from an irritated "oh, fuck!" to a confident "fuck it", your entire relationship with John Logan can be mapped out in seven specific exclamations of his favorite four-letter word.
word count : 6.1k (sorry) — enemies to lovers, kind of — logan is moody — SMUT, minors DNI — Enjoy and please tell me what you think !
One — "Oh, fuck!"
The music wasn’t just loud; it was vibrating through the old floorboards and thumping directly against your ribs. You’d only been there for twenty minutes, entirely dragged along by Hannah, who was currently tucked under Garrett’s arm near the doorway. Watching them was sweet—almost nauseatingly so—but it left you feeling like a ghost drifting through a sea of oversized jerseys, loud hockey players, and the thick scent of cheap beer. For the most part, the rest of the boys were incredibly welcoming; even though you'd just met them tonight, they were already loud, inherently kind and easy to be around.
Except for John Logan.
You hadn’t actually been introduced to him yet, but you’d felt his suffocating vibe the moment he walked through the door. He looked like absolute thunder. Briar had dropped a frustrating, tight game that evening, and while Garrett was channeling his nervous energy into playing the charismatic host, Logan was wearing his irritation like armor. Leaning against the kitchen counter with a dark scowl that practically screamed at people to stay away, his knuckles were white around his glass, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for a reason to snap.
Navigating that crowded, chaotic kitchen with a brim-filled, sticky mixed drink was your first mistake. Your second was catching the rubber toe of your sneaker on the lifting edge of a rogue anti-fatigue mat near the sink.
You stumbled forward, your arms flailing wildly in a desperate, ungraceful bid for balance. You didn’t fall, but your cup did a violent, mid-air flip, slipping from your fingers. A torrential wave of sticky, dark rum and cola splashed directly across the pristine gray fabric of Logan’s Henley shirt, soaking through the chest, darkening the material instantly and dripping down the front of his dark jeans.
Logan froze. His head snapped down slowly, looking at the huge, dark stain spreading across his clothes, and then his gaze lifted to yours. His eyes were blazing, a dangerous brown, entirely unamused and dripping with venom. "Oh, fuck!" he snapped, his voice cutting right through the ambient noise like a knife. He pulled the wet, heavy fabric away from his skin with two fingers, a look of pure annoyance twisting his features. "Are you serious right now? Watch where the hell you're going."
The sheer aggression in his tone caught you completely off guard, instantly sparking your own deeply ingrained, stubborn nature. You had been about to apologize profusely, the words of remorse already forming on your tongue, but the bite in his words choked them right out of your throat. You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down under his glare. "It was an accident," you retorted, pulling a few crumpled, napkins from the counter and shoving them toward his chest. "You don't have to be a complete dick about it. It’s just a shirt, I'm pretty sure you'll survive."
"It's a wet, sticky shirt at the end of a terrible, exhausting fucking day," he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he batted your hand away with a harsh flick of his wrist. He didn't take the napkins; they fluttered uselessly to the floor. Instead, he leaned down slightly, giving you a long, icy glare that made you feel about two inches tall, his jaw clenching so hard you could see the muscle tick. "Next time, look up from your feet." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and storming down the hallway toward the stairs, muttering curses under his breath.
You stood there rooted to the spot, your cheeks burning with a toxic mixture of intense embarrassment and sudden, deep-seated dislike. Garrett materialized at your side a split second later, a sympathetic, slightly apologetic grimace on his face as he patted your shoulder gently. "Hey, don't sweat it," Garrett reassured you quietly, glancing warily toward the stairs where Logan had disappeared. "Logan’s just in a brutal mood because of the game, and he hates losing more than anyone. He's usually a great guy, I swear. He’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow morning."
You forced a tight, fake smile and nodded, but as you looked down at your empty, sticky hands, a bitter taste lingered in your mouth. Spoiler alert: he wouldn't forget. and neither would you.
Two — "Fuck you"
A few weeks later, the initial friction hadn’t dissolved; it had hardened into a permanent, icy chill. You tried your best to play nice for the sake of Hannah and Allie, but Logan made it incredibly difficult. You saw how he was with the rest of their circle—fiercely loyal, easygoing, and warm. He was the kind of guy who quietly made sure Allie and Hannah got home safe from their late shifts and spent his free afternoons helping Jules with media stuff. He was patient with the entire world. But the exact millisecond you walked into a room, his posture stiffened and his jaw set. You hated being the sole exception to his good nature, so you simply stayed out of his way.
The breaking point came on a gray, rainy Tuesday afternoon. You and Hannah had walked over to the hockey house to help Tucker untangle a massive, soul-crushing history assignment he was drowning in. The three of you were spread across the dining table, surrounded by a chaotic mess of highlighters, laptop cords, and heavy library textbooks.
The back door clicked open, and Logan walked in. He was wearing his Briar athletic gear, a damp towel slung over his shoulders from a post-practice shower, his hair messy and wet. He looked exhausted, his shoulders tense, carrying the unmistakable hangover of a brutal morning practice. Instead of walking past to the kitchen, he paused by the table, leaning over Tucker’s shoulder to scan the open pages. He let out a heavy, deliberate sigh. "You’re using the wrong primary sources for that era, Tuck," Logan said, his voice dropping into that effortless, uninvited authority. "You need the economic logs from the eastern front, not these political manifestos. You’re going to tank your thesis statement with those."
Tucker blinked up, looking miserable. "Wait, really? I thought—"
"We checked those, Logan," you interrupted, keeping your voice level and calm as you kept your eyes on your notebook. "We've got it handled," you smiled, trying to remain polite.
Logan didn't move. His eyes slid slowly down to the side of your face, unamused. "Right. Because you're an expert on 20th-century economic trade?"
"No," you said, your pen pausing on the page. "But I can read a syllabus. If you're so worried about Tucker's academic results, you could have sat down and helped him yourself already."
Logan’s jaw tightened, a sharp spike of tension instantly replacing his usual easygoing demeanor. He took his hands out of his pockets and leaned forward, bracing his palms on the edge of the table, firmly invading your space. Tucker shot Hannah a wide-eyed, panicked look across the textbooks, both of them suddenly bracing for impact.
"I gave him my old notes weeks ago," Logan shot back, his voice dropping into something smaller, tighter. "But sure, ignore the guy who actually passed the class because you're too stubborn to take a note from me."
"I'm not being stubborn, you're just being a patronizing prick," you retorted, leaning back in your chair. "You’ve been hovering over this table for five minutes just looking for a problem because you had a bad day and want to take it out on someone."
Logan let out a harsh, dry laugh, though there was a flicker of genuine frustration in his eyes—the look of a good guy who couldn't understand why he kept letting you bait him. "Take it out on someone? Trust me, if I wanted to take anything out on someone, I wouldn't waste my time on you. I'm trying to keep my friend from bombing a midterm because he made the mistake of letting you organize his thoughts."
"My thoughts are perfectly fine, Logan," Tucker muttered quietly under his breath, his eyes glued to his laptop screen, desperately trying to dissolve into the background.
"They're fine when you're left alone, Tuck," Logan said, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring his teammate's plea. "Not when you're letting someone drag their own contrarian agenda into your coursework."
"A contrarian agenda?" You stood up, your chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. Hannah flinched at the sharp noise, withdrawing her hands from the table and motioning for Tucker to leave the potential future crime scene. They both complied quickly, knowing you both well enough to understand that trying to reason with you in that moment would be pointless. "Are you actually insane? I'm sorry that anyone else having a brain in this house threatens your need to micromanage every single thing that happens under this roof."
"It doesn't threaten me at all," Logan said, standing up straight and towering over you, using his height to crowd your space until his shadow completely blocked out the light from the window. The sheer, uncharacteristic anger rolling off him was suffocating; Tucker actually slid his chair back a few inches, completely done with trying to intervene at this point. "It annoys me. You annoy me, actually. I'm not going to walk on eggshells in my own dining room because you can't handle a basic correction."
"I can handle a correction if it's respectful," you shot back, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you refused to take a step away from him. "You don't want to help Tucker. You just want to feel like the smartest guy in the room and that is annoying."
"I dont—," Logan started, a nervous scoff escaping his lips. "You don't know anything about me. Please let's keep it this way, since you clearly can't stand me anyway."
"You're the one who treats me like an absolute inconvenience the second I breathe in your direction!" you yelled, the weeks of being ignored, brushed off, and glared at finally boiling over into raw, unadulterated anger. "If you hate me being here so much, just say it. But stop acting like I'm the one bringing the venom into this house when you're the one dripping it."
The air between you turned completely volatile, thick enough to choke on. A strange, angry electricity snapped between you, the argument completely detached from history or homework now, exposed and raw. Logan stared down at you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he tried to swallow down the sheer frustration rolling off him in waves. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face inches from yours, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle violently ticked in his cheek.
"Fuck you," he whispered.
The words hit with a cold, deliberate weight that vibrated in the dead-silent room. Before you could fire back, Tucker's voice boomed from the kitchen archway, stern and completely done with both of you. "Enough! Both of you, cut it the hell out."
But the damage was done. The look in Logan's eyes made something tight and painful twist in your chest. You refused to sit there and breathe the same air as him for another second. Blindly turning around, you grabbed your laptop and notebook, shoving them into your backpack with rigid, uncooperative hands.
"I'm leaving," you muttered, keeping your eyes glued firmly to the floor as you pushed past Hannah’s reaching hand on the way out. You grabbed your jacket from the hook and left through the front door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the frame, stepping out into the pouring, cold rain with the echo of his voice looping in your head like a curse.
Three — "Fuck off"
For the next month, you became an absolute expert at avoiding John Logan. You turned it into an art form. If he was at a crowded house party, you stayed firmly in the kitchen or on the opposite porch. If the entire group gathered at Malone's, you ensured you sat on the exact opposite end of the long table, hidden behind Dean's loud gestures.
Because of this, you never saw the way his eyes silently followed you when you entered a room, or the almost guilty look that crossed his face whenever your name came up in conversation. He knew he'd crossed a line by cursing at you like that—but your unbreakable silence gave him absolutely no room to apologize, and his own stubborn pride kept him from forcing the issue.
There were small signs of his guilt, though. One random Thursday afternoon, he showed up at the place you shared with Hannah and Allie, claiming he was just dropping off a spare hockey hoodie Garrett had left in his truck. You had stayed in your room with the door cracked just an inch, watching through the tiny gap as he lingered by the entrance, his eyes constantly drifting toward your door, silently checking to see if you'd come out. You hadn't moved an inch, holding your breath until he finally left.
Eventually, Hannah and Allie staged a full-blown intervention. A brand-new club had opened downtown, and they absolutely refused to let you stay home and rot in your room, even though they openly admitted the boys were all coming along. You finally relented, numbing your spiking anxiety by pouring yourself two heavy pre-game vodka crans before leaving the house.
The club was a massive sensory overload—flashing neon lights, artificial fog, and heavy, chest-thumping bass that made communication impossible. By midnight, everyone was comfortably, heavily drunk. You were leaning your back against the sticky mahogany bar, sipping a gin and tonic, when you finally caught sight of him through the pulsing crowd.
