh. “You know, this is why media makes stories up—you’re unwilling to share anything!”

“If you’re threatening to write a fake story about me, I can get you into deep trouble…What station do you work for again?” He looks down at my VIP badge.

Shit. Not getting the story is one thing, but getting Jane blacklisted from the journalism community would be far worse. I put my hand over my VIP badge so he can’t read it.

“Are you threatening me?” I ask. “You know what? Never mind. Let me answer your question and I’ll get out of here.”

He shakes his head. “Not necessary. I’ve already got my answer.”

“Wait… what was the question?” I ask this a bit too eagerly.

“Don’t write about me,” he says as he turns back toward his locker and grabs his towel, tying it around his waist. The muscles in his back ripple as he pulls his underwear off under the towel and I’m momentarily distracted.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“All that stuff you recorded?” He says as he turns back around. “Delete it.”

“But I need to give something to my roommate. How am I supposed to get paid?”

“That’s not my problem.” He walks toward the showers.

I know I should just swallow my pride and walk away, but I can’t help myself. When the heat rises up inside me, it bubbles over and explodes, usually in the form of instantly-regretted words.

“I know you were going to ask me out,” I say, cringing instantly.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why the hell did I just do that?

Logan Drake stops, turns around, and smirks.

“You really think that’s what I was going to ask?”

“Well, wasn’t it?’”

Amused, he watches me for a moment.

“I’d like to ask my question now,” he says.

“Oh,” I say, stunned. “Okay.”

“Would you have said yes?” He asks.

My heart flutters. Fuck.

“You have to answer,” he says. “It’s my question.”

The bad boy of hockey is asking me if I would date him. The bad boy of hockey is wearing nothing but a towel and asking me if I would date him. How do I say no?

I shake my head. “You didn’t answer my question, so therefore I’m not answering yours.”

He stares at me with the most impenetrable smirk. “Fine. I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.”

I swallow. “Fine.” I pull out my phone and hit record.

“I don’t think any reputation of mine is going to affect my status as a player. I’m going to let my statistics speak for themselves because I’m focused on what I want. And when I want something, I get it.” His dazzling brown eyes look deep into mine. “Is that what you wanted?”

I’m staring into his eyes as I nod absently. “Yes.” The word barely sounds louder than a whisper. My phone nearly slips out of my hand.

“And now it’s your turn to answer mine.” He gives me a cocky grin.

Damn. He’s good.

I hold myself up high.

“I would have said no,” I say. “Because I don’t date.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t date? Or you don’t date guys like me?”

“Are you upset that I said no?”

“Women don’t usually say no to me.” He gives me a cocky smile that causes me to roll my eyes. “So, what’s the answer?”

My mouth opens and closes. I shake my head. “You already asked me a question.”

“I guess I’ll never know, then.” He gives me one last swoon-worthy smirk before turning away toward the showers. As he pulls the towel off his body, I catch a fleeting glimpse of his perfect ass before he disappears into a cloud of mist.

Several other players turn to look at me. The reality of where I am settles in, causing my cheeks to burn. Putting my phone away, I keep my gaze on the floor as I dash out of the locker room and rush home.