Logan was laughing at something Beau said, a dark red bandana tied tightly around his messy hair, looking effortlessly, devastatingly handsome in a black fitted t-shirt. As if sensing the weight of your gaze, his head turned. His dark eyes locked directly onto yours across the smoky crowded room. He didn’t look away. He held your stare for a second, then two, then three — a strange, intense, unreadable heat settling over his features before a group of dancers blocked your view.
A few minutes later, a guy from one of the campus fraternities slithered up next to you on the edge of the dance floor. He was loud, sweaty, and smelled entirely too much like cheap cologne and whiskey — but a little bit of dancing could help taking your mind off of a certain hockey player, you thought. You enjoyed it at first, moving along, focusing on the music, the stranger getting closer and closer as the playlist progressed. But then, just as you started to feel good - just the right amount of alcohol in your veins to feel lighter and relaxed - he tried to grind his hips against yours. You tried to step back, laughing it off politely at first, pushing his hands away, but he didn't take the hint. His hands came down on your waist, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you flush against him with a grip that was far too tight and aggressive.
Before you could even raise your hands to shove his chest, a massive shadow loomed over both of you.
A now familiar hand gripped the frat guy’s shoulder, spinning him around with enough force to make his sneakers squeak on the floor.
"Fuck off," Logan snarled, his voice a low, lethal vibration that cut right through the heavy bass of the music. He leaned in until he was nose-to-nose with the guy. "Get your fucking hands off her and fuck off right now."
The guy looked at Logan and wisely raised his hands in surrender, backing away rapidly into the foggy crowd without throwing a single punch.
Logan’s breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched tightly at his sides as his eyes scanned the immediate area like a wild animal looking for another threat. He looked ready to tear the entire club apart with his bare hands. Anxious that he might actually chase the guy down for a fight, you stepped directly into his line of sight, capturing his attention.
"Logan," you breathed, your voice soft and entirely stripped of its usual sarcasm. Without thinking about the consequences, you reached out, your bare fingers wrapping around his forearm.
The exact millisecond your skin met the warm, rock-hard muscle of his arm, Logan froze entirely. It was the first time the two of you had ever willingly, gently touched, and the effect was instantaneous. The blinding anger seemed to drain out of him in a single breath, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of air. He looked down at your small hand resting on his arm, his skin tingling where you touched him, and then he slowly, deliberately lifted his gaze to your eyes.
The noisy club, the flashing strobe lights, the roaring bass, the alcohol—it all faded into irrelevant background noise. You stood face-to-face on the crowded dance floor, completely motionless, just looking into each other's eyes. Your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, not from fear of the frat guy, but from a sudden, dizzying, terrifying realization. Looking into his wide, intensely focused eyes, you realized you didn't hate him. Not even close. And from the soft, almost vulnerable parting of his lips, he didn't hate you either. You weren't close to being friends yet, but the ice had officially shattered into a million pieces.
Four — "What the fuck"
The shift between you was subtle, but it was absolutely undeniable. The sharp hostility was gone, completely replaced by a quiet, lingering, heavy awareness that neither of you knew quite what to do with.
A week later, you were sitting in a sunlit corner booth at Malone’s. You were completely, entirely absorbed in a brutal, multi-chapter study session for your finals, a pair of heavy over-ear headphones clamped securely over your ears. The sweet, nostalgic melody of American Pie was playing through the speakers, and without even realizing it, you were softly humming along to the chorus, tapping the cap of your yellow highlighter rhythmically against the open pages of your textbook.
You were so deeply focused on your notes that you didn't hear the diner's front door chime, nor did you see Logan walk in. He was there to finalize the last-minute details for the upcoming Hockey Fundraiser with Hannah and Della. But the exact moment his eyes scanned the room and spotted you sitting alone in the corner booth, he stopped dead in his tracks.
He didn’t approach right away. He just stood near the counter, watching you. A soft, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he listened to your faint, slightly off-key humming.
Prickled by the sudden, distinct sensation of eyes on you, you blinked and lifted your head from your textbook. Logan instantly wiped the smile from his face, clearing his throat roughly and pretending to read a missing cat flyer on the bulletin board.
You pulled your headphones down, a small smirk playing on your lips. "You know, if you stare any harder, you're going to burn a hole right through my skull, Logan."
Instead of snapping back with a sarcastic, biting retort like he used to, Logan let out a soft chuckle. He walked over to your booth and, to your surprise, slid into the bench by your side, his knee almost touching yours.
"Just making sure you weren't torturing the rest of the innocent customers with your singing," he teased gently, his shoulder brushing against yours in the tight space.
You rolled your eyes, but there was no spite left in your expression. "I happen to have the voice of a literal angel, thank you very much. You're just jealous."
The playful banter slowly subsided into a comfortable silence. Logan looked at you, his expression turning a little more serious, his eyes softening as his voice dropped to a much quieter register. "Hey… are you doing okay?" Since what happened the other night, obviously implied by the way he looked at you right now, concern written all over his face.
You felt a warm flush creep up your neck and settle into your cheeks. "I'm okay, thank you" you smiled and he nodded, both silently agreeing not to discuss this unpleasant event anymore. You paused, looking down at his large hands resting on the table before forcing yourself to look back up. "How are you doing ? With the fundraiser and everything, I mean. You look like you haven't slept in a week."
He seemed genuinely surprised that you were asking about him. Really, truly asking. He leaned back against the vinyl booth, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he completely opened up to you. He talked about the immense stress of managing the team's high expectations, his constant worries about Jules’ upcoming exams, and the suffocating pressure of the NHL scouts attending the next three games. You listened intently, never interrupting, offering gentle encouragement and a few dry, sarcastic jokes that had him laughing quietly into his palms. For a full hour, the two most stubborn, argumentative people at Briar University just… talked.
"Well," you finally said, checking the diner clock and reluctantly packing your laptop into your bag. "I have to get to my shift at the library. Don't let Della bully you into paying extra for the tableware."
"I won't," Logan said, his eyes tracking your every movement, lingering on your face. "See you around?"
"See you around." You gave him a small, genuine smile—the first real one he'd ever received from you—and walked out into the crisp afternoon air, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.
Inside the booth, Logan sat completely still for a long, agonizing moment. He watched your retreating figure through the glass window until you turned the corner and disappeared from view. Slowly, he let out a shaky exhale, burying his face entirely in his hands. He rubbed his palms over his eyes, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"What the fuck," he whispered into the empty diner booth, his voice laced with a mixture of absolute awe and sheer, unadulterated panic. He was screwed. He was completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed, and he knew there was no turning back.
Five — "Well, fuck"
The night of the Briar Hockey Fundraiser at Malone’s was a chaotic, high-energy, glittering success. The entire diner had been completely transformed for the evening—the regular tables had been pushed to the far perimeter to create a makeshift dance floor, strings of warm fairy lights hung across the ceiling, and a massive turnout of wealthy alumni, boosters, and students kept the bar utterly slammed.
You had dressed up significantly for the occasion, wearing a form-fitting, emerald green silk dress that Allie let you borrow from her closet - of course. You spent the first half of the night talking to Hannah near the punch bowl, but your eyes kept unconsciously tracking a certain someone across the room.
Logan was entirely in his element—charming the older donors, laughing easily with his teammates, and looking entirely too edible for your own good.
Around midnight, the formal event finally dissolved into a proper, rowdy college party. The DJ cranked up a heavy, slow, rhythmic pop song, the bass echoing through the floor, and the dance floor filled up with couples. You were navigating the edge of the sweaty crowd, trying to find Allie when a sudden, firm, yet gentle pull on your wrist guided you backward.
You spun around on your heels, your chest bumping right into Logan’s broad torso. "You've been actively dodging me all night," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against your skin as his large hand settled naturally around yours. The casual, unhesitating intimacy of the gesture sent a fierce, blinding jolt of electricity straight down your spine.
"I wasn't dodging you, I was letting you do your official host duties," you shot back, a wicked, playful smile spreading across your lips. The alcohol gave you a surge of confidence, and you looped your arms slowly around his neck, stepping closer into his personal space until there was absolutely no air left between you. "Besides, I didn't think you could actually handle me dancing with you."
Logan’s dark eyes lit up instantly, a dangerous, competitive challenge flaring in his pupils. He pulled you a fraction of an inch closer. "Oh, really? Try me, sweetheart."
You didn't hesitate. As the heavy beat of the music dropped, you shifted your weight, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, and sinfully against his. You leaned in close, your lips brushing the warm shell of his ear as you whispered, "You're all talk, John Logan. Let's see if you can actually keep up with me."
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding down his chest to grip the crisp fabric of his shirt, tugging him rhythmically, tightly against your body. The friction was immediate, heavy, and intoxicating. Logan’s breath hitched audibly in his throat. A dark, intense flush crept up his neck, coloring his sharp cheekbones as his hands settled on your waist, his fingers digging firmly into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping helplessly to your parted lips, entirely overwhelmed and undone by the sudden confidence of your movements. He could feel exactly how much you were affecting him, his body reacting instantly to the touch of your hips.
A breathless, desperate laugh escaped him. He jerked his head back for a split second, fighting a losing battle for self-control. "Well, fuck," he muttered, his voice raw, completely devoid of its usual composure.
"Did I break the big, tough hockey player already?" you cooed, tilting your chin up tauntingly, your noses almost touching as you continued to sway against him.
"You wish," he groaned, his thumbs stroking the bare skin of your lower back where your dress dipped low. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled you even tighter against his lower body, matching your sinful rhythm perfectly, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a burning intensity that made it very clear the playful teasing was rapidly turning into something much more dangerous and inevitable. When the night finally forced you apart, it didn't feel like a goodbye — it was a promise.
Six — "Fuck"
Some things are bound to reach a breaking point, and the agonizing tension building between you for months was no exception. Three nights later, Briar won a massive game and the ensuing after-party at the boys' house was pure chaotic madness. The house was packed to maximum capacity, a sweaty, pulsing mass of drunken celebration, loud music, and screaming students.
But you and Logan weren't paying any attention to the party. For the past two hours, you had been moving around the house like two high-powered magnets — constantly drawing closer, stealing long, heated glances across the crowded rooms, the unspoken, heavy weight of the fundraiser hanging between you.
Seeking a brief moment of quiet to cool down your flushed skin, you headed down the dark back hallway toward the upstairs bathroom. Just as you reached out for the brass doorknob, the door swung open from the inside.
Logan stepped out.
You nearly crashed straight into his chest, cutting your breath short as you ground to a halt mere inches from him. The hallway was swallowed by shadows, save for the frantic strobe lights bleeding in from the living room. Logan stared down at you, wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling in sync with the thick, suffocating heat pulsing through the house.
Neither of you said a single word. The months of toxic banter, the vicious, screaming arguments, the desperate avoidance, and the agonizing teasing all converged into a single, breathless, breaking second.
Logan reached out with lightning speed, his large hand wrapping around your waist, and shoved you backward into the bathroom, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind you and twisting the lock with a sharp, echoing click.
Before the sound of the lock could even fade, his mouth crashed onto yours.
It was an absolute explosion. The kiss was passionate, borderline feral, a violent release of pure, pent-up, crazy frustration. You let out a muffled gasp against his lips, your hands flying up to rip into his dark hair, pulling him down toward you out of sheer desperation. He groaned deep in his throat, a sound of pure hunger, pinning your body flat against the heavy wooden door, his thick thighs crowding tightly between yours. His hands were absolutely everywhere—clutching your face, tracing the line of your throat, gripping your hips with a bruising, desperate force that felt incredibly, entirely right.
"Logan," you whimpered against his mouth as he tore his lips away to kiss your jawline, your neck - his hands sliding down to frantically bunch up the silk fabric of your dress.
With a sudden burst of strengh, he hooked his large hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly into the air. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist as he deposited you onto the cold marble edge of the bathroom sink counter. He didn't waste a single second. His hands slid all the way up the bare, warm skin of your thighs, finding the edge of your underwear. His fingers quickly found your slick, burning, over-sensitized core, rubbing against you through the damp fabric with a rhythm that made your head tilt back and earned a large grin from him.
You arched your back off the counter, a loud sob escaping your lips, your fingers digging deep into his shoulders.
"You like that?" Logan growled against your neck, his voice dripping with lust. His fingers moved faster, driving you up a steep, agonizing cliff. "Tell me you want it."
"Logan," you breathed out, "please," you cried out, your head tossing back against the large bathroom mirror. Your hands flew down to his waist, frantically, blindly fumbling with the button of his jeans. You shoved the denim down his hips until his length snapped free—thick, heavy, and pulsing with heat. The moment your fingers wrapped tightly around him, moving in a fast, desperate stroke, Logan’s eyes rolled back.
His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his neck. He couldn't endure the exquisite torture for long, his quiet moans matching your own, before his large hand clamped over yours, freezing your movement. "Stop, stop," he panted, his chest wild, his forehead pressing against yours. "I'm going to come right now if you keep doing that. I need to feel you, right now."
With trembling, frantic hands, he reached into the small drawer next to the sink—Dean’s emergency stash—and ripped open a foil condom wrapper, spitting the plastic away and rolling it onto himself in one fluid, desperate motion.
Then he stepped back between your open thighs. His hands gripped your hips with an iron hold, dragging you to the very edge of the marble counter. He aligned himself against you, waiting just long enough for your frantic nod of approval. With one heavy, unyielding, possessive thrust, he buried himself completely inside you.
The sheer, overwhelming pleasure of that sudden fullness hit you both at once, fracturing the quiet of the bathroom with a sharp, mutual gasp. Instead of slowing down, the friction only stoked the fire, drawing a long, ragged, shattered exhale from deep in Logan's chest. His pupils were completely dilated, dark and wild with pure lust as his forehead dropped heavily against your shoulder.
"Fuck," he groaned into the crook of your neck, his voice a raw, visceral prayer vibrating against your collarbone.
His hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like an anchor as he immediately established a rhythm. The restraint dissolved into pure instinct. He pulled you flush against him, his thrusts becoming powerful, deep, and utterly relentless from the very start. Every heavy drive forced a breathless cry from your lips, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. You rocked together on the cold edge of the marble sink, your bodies generating a feverish heat that defied the chilly stone beneath you.
The bass from the after-party still thudded through the floorboards, a distant, muffled reminder of the chaotic world outside, but within the locked walls of the bathroom, that world was entirely forgotten. There was only the slick, friction-heavy slide of skin against skin, the frantic tangle of your fingers in his hair, and the hot, primal rhythm consuming you both.
The friction was dizzying, driving you both toward a precipice that neither of you could fight anymore. Logan’s pace turned frantic, his breath coming in harsh, ragged stabs against your ear as his hips slammed against yours with an undoing, desperate urgency. Every stroke sent a white-hot wave of pleasure straight to your core, tightening the coil inside you until it was agonizing.
You choked out a breathless, broken sound, your hands clamping onto his biceps as your head thrashed back against the mirror once more.
He didn't need words to know you were right there. He buried his face in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he delivered three more devastatingly deep, relentless thrusts.
That was the final breaking point. Your walls clamped down around him tight and pulsing, fracturing your breath into a loud, ruined cry as your entire body shattered into a blinding, head-to-toe release.
Hearing you break completely ruined him. Logan let out a guttural, unhinged groan that vibrated deep in his chest. His jaw locked, his body rigid and trembling as he gave one last, deeply possessive shove, throwing his weight into you as he came violently inside the condom. He held himself deep within you, his hips shuddering against yours as he rode out the waves of his own release, the two of you panting heavily in the quiet aftermath, entirely spent.
Seven — "Fuck it"
Roughly thirty minutes later, the two of you finally emerged from the bathroom. You had tried your absolute best to fix your chaotic appearance in the mirror—re-applying a bit of smudge-proof lip gloss, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric of your dress, and trying to tame your wildly tangled hair with your fingers—but the physical evidence of what had just occurred was written all over your faces. Your skin was flushed a deep unmistakable pink, your lips were incredibly swollen and red, and Logan was walking with a loose, stupidly contented, proud stride, his hair completely disheveled and sticking up in directions where your fingers had repeatedly torn through it.
The exact moment you stepped back onto the floor of the crowded living room, a loud, piercing whistle cut through the air.
Dean was leaning against the back of the sofa, a beer dangling from his fingers and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. His eyes darted from you to Logan, zeroing in instantly on the faint trace of your lip gloss smeared along Logan’s jawline.
"Well, well, well," he said, loud enough to be heard over the music. "Must have been a pretty intense plumbing emergency in there. Either that, or you two just went ten rounds with a blender. You might want to wipe your face, Logan."
Your cheeks instantly burned. You took a step back. "Dean, shut up, we were just—"
But Logan didn't let you finish the lie. He looked down at you, catching the slight panic in your eyes, and then looked over at Dean, who was practically vibrating with smug satisfaction.
Instead of getting defensive, Logan just let out a short, quiet laugh. The stubbornness, the secrecy, the remnants of your old feud—it all suddenly felt completely irrelevant. He was tired of hiding it.
"You know what? Fuck it," Logan muttered.
Before you could process the words, his hand slid around the back of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw as he pulled you flush against his chest. Right there by the sofa, he leaned down and kissed you.
Dean threw his arms up in a dramatic, sweeping gesture. "About damn fucking time! Graham, you owe me twenty bucks!"
When Logan finally pulled back, his eyes were bright, a relaxed, genuinely happy smile playing on his lips as his thumb brushed your cheek. You looked up at him, the noise of the party fading into the background, finally realizing that the long, argumentative journey of seven dirty words had brought you exactly where you were supposed to be.
pairing : garrett graham john logan dean di laurentis john tucker beau maxwell allie hayes hannah wells x 𝒇 ! reader
𝗢𝗥 𓈒 𓈒 randomly stuffing your face in their neck
contains : established relationship physical touch kissing dean’s could be seen as suggestive gif credits to @alliecathayes 𝘄 ｡ 2902
GARRETT GRAHAM :
“You think you're close enough?” Garrett teased you once you settled comfortably in his side, your body pressed flush against him. Your boyfriend wasn't surprised by your sudden touchiness; he knew you all too well and could tell by the look you had in your eyes for the past ten minutes that you wanted more than just watching a movie. He continued to look for a movie for the two of you to watch, smiling as he felt your nose rub against his neck as you nodded.
You hummed, sending chills down his neck. “Mhm, you smell nice.”
“Thanks, I used your body wash.” As soon as those words left Garrett’s lips, you were quick to remove your face from his neck and sit up on your elbow, looking at him with an incredulous look. He looked away from the screen when he felt you move away, giving you an innocent smile once he noticed the look on your face, finding your dramatics cute.
“What? You should be honored that I want to smell like you.” Garrett still had that faux innocent smile on his lips as he spoke sweetly. He gently pulled you back against him, this time you lay on your stomach with your feet in the air, his hand slipping under your shirt and resting on your back, callused fingers softly caressing your skin.
“Stop trying to sweet-talk your way out of this graham” You narrowed your eyes at him as you poked his chest with an accusatory tone. A cute noise that he would never admit was him, left his lips at the feeling. He quickly dropped the remote and took your hand in his before you could poke him again.
He caressed your hand with his fingers as he gave you a flirty smirk, his tone dropping to a seductive whisper that usually had you melting, “We both know you love it when I sweet-talk you.”
You rolled your eyes playfully and let out a faux dramatic groan of disgust at your boyfriend's poor excuse at flirting. You rested your head down against his chest, hiding your smile from. Garrett laughed and held you closer, an identical smile gracing his lips. A louder laugh left his lips and filled his room at the feeling of you biting him, clearly flustered.
JOHN LOGAN :
“You okay, baby?” Logan’s voice was soft as it broke the silence of his room, as you hugged him from behind, smushing your face into his warm neck. He paused on retaping his hockey stick to relax back against your chest, the tension in his body after a long, shitty day disappeared.
You took a deep breath against his neck, his cologne filling your nose, before you answered quietly with a small pout, “Yeah, just wanted to be close to you.”
You were lying under Logan’s thick blankets in his bed, watching his back muscles and side profile as he sat on the edge of the bed. He was meticulously taping his stick. He was only an arm’s length away from you, but that was too far in your eyes; you missed the feeling of his body against yours.
Logan internally awed at your words and your cute, sleepy tone. He always wanted to be close to you. He couldn’t remember the moment he realized he was wrapped around your finger. The boys liked to tease him that he was whipped the moment you introduced yourself to him. He knew it was true. The moment he saw your sweet smile, he was gone.
Logan pulled away from your touch, making the corners of your lips curl into a sad pout as you sat back on your knees, watching as he got up from his bed. His sweatpants hung low on his hips as he walked over to his desk, setting down the tape and stick. But your pout quickly changed into a smile, a giggle escaping your lips when your boyfriend wasted no time to playfully tackle you back against his bed.
Your head falls back on the soft pillows while Logan takes his favorite spot between your legs. This time, he was the one lowering his head, stuffing his face in your neck, and breathing in your familiar calming scent. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer if that was even possible, scrunching your nose cutely at the ticklish feeling of his scruff against your neck.
One of your hands moved across his shoulder blade and to his nape and up, softly playing with his soft strands of hair. Logan hummed happily at the feeling before whispering against your pulse point—the feeling of his warm breath sending chills down your spine as you fluttered your eyes closed, “My precious girl.”
DEAN DI LAURENTIS :
”What are you doing, you little minx?—hmm” Dean hummed with that cocky teasing smirk that everyone folded at, when he felt your sudden touch, how you pressed against him. Did you want more already? He dropped his phone on the bed; it was long forgotten as soon as he felt your touch.
He had been scrolling mindlessly on his phone for the past 20 minutes while you lay there still at his side, the hot shower you shared not too long ago had you completely relaxed and ready for bed. You were ready for bed, your body begged you to fall asleep after the countless orgasms Dean had given you.
But neither of you could fall asleep, you because you wanted Dean’s full attention, and Dean because he cared about you so much that he was still nervous about sleeping next to you. This wasn't a hookup; he wasn't used to this, but God did he want to be.
You rolled your eyes at the ‘pet name’ your boyfriend loved to tease you with, and nuzzled your face against his warm neck; a few strands of his blonde hair tickled your nose. You rest your hand on his bare chest, moving it down to his abs as you sassily answer, “Is it a crime to wanna be close to my boyfriend?”
Dean’s eyes softened at your words, and his smirk was quickly replaced with a smile, a smile you were finding yourself falling in love with. He still wasn't used to it, hearing you call him your boyfriend; he hoped he never got used to the strange fluttering in his stomach when you did.
He brought his hand up to softly caress your cheek and jaw with the tips of his fingers as he whispered uncharacteristically soft, “No, I suppose it’s not.”
You smiled sleepily at his soft touch, your legs tangling together under the soft sheets, while he slipped his hand under his shirt that you were wearing and held your waist, pulling you flush against him. You placed a feather-light kiss on his neck before you mumbled tiredly, “Dream of me, okay?”
A big dimpled grin spreads across his face, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from chuckling, not wanting to disrupt you from falling asleep anymore. You always kept him on his toes, never knowing what to expect from you. Yeah, he was head over heels in love with you.
He moved his hand from your waist to softly pat your head affectionately before he started to play with your hair, kissing the top of your head and whispering—his big smile evident in his tone “trust me, I will”
JOHN TUCKER :
“Oh—uh, are you okay?” Tucker shyly stammered, an unexpected and awkward chuckle as he felt his face and neck go hot at your unexpected touch. His fingers paused on switching to the next page of his book, a recipe book from his mom, he wanted to make your favorite for dinner tomorrow. But that was the last thing on his mind now.
You mistook his shyness and surprise as him being uncomfortable, which was so far from the truth—he wasn't used to you initiating the physical contact, it was always him—only when you gave him that soft look of permission. He didn't know the full story, just what you told him. You called it the cliff notes—you weren’t ready to talk about it, and that’s okay. He would happily wait until you were.
You trusted him enough with the Cliff Notes, and that was everything to him. You were everything….
You quickly let go of his arm that you were holding and retracted your face from his neck, feeling embarrassed, you mumbled, “Sorry, I just wanted to be close to you.”
He internally cursed himself out for sounding so awkward, he immediately found himself missing your touch and the warmth that always came with it.
“Wait, no, come here,” Tucker rushed out, his voice soft and gentle as he carefully set the book on his bedside table before looking back at you. His touch was gentle, like always, as he pulled you back into his arms. He shifted to lie on his side as he held you flush against his chest.
The movement was sudden, and if it were anyone else, you would have pushed them away, but you found yourself just as quickly relaxing in his arms. The arms you have grown to feel safe in, to admire, to grip onto when things get too much.
He tangled his legs with yours, both of you over the blankets on his bed. His eyes were soft as he looked into yours, hoping that you couldn’t tell how fast his heartbeat was going from having you so close. He softly caressed your arm as he muttered deeply, “And please don't ever apologize for that.”
“I—I like when you touch me, like a lot,” he trailed off into a more confident tone as he softly bumped his nose against yours. He couldn't help but smile at the cute nose crunch you did at the feeling, or how your eyes softened as his words really sank in.
“Okay,” you whispered with a small smile after a few moments of silence. You fluttered your eyes closed as you snuggled your face into his clavicle, his scent calming you even more. You didn't hesitate this time, slipping your hand under his shirt and softly scratching at his back, just like how he did to you when you’d get overwhelmed.
“I guess I could get used to this,” he let out a pleased hum at the soothing feeling, his own eyes closing. You missed the teasing, lovesick smile on his lips, and pulled away to look at him with a raised eyebrow and a playful pout, repeating his words slowly, “You guess?”
Tucker laughed and leaned down to place a lingering soft kiss on your forehead. “Oh, definitely, I’m sure of it.”
BEAU MAXWELL :
“Oh, now you miss me?” Beau didn't flinch even though he was surprised at the feeling of you suddenly pressing your body against his side. He was so into the show playing on your dorm tv to notice you were moving closer to him.
You had spent the last two hours trying to ignore your needy boyfriend as you finished up your assignments, and now that you were done, all he wanted to do was finish up the show. He was teasing you, testing you, and you knew it. You scoffed dramatically and poked his side with a roll of your eyes. You muttered in that bratty tone that he loved, “shut up.”
Beau grinned as he felt you melt into him. He slipped his arm around your waist to pull you flush against him, your own arm draping across his chest to softly hold his nape, fingers threaded into his curls while your leg draped over his midsection.
You tried to keep your hands to yourself as the two of you tried to watch the show, well, Beau was watching, and you were watching him. The longer you watched him, the harder it got for you to hold back. He looked so good, his arm behind his head—biceps flexed, freckles decorating the slope of his nose so prettily, his lips you wanted to taste were formed into a concentrated pout as he tried to keep up with the show.
“Beau baby, please,” you finally cracked as you nuzzled your face into his neck, rubbing your nose against his warm skin, your soft lips brushing against his skin. He tried not to crack himself, but he was putty in your hands the moment you teasingly nipped at his earlobe.
Beau moves his hand from under his head and swiftly pauses the show, tossing the remote somewhere on your fluffy carpet. You couldn’t help but giggle when Beau quickly turned his body towards you so could lie on you between your legs, stuffing his face in your neck.
And in turn, you wrap your legs and arms around him to pull him closer to you if that was even possible, both of you hum happily at the change of position, and both tired of the stubborn and teasing act the two of you had been going on for the past couple of hours. A pleased sigh leaves your lips at the feeling of his lips on you.
Beau stopped placing soft kisses along your neck, chuckling as he mused teasingly in your ear, tone more flirty than anything, “My needy girl.”
ALLIE HAYES :
“Ahh, what are yo—“ Allie cut herself off as she broke out into a fit of her sweet giggles—that immediately brought a smile to your lips—when she felt the ticklish feeling of your soft breaths against her neck. Her brown strands of hair cover your face.
“Stop moving,” you whined playfully as you held back your own laughter, moving closer to your girlfriend who was moving away from her touch, the blanket draped over the two of you shifting with her. The two of you were lying comfortably in her bed, the romcom was long forgotten.
“I can’t help it, it tickles.” Allie laughs, giving you a big triumphant grin as she finally detangled herself from your hold, laughing as you dramatically flopped your arms back on the bed. Allie wanted to kiss that cute, dramatic pout off your lips. God, you were so cute.
“Just say you don't want to cuddle me,” you huffed dramatically as you moved to lie on your back, looking up at Allie, who was now sitting up on her elbow, watching you so fondly. Your hair was sprawled across her pillow, you smelled like her body wash and shampoo, wearing her clothes.
You were perfect.
“Wow, and people say I’m dramatic,” Allie teased you with a shake of her head as she adjusted her position so she could lie back on her side facing you. She watched as your eyes dropped to her chest, biting your bottom lip as you shamelessly admired how good she looked in her cami.
She pushed her hair out of her face before patting her chest with a flirty smile, batting her eyelashes as she cooed, “Come here then, cuddle bug.”
She tilted her head back as she laughed, finding it cute how fast you were to cuddle back into her side. You hummed happily as you placed soft kisses along her neck, your hand moving to her hip and slipping under her cami to touch her warm skin.
She placed a soft kiss on the top of your head as your legs tangled together, smiling softly, and as she felt you yawn against her neck skin. You placed another soft kiss on her neck. Allie felt herself go warm at the soft, sleepy words you whispered in her ear, “Love you.”
HANNAH WELLS :
“Tired, baby?” Hannah hummed quietly as she felt you nuzzle your nose against her neck, your body pressed against her side. She stopped typing on her laptop as she rested her head against yours, a big grin on her face at your touchiness.
The two of you were sitting cozy on the couch, Allie was out for the night, leaving the two of you with some much-needed alone time. Hannah promised that she was all yours as soon as she finished up some assignments, so you focused on the trashy reality TV show that was on TV. But the longer you sat there next to her, admiring her side profile and how cute she was when she focused, the harder it got to keep your hands to yourself.
You shook your head no, placing a featherlight kiss on a freckle on her neck that always made her breath hitch. Your words came out muffled against her neck as you answered her, “uh-uh, just missed you.”
Hannah blushed and lifted her head, placing a soft kiss on your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. She wanted nothing more than to shower you in her attention and vice versa, but both of you understood that this was important, especially with her busy schedule. She looked back at her laptop, her voice soft as she promised, “After this page, I’m all yours.”
You were more than willing to wait for her. You draped your arm across her stomach, your fingers dipping under her shirt to caress her skin with your fingertips. You fluttered your eyes closed, melting against her side as you listened to the satisfying sound of her typing. You whispered sweetly, “Mmkay, I’m just gonna stay here.”
┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜
Ი𐑼 my first off campus work , can you guys see me jumping up and down in joy ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾ i am oh so very off campus pilled , like this is my life now , my poor wips are so jealous !! i had so much fun rewriting this old idea from a old blog of mine (just in case if it seemed familiar) please tell me your thoughts , feedback is always appreciated and so are comments and reblogs , luv you bbys 🐇
Summary: Dean Di Laurentis is loud, arrogant, and has a smirk with dimple that makes you want to throw something at his face. You called him a playboy to his face. Now he won't leave you alone. You tell yourself he's just annoying you for fun and you have nothing to do with him. Until one day, you realize you're looking for him in every crowd. And that's when you know you're in trouble.
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader
Tags/warnings: Introvert girl. Enemies to lovers. Slow burn. Hurt/comfort. Hockey romance. Fluff. Mutual pining. Mild language. Suggestive theme. No explicit content. Using the word (Name).
Word count: 3.4k
Author's note: English is not my first language, let me know if there's any mistake. I haven't read the book, so I follow the tv series but not really haha. Btw, today is my birthday! Enjoy my birthday gift! 💗
This was supposed to be a one-shot, but my fingers couldn't stop typing so... here we are 🫰
"Come on, (Name)! I know you're not busy!"
You let out a soft sigh, staring at your roommate, Jules. Reference books for your class were scattered all over the bed around you, your laptop open right in front of you.
"Sorry, Jules, but I have a quiz tomorrow. I need to study," you replied.
"Aren't you bored? Studying all day long. Hey, live a little. Enjoy your college years."
"I am enjoying them." You lazily pointed toward your books with your chin.
Jules groaned in boredom. Then, out of nowhere, they flashed you a suspicious, knowing smile. You recognized that look instantly.
It was the exact expression Jules wore whenever their inner 'the fifth line social media admin' persona took over. They would do absolutely anything to get the latest hot campus gossip. Anything.
"Jules. No."
Jules chuckled. "(Name), yes."
Thirty minutes later, you were standing outside the Maxwell family summer home.
"This is a terrible idea, Jules. I should go back."
You started to turn away from the yard, but Jules grabbed your arm, holding you back.
"Hey, it's about time you got out of your room. You need to enjoy life, (Name). Don't waste your college years locked up in your room with books and mind-numbing course materials. You need a stress reliever." Jules went on a long rant, which you met with an equally long sigh.
"This isn't my scene, Jules. I don't like this kind of stuff, and you know it."
"Well, I promise you it'll be fun and nothing like you think."
"Oh, really?" You shot Jules a lazy, skeptical look.
"Just trust me, okay? It's time for you to make some new friends."
"I have friend—" you cut in, feeling defensive.
"I know, I know. But name just five friends from a different major. Someone who isn't a classmate, or your roommate—which is me." Jules challenged.
You closed your eyes and sighed in defeat. "Fine. But I'm only staying for a bit. If the party sucks, I'm leaving immediately."
"Deal. Let's go!" Jules linked their arm through yours, pulling you excitedly into the house.
You looked around the moment you stepped into the Maxwell summer house. It was crowded. Packed. Loud. A 'fun' kind of chaos was unfolding everywhere.
If Jules hadn't been with you, you probably would have turned right around and headed back to your quiet, cozy room. But Jules had zero intention of letting you go. They dragged you toward the living room, which connected straight to the kitchen. People were chatting, joking, playing games, and some were heavily making out. You instantly averted your eyes. That was a bit much for someone like you, who had never dated or even been close to a guy.
"Hey, you actually made it?"
A voice ahead made you look up.
"What does it look like?" Jules shot back sarcastically.
"Why so harsh on your own brother, Jules?"
The guy was John Logan. He's one of the star hockey players on campus, and also Jules's brother.
Of course you knew who he was from Jules's endless stories. Jules constantly gave you campus updates, even when you didn't ask for them.
"Wait, is this (Name)?"
You blinked in surprise when Logan mentioned your name. You had never spoken to him before, so how—oh, forget it. You were positive this was Jules's doing. But why on earth were they talking about you to Logan?
"Yep. Finally, after all this time, I managed to drag her out of her cave to enjoy life."
"Hey!" You glared at Jules, offended.
Logan laughed. "That's great. Hey, (Name), I'm Logan. Jules talks about you all the time. It's an honor to finally meet the legend who scolds this little brat whenever they skip class for their gossip account."
Jules rolled their eyes in annoyance.
You offered a small smile. "Hi, Logan. Nice to meet you. Jules talks about you a lot, too."
Logan shot his sibling a playful, curious look. "Oh, really? I hope it's good stuff." He leaned forward, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. "You know, they tend to exaggerate sometimes."
"I can hear you, dumbass," Jules snapped, looking irritated.
That made both you and Logan burst out laughing.
Gradually, the atmosphere began to feel more comfortable. Logan was warm, friendly, and easy to talk to. You no longer felt awkward or out of place.
Suddenly, the kitchen counter grew loud as two figures dressed in matching Top Gun uniforms appeared. From where you stood, you watched them effortlessly command the room's attention. Dean Di Laurentis and Beau Maxwell. Two best friends who shared the same birthday and the exact same level of fame. The star defenseman for the hockey team, and the starting quarterback for the football team.
From what you gathered, Dean seemed to be the more famous of the two, purely because he was a Briar hockey star with an endless supply of charm. Even though you didn't care about campus celebrities like Dean or Beau, you knew all about them because your classmates constantly gossiped about Dean's supposed perfection. Sitting behind them in lecture meant you could never actually focus on the professor.
Dean the handsome, Dean the sweet, the ultimate ladykiller, the perfect gentleman, and so on. Some called him a playboy and a certified heartbreaker, but his charm was undeniable.
Sometimes you wondered how these girls fell for him so easily, worshiping him like some sort of god. They completely ignored his flaws just because of his pretty face and his shamelessly flirty attitude around any woman in sight.
You, however, saw things differently. Sure, you weren't a hypocrite; you could admit Dean was gorgeous and practically flawless on the outside. But his playboy lifestyle, his lack of commitment, the casual hookups, and the endless partying? Total red flags.
People probably thought you were old-fashioned or had impossibly high standards, especially given your single status and lack of dating experience.
But you made a conscious effort to stay far away from guys like Dean or another famous players.
So, when the music pumped louder and the crowd swarmed the living room to dance, you immediately slipped away to find a quieter spot. Logan and Jules had already wandered off when some friends approached them. Though Jules originally wanted you to come along, you turned them down, promising to wait right there.
Thud!
And now, you deeply regretted it. You had found a safe haven to remain invisible—sitting on the bottom steps of the staircase—only for someone with zero situational awareness to trip right over your feet.
Actually, make that two someone.
Dean and a girl were so busy making out that they didn't even look where they were going. They're crashed right in front of you because he hadn't noticed you while trying to guide her up the stairs.
"Are you okay, sweetheart? Let me help you." Dean looked down at the girl with a soft, apologetic gaze, kissing her gently after pulling her to her feet.
You were just about to apologize, feeling a bit guilty that your extended legs had caused them to trip.
"What, were you so jealous that you had to trip her? Hm... I haven't seen you around before."
That accusation swallowed your apology whole, replaced instantly by a wave of pure anger.
"First of all, use your eyes to look where you're going. I've been sitting here the entire time. Second of all, I'm not jealous. And third, lose the massive ego because you're nothing but a playboy who uses women, lacks commitment, and only cares about a good time and sex. So don't flat-out assume every single girl is just going to fall easily into your lap! You arrogant jerk!"
You stood up, deliberately brushing your shoulder against his as you stormed out. You were absolutely furious and deeply insulted.The guy didn't even know you, yet he had the nerve to accuse you of being jealous enough to hurt the girl he was with. Unbelievable. It made your blood boil.
"According to the course plan I presented at the beginning of the semester, we will be dividing into groups for the midterm project. The class representative will organize the groups. Once finalized, please submit the roster by this afternoon."
"Yes, sir."
Krieeet!
Every head turned toward the classroom door.
"Oh, look, our favorite athlete has finally decided to join us."
"Sorry, Professor. Practice ran late." Dean Di Laurentis walked in, wearing a completely unapologetic smirk.
"Remind me again, why did you transfer into my class?" your History professor asked dryly.
"Because... I was told to find a class schedule that didn't conflict with hockey practice?" Dean replied, his tone teasingly inquisitive.
"And why are you late today, Mr. Di Laurentis? Just because you are one of the campus's star athletes, do not expect special treatment for your lack of discipline in my classroom."
"Um... my bad, Prof. Won't happen again." Dean smiled, giving a playful mock salute.
Having been checked out the second you heard his voice, you chose to focus entirely on the group assignments the class rep was dropping into the group chat.
Wait.
Your eyes snapped over to the class representative sitting behind you, your jaw dropping in disbelief. The groups had been generated randomly, and by some cruel twist of cosmic fate, you were paired with the exact guy who had sent your temper flaring just two days ago.
"Hey, I need to switch groups," you whispered urgently to your classmate.
"Sorry, (Name), but I ran a randomizer to keep it fair. And... honestly, you shouldn't switch. Every other girl in here is practically dying of jealousy right now."
You lowered your voice to a harsh whisper. "Exactly. That's why I want out. Anyone can take my spot."
"Can't do it, (Name). I already emailed the roster to the professor."
"You are evil." You stared at your friend-slash-class-rep with pure betrayal.
She just let out a quiet giggle. "What's the big deal anyway? Come on... shouldn't you be thrilled? It's not every day you get a free pass to talk to Briar's star hockey player."
"Don't mock me. You know I can't stand drama, especially the kind that follows Di Laurentis around."
"Did you miss me? Is that why you keep saying my name?"
You and your friend looked up to find Dean standing right over your desk, leaning down with a cocky grin.
"In your dreams. I wouldn't even waste a nightmare on you," you shot back coldly.
"Ouch. You're breaking my heart, you know. But it's fine, I know you're actually crazy about me and just trying to play hard to get." Dean smirked, radiating pure, unadulterated confidence.
The sheer audacity left you completely speechless. The guy in front of you was clearly delusional, his ego skyrocketing past the atmosphere.
Then, without waiting for an invitation, Dean slid into the empty seat right next to you. "So, it's (Name), right? Destined to be partners. Wait, did you request to be in my group? Wow, you move fast quietly, don't you?"
You could only stare at him like he was an alien, actively suppressing the urge to curse him out or strangle him right then and there.
Dean unlocked his phone and slid it across your desk. You looked from his face to the screen and back again.
Dean chuckled, his deep dimples showing on full display. "We need to discuss this group project, don't we? So, give me your number."
You stared at it for a few seconds before finally picking up his phone and typing something out.
"An email address?" Dean looked at you, utterly bewildered.
"Are you so busy playing hockey and partying that you don't know what an email is?" you asked sarcastically.
"Of course I know. But—"
"If you need to reach me, use that. Or don't. I don't care." You packed your things at lightning speed just as the professor dismissed the class, and swept out the door without looking back.
- - - -
"Thanks, Logan. How much do I owe you?"
"Don't worry about it."
"No, no way. You went out of your way to fix the plumbing in Jules' and my room. A simple thank you definitely isn't enough." You watched Logan as he packed away his tools.
"Seriously, (Name), it's fine. I'm just helping out Jules and their roommate."
You sighed. "Fine. But in that case, you have to let me buy you lunch."
Logan looked up at you and laughed. "Okay, deal. But I get to pick the place."
"Good. Let's go!"
True to his word, Logan brought you straight to Malone's.
"Hey, Allie!"
"Hey, (Name)! Wow, look at you, actually out with a friend for once." Allie, who was working her shift as a waitress, grinned at you and then at Logan, who was walking right behind you.
You laughed. "This is Logan, my roommate's older brother. Oh, by the way, we're ready to order."
Allie handed you a couple of menus. "Just call me whenever you guys are ready."
"Okay, thanks Allie."
"Wait... are you Hannah's friend?" Logan asked Allie suddenly, making you freeze just as you were about to look for a table.
"Yeah. Why?" Allie asked.
"I just wanted to make sure if Hannah already talked to the owner about using this place for the charity fundraiser."
"Oh, yeah, Hannah already brought it up. Our boss gave the green light. We just need to confirm the exact date and time."
Logan smiled in relief. "Awesome. I'll let Hannah know later. Thanks a lot."
"What's the fundraiser for?" you asked once the two of you had taken a seat at a table, waiting for your food.
"It's a charity fundraiser for youth ice hockey scholarships. It helps buy gear, rent ice time, stuff like that," Logan explained.
You nodded. "Wow, that's really great. I hope it turns out to be a huge success."
"You should come, (Name). It's going to be a blast. We're planning to hire a band, so there'll be live requests." Logan looked at you enthusiastically.
You smiled softly. "If you need any help, just let me know. But I'm not sure if I can actually make it to the event. My assignment load this week is brutal, and I really need to review some course materials I'm struggling with."
Logan nodded understandingly. "No pressure at all. The hockey guys are handling everything anyway. If you find some free time, you can just stop by. Jules definitely going to be there too."
"Haha, okay."
Truthfully, you really wanted to show up and support Logan. But between your hectic workload and your absolute desperation to avoid running into Dean, you ultimately decided against it.
The afternoon atmosphere at Malone's was pretty relaxed. There were only a few students chatting casually and enjoying their lunch. A couple of people were moving back and forth, setting up decorations on the mini stage for the hockey charity event tonight.
Meanwhile, you were buried in your laptop and a stack of printed drafts for your History group project. Every now and then, you anxiously glanced toward the entrance, which you had intentionally sat with your back to. You were waiting for your classmate, who had suggested meeting up here to discuss the project. Because you felt bad turning him down— especially since Malone's was the closest spot to his part-time job, so you ended up agreeing. Even though, ever since Logan’s invitation a few days ago, you had actively tried to avoid this place. You didn't want to risk running into Dean.
But here you were. In the exact place you were supposed to stay away from, surrounded by hockey players busy prepping for their charity event.
Because of that, your anxiety had been on high alert. You kept praying your partner would show up quickly so you could wrap up the project discussion and leave before Dean could ever cross your path.
"Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. So, what about Dean?" Leon arrived, sliding into the seat across from you.
You breathed a massive sigh of relief that your group partner had finally made it, even if his opening question was one you'd rather completely ignore.
"I have no idea."
"He didn't contact you?" he asked.
You shook your head. Even though you hadn't expected Dean to actually shoot you an email, you had still found yourself checking your inbox every single day. And yep, just as predicted, absolutely nothing.
"Forget about him. He's probably too busy with his hockey schedule. We shouldn't hold our breath waiting for him to contribute. It's better if we just focus on our own parts so we can get this done quickly." You opened up your printouts and began mapping out the project with Leon.
Before you knew it, over twenty minutes had flown by. Leon was incredibly easy to work with, thanks to his friendly personality. He even cracked a few jokes, making your lingering headache vanish for a moment.
"Well, well, look who we have here. No wonder my email never got a response. Turns out you're on a 'study date', huh?"
The baseless accusation instantly wiped the smile right off your face. Dean was standing right by your table, looking down at you with a mocking, arrogant smirk.
"Uh, no, I'm Leon. We're in the same History group. We're just going over the project draft," Leon spoke up.
Dean sat down right next to Leon, forcing him to awkwardly scoot over to make room. "Oh, the History group? That's great. Guess that means I don't have to do a single thing, right? Since you two are clearly smart enough to handle it." Dean looked back and forth between you and Leon.
You fixed Dean with an ice-cold glare. "If you're not going to help, then stop bothering us. Go help your hockey buddies instead. They actually need it."
"Well, they can survive without me for a bit. Right now, I want to hang out with my History group. This is still my group, isn't it? Even if I was completely left in the dark?" Dean asked, flashing a wide, infuriating grin.
Leon looked between you and Dean, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "We were waiting for you to contact (Name). But you never did."
Dean let out a sharp, amused laugh, looking straight at you. "You were waiting for me? Aww... why didn't you just say so? I thought you were just playing hard to get, which is why you only gave me an email address."
You stared at him sharply. "I am not an object to be pursued. So stop talking shit like that."
"Or what?" Dean challenged, a smirk spreading across his face that made you want to punch him right then.
You clenched your fists tightly under the table, forcing down the fiery rage that was threatening to boil over. You refused to cause a massive scene inside Malone's, especially in front of Leon and others people.
Taking a slow, deliberate breath, you closed your laptop and gathered your printed drafts, stacking them against the table with a sharp thud. You shoved them into your bag and stood up.
"Or nothing," you answered, your voice dropping into a cold, utterly disgusted tone. "I don't have time to entertain a validation-starved toddler. Honestly, even a toddler has better manners than you."
The arrogant smirk on Dean's face visibly faltered the second he registered the venom in your voice.
You turned your attention to Leon, who had been wincing awkwardly throughout the entire exchange. "Leon, sorry. The atmosphere here isn't conducive anymore. Let's finish discussing this over text tonight. I'm heading out."
"Uh... yeah, sure, (Name). Get home safe," Leon stammered quickly, feeling deeply apologetic that you were driven out like this.
Without wasting another second or even throwing a single glance back at Dean, you slung your bag over your shoulder and stormed out of Malone's, leaving the booth behind.
Meanwhile, Dean sat frozen in his seat, the annoying smirk completely wiped from his face. He was entirely used to girls flirting back or getting playfully mad at him, but the look you just gave him... it was pure, unadulterated disgust.
"Wow, you seriously crossed the line there," Leon muttered quietly, shaking his head. Dean snapped his head toward him, his brow furrowed. "She stayed up all night pulling our project draft together. She was actually in a great mood today, and you just came in and completely ruined it."
Pairing: garrett graham x childhood best friend!reader
Summary: when the granddaughter of the former head coach of the New York Rangers transfers to BriarU, people don’t expect you to be so attached to captain of the Briar Hawks hockey team, garrett graham. what everyone didn’t know was that you are his childhood best friend. don't forget the guys who welcomed you with unconditional support and became family like you’ve never expected.
Warnings: childhood best friends to lovers trope. (they act like they’re married and have been together for 30 years) one-bed trope. no mention of y/n, pet names are used to refer to the reader: petal and angel. found family to the absolute max, along with dean being a menace. wholesome love all around. reader is given princess treatment.
a/n: worked my butt off for this one, and i hope you all love it as much as i do. i'm such a sucker for the found family trope. also a little family healing for garrett, and did i mention that garrett is completely gone for the reader? (let me know what you think!)
Word count: 13.1k
masterlist
“Did you guys hear about the granddaughter of the former New York Rangers coach transferring here from Columbia?” Logan asked Dean and Tucker from the kitchen. “We’re out of beer.”
Just as he made the statement, Garrett walked through the front door holding a case of beer: “I come bearing gifts.”
“Our saviour,” Logan jokingly praised as he opened his welcoming arms for Garrett to hand the case over to him.
“Logan, is she hot?” Dean chirped from the couch.
“What girl caught your eye?” Garrett teased, walking over to the pantry in search of a snack.
“Not yet. I was asking the boys if they heard about the new transfer from Columbia. Apparently, she’s the granddaughter of the former Rangers coach,” Logan explained.
His words had Garrett pause his rummaging and slowly turn around to face Logan. “Where’d you hear that from?” Garrett’s voice came out more snippy than he had meant.
“A couple of the guys in the locker room mentioned it today at morning practice,” Logan shrugged, not noticing Garrett’s shift in mood.
Garrett’s breath hitched at the mere thought of guys he knew talking about you.
The girl he grew up with. Of course, he knew you.
He couldn’t even remember the number of times you two would go off and explore an arena wherever the Rangers were playing. Even when someone would catch the pair of you somewhere you probably shouldn’t have been, no one could ever say anything against the pout that you would pull out when you were kids. It helped that you were the Rangers’ head coach’s granddaughter.
Your families have been connected since before both of you were born. His father met yours when he first made the team at 18. Your father was 20 and determined to prove that he deserved to be on the team, not just because his father was the coach. Both felt like they had something to prove and became a fierce pair on the ice.
Your mothers bonded quickly when they were first introduced. It wasn’t easy with husbands who were always in the limelight.
They marveled when they found out they were pregnant around the same time. Garrett was born exactly one month before you. Which was something you never heard the end of during your childhood. He would always claim that it was his job to make sure you were safe.
They would always gush when you two were together as children. Garrett was always trailing behind or beside you like a protector, and he was always the first one to help you up when you stumbled over your feet. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you better than he knew himself.
Garrett remembered all the family vacations that you guys shared. The way that his father would put on an act and pretend that they were this picture-perfect family, but you didn’t buy it.
You’ve hated Phil Graham from the moment you overheard an argument between Garrett’s parents when you were 8 years old. You were staying over for a couple of days as your parents were away traveling. Garrett had begged you to ask your parents if you could just stay with his family instead of staying with your grandparents.
It didn’t take much convincing for your parents to let you stay with the Graham family. Granted, they didn’t know what happened behind closed doors.
A memory flashed in Garrett’s mind of the first Halloween without his mom and the first time his father laid hands on him.
“Gare, you don’t have to be brave with me.” You were inspecting his bloodied knuckles. The first aid kit sat next to you on the bed. “This is going to burn a bit.”
“Petal, just do it already.” he tried to squirm away, but you kept a firm grip of his hand in your lap.
Garrett redirected his focus from the pain to you. He watched as you took care of his hand, making sure it was clean before putting ointment over the split knuckles and wrapping it with such care. He looked at you like you were the only thing that brought light to his life.
“Okay, all done,” you muttered quietly while you started putting all the stuff from the kit away. You walked over to his closet to put it back in the corner where you first stashed it when you saw bruises on his mother’s wrists years ago.
“I hate him.”
“I know you do.”
“He’s a monster. He’s cruel. He never treated my mom right, even before she got sick. He’s always been so mean,” Garrett sniffled. He looked down at his wrapped hand and clenched his other fist tightly. “I never want to be like him.”
His words caught your attention, and you sat back over to him. You took his hands in yours and brought them close to your heart. “You, Garrett, are nothing like your father. You are nothing but kind and caring. You always look out for me even when you don’t need to. You are so special, and I never want you to think otherwise.” You told him with fierce invigoration.
Even at 12 years old, Garrett knew then that he would never love someone as much as he loved you at that moment.
“G? You all good there?” Logan snapped his fingers in front of Garrett’s face, hoping to pull him out of his daze.
Garrett shook his head slightly as if to clear the thoughts that scrambled through his mind about you. “Sorry, what’d you say?” His eyes flickered over to Logan, but he still seemed distracted.
“I was telling you about that girl. I heard from a couple of the guys that it hasn’t even been confirmed that she’s transferred officially.” Logan explained to him.
Garrett let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. That news made him feel better that it was just rumors. His chest felt tight at the thought that you wouldn’t share such big information with him. Especially considering he last talked to you a week ago, and you didn’t mention anything about the possibility of transferring to Briar U.
“Hey, G? Do you know her? With your dad being a former Ranger,” Tucker speculated, making his way over to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Maybe a connection?”
Dean joined the rest of the group. “If you do, can you put in a good word for me?”
“Not a chance,” Garrett snorted. “I’m leaving this conversation.” He started to walk away from the boys and headed for the stairs.
“G? You didn’t answer the question!” Garrett heard Tucker yell out from the kitchen. Ignoring him, Garrett made quick work of taking out his phone and pulling up your contact.
His thumb hovered above the call button until he got to his room and closed the door behind him.
“Hey, bub! What’s up?” you answered. Just from hearing your voice, Garrett’s body relaxed. He felt the tension that he held in his shoulders melting away while listening to you. “I actually have some news for you!”
Garrett shook his head. He flopped back against his bed, softly laughing to himself, “Just wanted to talk to you.”
“Love, we just talked last week. Did something happen?” The concern in your voice was obvious. “You know you can call me anytime, right? No matter what.”
“I know, Petal.” A warm smile crept onto Garrett’s face. “Is it a crime to just want to hear your voice?”
“You’re such a sap.” Your laugh came through the phone, and Garrett almost forgot the reason why he called you.
“You said you had something to share with me?” Garrett turned the conversation back to you.
“You know how I’ve been telling you I want a change of pace? I feel stuck here, and I love my family, but I need some space to breathe without someone asking me for Rangers tickets or if I’ve ever wanted to hook up with any of them,” you rambled, beating around the bush of the actual news. “I just want to feel like I’m on my own for once. Wow, I sound entitled. I am so sorry for that–”
“Don’t apologize. I’m always here to listen to you.” Garrett cut you off, knowing that if he didn’t, you would continue apologizing for something you never had to be sorry for. “And I get it. Trust me, I do.”
“I miss you, Garrett.” You admitted it so softly that he almost missed it.
“I miss you, Petal.”
“You’ll be sick of me when I transfer to Briar U.” You snuck the surprise in. “I’m serious, you’re never going to get a moment alone again.”
The moment he comprehended what you said, he couldn’t stop his smile from widening. “Petal, don’t play with my heart like that if you’re not serious.”
“Garrett Graham, did you hear what I just said? I am serious.” You mockingly defended your words. “Love, I mean this. I already submitted the paperwork. I’m waiting on my credits to transfer over, so I can get my new schedule.”
“When will you be here?” The urgency in Garrett’s voice and the question got a giggle out of you.
“Maybe a week or two. I’m still trying to solidify my official housing situation. They offered me a suite on campus, but I’m considering looking for a place off campus,” you explained the small conundrum. “Gramps said he would pitch in if I find a place because he says that he knows the ‘kind of boys that could live on the same floor’ as me. Which is verbatim to what he said, by the way,” you laughed to yourself, thinking back to the conversation with your grandfather.
“I one hundred percent agree with Gramps. Don’t even worry about finding a place. Just stay with me, Petal,” Garrett offered without a single thought or hesitation. “I’d know you’re safe. Gramps would feel better knowing that you’ve got four giant hockey players to protect you. Your dad might not be the biggest fan of it cause he hasn’t met the other guys, but he’ll trust me with you.” Garrett was reasoning with you.
“Love, I couldn’t intrude on you or the rest of your housemates. This is a big thing, and I’m a big girl. I can figure this out…” You trailed off. You had to admit to yourself that what Garrett offered sounded nice. From your search, most places close to campus were already filled since it was midway through a semester. You saw a few that caught your eye, but the drive was 25 minutes away from campus.
“Petal, this isn’t up for discussion.”
“Yes, it is. Especially considering I’m almost positive that when you were moving in, you told me that there were only four rooms.”
“I’ve got the master bedroom, Petal. It’s plenty of room for you and me. There’s an ensuite bathroom. Honestly, it’d just be how it was when we were little and used to go on vacation,” Garrett countered you. “Baby, please just stay with me.”
The softness of his voice almost made you cave at the spot. “You have to ask your housemates.”
“Done. They won’t have a problem with it.”
“You ask them now, Garrett. Go downstairs and throw the idea out there for them. Keep me on call, so I can hear their reactions,” you instructed him.
“Yes, Ma’am.” Garrett shot out of bed and headed for the door. “Boys! I got a question for you!” Garrett yelled out to them, hoping they could hear him over the TV blasting the sounds from their video game.
“Bub, that was straight in my ear,” you pointed out, reminding him you were still right next to the speaker.
“Oh shit, sorry, Petal,” Garrett muttered as he hurried down the stairs.
Dean was the only one to catch what Garrett had said. He pointed it out to Logan. “Petal?”
Logan looked up from the screen. He twisted his head to glance at Garrett. “What’s up, G?”
“Who are you talking to?” Dean quipped at the same time as Logan.
The exchange took Tucker out of the game and left him watching the people around him. He muted the TV, leaving the house quiet.
Garrett’s posture gave away his nervousness about finally bringing you up to them. He never purposely tried to avoid any topics that could relate to you, but that also meant he chose to never bring it up. He got enough questioning about his ‘legendary’ dad and what it must have been like to grow up in that environment. That’s all anyone ever cared about anyway.
“The granddaughter you were asking about?” Garrett answered, hoping his tone was enough to signal to them to be cool about it.
“What do you mean ‘the granddaughter,’ G?” Logan questioned. His eyes widened by the moment.
“How do you guys feel about getting another roommate?” Garrett blurted out. He never thought it would be nerve-wracking to mention you to the guys. He felt like he had to share a part of you that he only ever wanted to keep to himself.
“We only have four bedrooms,” Dean pointed out the obvious.
Tucker gave him an up slap against the back of his head, “He knows that, dingus.”
Garrett ran a hand through his hair as he scanned the guys for their reactions. “What’d they say, Bub?” You weren’t even on speakerphone, but it was loud enough in the silent house that the others could hear you clearly.
“You’ve known who I was talking about this whole time? You just pretended to be stupid or something?” Logan's thoughts gathered quickly to make the connections. “Let me sound like some idiot going on about it.”
“Yeah. She’s transferring from Columbia.” Garrett swept over Logan’s realization.
“G, I don’t know any girl that would want four guys as their roommates,” Tucker claimed, because it seemed laughable that a girl would ever want to live with guys who eat, breathe, sleep hockey.
“She’ll be fine. I’m not asking you to give up any of your rooms. Mine will be fine. I don’t want her to be in the dorms. You know how the guys over there are. I’d feel better knowing she’d be close,” Garrett explained with a rare softness in him that no one ever really heard other than you.
“She’d be more than close,” Dean muttered under his breath. Logan nudged him in the side with his elbow.
“Are you sure she even wants to move in?” Logan asked him honestly.
“Gare, put me on speaker, please?” You requested politely. Garrett abided and shoved the phone more in the guys’ direction. “Can they hear me?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” All three of the guys affirmed for her.
“Unbelievable.” Garrett guffawed at the three in front of him.
“Garrett’s just being overdramatic about this. I don’t want to force myself into your guys’ space–”
“Petal.” Garrett cut you off with a tone that didn’t leave room for much argument.
“Love, you can’t just ask them something like that and expect them to be completely okay with it.”
“Petal, I will call Gramps. Please don’t make this more complicated.”
“Garrett Graham! Don’t you dare!” You yelped on the phone.
Garrett’s mind was only focused on the sound of your voice, as if the rest of the world melted away from him. Logan, Tucker, and Dean all raised eyebrows at each other because of the pair of you. They had never heard Garrett be like that with a girl. Hell, they never saw him interact with many girls unless it was for a night, and they were always quick to leave.
“Petal, all you have to do is say yes.” Garrett implored.
“Would you guys be okay with it? If not, I’ll work something else out, don’t worry about me.” You asked them, uncertain about Garrett’s plea.
“If you’re important to Garrett, you’re important to us. You’re welcome here anytime,” Tucker answered for the three.
Dean raised a finger in the air to signal he was about to chime in. “Get ready for some serious game nights,” he joked.
Logan added, “What’s your drink of choice?”
“A cosmo,” you answered simply, with humor lacing your voice.
“Bullshit, it’s always a strawberry mojito,” Garrett called out to counter.
“Besides the point,” you brushed off.
“Honey, we have to go attend the fundraiser.” Your dad’s call from the hallway broke you away from the conversation. He knocked against your door softly.
“Come in,” you told him.
“You talking to someone, Sweetie?” He said from the door.
“Just Gare, Dad,” you announced to him as he started to enter your room.
“Hey, son! I saw a clip from your last game, and you’re looking real good out there. With this one transferring over, I’m going to have to attend some games in person finally,” your dad happily spoke to Garrett. Who had made his way to the kitchen and placed his phone on the counter while he searched for a drink.
The other three scrambled from the couch to the counter to continue to listen to the phone call. All of them actively started to slowly get more and more geeked out at the mere presence of your dad’s voice.
“Hey, Pop! Thanks, it’s been quite a season out there, but our next home game is in two weeks. Will you be in town?”
“Yeah, I’ll get the lot to come out since it’ll be Petal’s first home game because she originally chose a school with no hockey!” Your dad bellowed out in a laugh. “We have to cheer for you while we can.”
“Gramps, still mad at me for Boston?” Garrett queried.
“Like Gramps could say mad at you, Bub,” you snorted.
Logan, Dean, and Tucker were in utter disbelief at what they were witnessing. They had never seen Garrett at peace and content, talking to people on the phone. He was never like this when he was on the phone with his dad.
They started to question the relationship that Garrett had with you and, presumably, the rest of your family. It was evident that he was close with your family, but it seemed deeper than that. A casualness that only came around when you were talking to family, but they assumed he was somehow also romantically linked to you. Maybe it was both, but the scene in front of them was creating bounds of confusion.
“He’ll get over it once he sees you on ice,” your dad assured him. “Anyways, Garrett. Petal and I have to seriously head out now before the Missus has both of our heads.”
“It was good talking to you, Pop.”
“Bye, bub. I’ll let you know when I get back later. I love you!”
“I love you too, Petal.” Garrett grinned to himself, and the boys officially thought they had lost the Garrett Graham that they knew. The call ended, and Garrett turned back to the boys. “You shitheads are actually okay with this, right?”
And just like that, Garrett Graham was back the way they knew him to be. “G, what the hell was that?” Logan was baffled.
“The former Rangers’ head coach is going to attend our next game,” Dean said in a daze.
“You gotta tell us what’s going on, man,” Tucker said, exasperated by no explanation.
It was clear that Garrett didn’t even know where to start. His mouth opened and closed exactly three times before he even let anything out. “What do you guys want to know?” He thought it was a great question to gauge where the guys’ heads were at.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been with her this whole time, and you’re still with bunnies,” Logan chastised him. “That’s not cool, man.”
“No. No, we’re not dating,” Garrett responded, putting his hands up to somehow show his innocence. “We grew up together.”
“No way there’s nothing there, G,” Tucker protested.
“So you wouldn’t mind?” Dean gave Garrett a look that explained what he had meant.
“Dean, you’re not getting with her. Don’t even think about trying anything,” Garrett warned.
“Oh, you’re in love with her.” Logan snapped his fingers at Garrett.
“Dude, I thought we already knew that,” Tucker said to Logan.
“Wait, how is it going to work with her moving in here? This is not exactly a five-star hotel.” Dean gestured to the slight mess around them. While it was cluttered, the house wasn’t too bad at its current state. It looked lived in. “I mean, if you’re not dating her, but she’s going to share your room with you. I’m just trying to understand this, man. Because that means no more bunnies for you like ever.”
“There’s not going to be another bunny,” Garrett said as if it were the most simple thing.
“He’s a changed man, Dean,” Tucker whooped as he made his way over to Garrett and gave him a good slap on the shoulder. “G, this girl means a lot to you, and if you want her to live here. We’re seriously cool about it.”
“Thanks, Tuck.”
After much discussion, your family thought it was best if you had a week to settle in. Since you weren’t moving into your own place, you didn’t need to bring much other than clothes and necessities. You and Garrett had talked about what he had and what you still needed to buy, but agreed that you could just go shopping together rather than getting anything beforehand. Everything you needed to bring was able to fit in your G-Wagon.
While you didn’t officially start until next Monday, you were finally at Briar to pick up your schedule and really take in the new campus without the rush of trying to figure out where your classes were.
It was Friday, and students were still scattered around campus for those who still had classes. You were walking around aimlessly, trying to find a cafe that Garrett recommended that you might like.
Meanwhile, the guys were finishing grabbing lunch on campus after their practice. They headed out of the dining hall together. Garrett was looking down at his phone as he checked your location, knowing you would be at Briar already.
Garrett cocked his head to the side because, according to the phone, you were in his vicinity. “Holy shit, look at her. She’s like an angel,” Dean guffawed as he stopped the guys in their tracks.
“She’s beautiful,” Logan commented.
“Out of your league, dude,” Tucker added on.
Garrett tilted his head back up to see what Dean was going on about. There you were, about 20 feet away. He had half a mind to tell Dean off, but he agreed with him.
You hadn’t noticed the group staring at you. They watched as you pulled your phone out as if you were making a call. You held the phone to your ear while still looking around, but not fully catching the four boys.
Garrett’s phone rang in his hand, the other three’s heads snapped to look at his phone. He accepted the call. “Hey, Petal.”
“Bub, I think I’m lost,” you told him.
“You look so cute, though. Like a lost little duck,” he continued to admire you from afar.
He watched the realization dawn on your face after his words. You scanned your surroundings and finally saw them. Your face lit up at the sight of Garrett. He did just the same when he saw you start to head in his direction. You hung up the call and slid your phone back into your purse. Garrett slid his to his pocket to free up his hands.
The three guys stayed back as Garrett walked to meet you. They watched as your grin spread across your face. It was so bright that it could make anyone melt if they knew it was directed at them.
The sight of you starting to jog towards Garrett in pure joy was something to behold. You met each other halfway and practically crashed into one another. His arms wrapped around your waist automatically. Your arms locked around his neck. Neither of you was particularly interested in letting go.
“You’re actually here,” Garrett mumbled into your hair. His grip tightened even as he pulled back to look at your face. His eyes crinkled at the corners from the way he was smiling in genuine delight. “I’m never letting you go anywhere without me again,” he chuckled as he picked you off your feet and spun you around.
Your laugh was blissful. Students flowed around you both while they pointed out Garrett and the ‘mystery girl’ he was with. But in the moment between you and Garrett, all of them were forgotten, like the rest of the world.
“Gare, let me down!” you yelped, laughing. Garrett missed that laugh. More than he’d realized.
Garrett set you back down, but you stayed in his arms. You reached up to fix a piece of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Without any hesitation. Without any thought. Like you had done it a thousand times before. Garrett didn’t even react. He was fully occupied by admiring you.
Back to the Dean, Logan, and Tucker. The three guys nearly choked when they saw that. “I thought he said they aren’t dating?” Dean pointed to you two. “She fixed his hair.”
“I was not expecting them to run into each other’s arms,” Logan quipped.
“What is happening?” Dean was utterly confused by the scene in front of him.
“I don’t know.” Logan shook his head.
“I’ve never seen him smile that much.”
“Neither have I, Dean.”
“They have to be dating,” Dean declared.
“If they’re not now, I hate to see them when they are,” Tucker cackled, clapping his hands together. “C’mon, let’s introduce ourselves to our new roommate.”
You tore your eyes away from Garrett’s and glanced over to where the guys were. “Your friends?”
Garrett turned back and saw them walking toward you two. He sighed, “Unfortunately.” He watched as Dean cheesed and happily waved to you. “Oh, my God.” Dean was mortifyingly enthusiastic.
You broke an arm away to wave back. “Are they on something?”
“Worse.”
“Perfect.”
You dropped your arms down and attempted to pull away from Garrett to get ready to greet them. Which Garrett’s response was laughable. Instead, he moved to stand behind you and keep his arms around you. The guys caught how Garrett’s stare stayed on the side of your face. The kind of smile plastered on his face was something his friends had never seen before. It was warm. He looked hopelessly gone.
“Let me guess, the one leading the pack is Tucker, Dean is obviously the blond, which leaves Logan, who has that brooding brunette look to him.” You humored him.
“The second they get over here and meet you. They’re never going to leave us alone,” Garrett said, exasperated. You laughed and moved one hand to lightly grip his forearm while you waited for the three to make their way over.
“Can’t believe he waited a week before she transferred to tell us that he knows her,” You heard Dean tell the guys.
“Hey, you guys! Garrett, you remember we exist, right?” Logan greeted, joking.
Dean was the first one to offer you a hand. You moved your hand from Garrett’s arm and shook Dean’s waiting hand. “Hi, Angel.”
“Angel?” you whispered to Garrett in question as you pulled away from the handshake.
Garrett just scoffed, but luckily Dean was there to explain, “You look like an Angel, unless I can call you Petal?”
“You’re pushing it,” Garrett warned. Dean smirked and raised his hands to motion to back off.
“Okay, but Angel, if things don’t work out with him, let me know. I’ll only be a few doors away.” Dean winked at you playfully, signalling he was really only saying it to mess with Garrett.
Garrett looked about a second away from committing a felony. You felt his arms tighten around you and pull you to press against him. Logan noticed and burst out laughing. You nearly choked. “You’re a fun one, Dean.”
“Call me Six Flags,” Dean nodded at you.
“I hate you,” Garrett told him.
“No, you don’t, Graham.” Dean smiled.
“Don’t mind him,” Tucker pushed Dean out of the way. “I’m Tucker, well, John, but Logan is also John,” Tucker introduced himself. He opened his arms slightly, and you tapped on Garrett’s arms to let you go. You giggled and accepted the hug. “We cleaned the house for you, Ma’am,” he whispered as you guys parted.
“Oh, how very kind of you all,” you told him.
Logan watched with a grin on his face that reflected genuine. Like he’d decided within the past few minutes that you belonged with them. “We’ve heard nothing but your name for the past week, and honestly, I’m just happy you’re here.”
Your expression softened. “That’s really sweet. And seriously, thanks for being so cool about this. I really appreciate you guys.”
“Any time, Angel,” Logan replied. Dean snorted at the use of the name.
“Not you too, Logan.” Garrett rubbed at his temples. He reached an arm out to you, and you naturally wrapped your arms around him. “Do you have everything with you already?”
“Yeah, my car is packed to the brim right now,” you answered. “Are you guys done for the day?”
“We cleared the schedule, so we can help the Missus move in,” Dean claimed.
“Perfect! Would any of you mind if you drove my car to the house?” You reached into your purse to grab your keys and dangled them in front of the guys. Dean nodded and opened the palm of his hand. “Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, dropping the keys into his waiting hand. “I parked it in the lot near admissions! It won’t be hard to miss.”
Dean finger-saluted you. “I’ll see you all at home?”
“Yeah, we’ll meet you back there.” Tucker motioned to himself and Logan before breaking away from the group with Dean.
“See you in a bit,” Garrett responded, waving goodbye to the three.
When Garrett pulled up to the house, it was bigger than you expected, but at the same time, it made complete sense for the four hockey players.
Well.
Four college hockey players, and apparently you know.
Even after Garrett had parked the car, you knew better than to try to just get out yourself. You waited patiently while Garrett rushed over to your side to open the passenger door and offer a hand to you.
With your hand laced with his, you guys made your way to the porch. The front door swung open. Dean stepped outside, twirling your car keys around one finger. “Your car is officially here.”
“My hero,” you pretended to gush. “Thanks, Dean.”
“No problem, Angel.”
Dean tossed the keys in your direction, but Garrett intercepted and caught them. He kept hold of them and pointed them to pop open the trunk. The movement was so familiar that neither of you really reacted. Unfortunately, Dean did, and so did Logan and Tucker, who were right behind him.
Immediately. They exchanged a look. You pretended not to notice. Garrett definitely noticed.
“Alright,” Garrett announced. “Let’s move this circus inside.”
You all turned to look at your car and the full trunk. Silence. You cleared your thoughts. “What?”
Logan pointed to the mountain of boxes. “You know you’re sharing a space with G, right?”
“We’ll make it work.” You shrugged.
Tucker went to pick up one of the boxes, and he immediately regretted it. “What is in this?”
“Just books.”
“All of them?”
You nodded proudly, “I like reading.”
“Nobody likes reading that much,” Dean retorted.
You pulled your hand away from Garrett to snatch the box away from Tucker. “Give me my children.”
Garrett laughed, and the sound made you smile before you could stop yourself. “Come on,” he said, taking the box from your arms before you could protest.
“Hey!”
“No, Petal.”
“I can carry it,” you defended.
“I know.” He said, heading into the house.
Instead of arguing, you sighed, picked up another box, and followed him inside. Dean, Logan, and Tucker were standing still, which, in passing, you told them, “I thought you guys were going to help?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The three all got a box of their own to carry in.
The inside of the house was exactly what you expected. A little chaotic, but you could tell that they made an effort to tidy up the house for your arrival. It was comfortable. The kitchen looked surprisingly clean.
“I’m a mean cook, Angel. Just you wait,” Tucker boasted before going up the stairs to drop off the box in Garrett’s room. Well, now your shared room.
Any nerves that you had about transferring to Briar and moving in with the guys disappeared. This didn’t feel like walking into a house of strangers. It felt like walking into a place you’ve somehow already been a hundred times.
Maybe because Garrett was here, or that his friends welcomed you without hesitation. Everyone kept making room for you without even realizing they were doing it.
By the time the second trip down to the car was made, you were already helping Dean and Logan make fun of Garrett’s habit of neatly folding laundry.
By the third trip, Tucker is asking you what your favorite meal is, so he can try to make it. Then Logan explained the house’s completely unnecessary ranking system for takeout restaurants, and somehow you’re laughing through all of it.
Dean placed the final box onto the floor. “Important question.”
“Which is?” you asked back while looking through a box full of shoes in dust bags.
“You’re completely okay with just moving into his room,” Dean gestured around Garrett’s master bedroom.
“He offered,” you shrugged, “And it’s not like we haven’t shared rooms before. Growing up on summer vacations, our parents always figured that we would sneak into each other’s rooms anyway, so they just started putting us together by the time we were seven.”
“That clarification should’ve come when we first called last week,” Logan said.
“I hate living here.” Garrett rubbed a hand over his face.
“No, you don’t, G,” Tucker mumbled.
By midnight, only a few boxes were left to unpack, and you guys gathered in the living room for some late-night pizza. The kitchen light was off, the room was illuminated by the TV, and six pizza boxes had taken over the coffee table.
Dean was on his fifth slice and in full interrogation mode. “Okay,” he said, pointing at you and Garrett. “We have questions,” he said, pointing to Logan, Tucker, and himself.
“Yup, we all do,” Logan added, leaning back against the couch.
Tucker nodded. “Especially because he’s acted weird for an entire week.”
“I haven’t acted weird,” Garrett tried to pass off. All three of the roommates stared at him.
You laughed into your drink. Garrett looked betrayed.
Dean pointed dramatically, “First question: how long have you two known each other?”
You and Garrett answered at the same time, “Since birth.”
No response.
“Literally?” Logan blinked. “He neglected to mention that he had a childhood best friend.”
“Literally,” you repeated. “Our moms were best friends before we were born.”
“How?” Dean gaped.
“Buddy, I think you all know who our dads are.” You gently parented him.
“And your grandfather?” Logan asked.
“Former head Rangers coach, as you guys know. Only stepped down after my dad retired from hockey,” you told him while reaching for another slice. Before you had to get up from your place next to Garrett, Tucker plopped another slice on your place. “Thanks, Tuck.”
“Who’s older?” Dean went.
You rolled your eyes at the question, knowing what was coming.
“Me,” Garrett claimed proudly.
“By one month,” you scoffed. “You guys would never believe how many times he pulled that out in an argument.”
“I’m older,” Garrett dismissed.
“By thirty-one days.” You deadpanned.
“Still older.”
“You brought it up constantly.”
“Because it’s true.”
Logan looked delighted. “This explains so much.”
“What does it explain?” Garrett questioned.
“Why you two act like a married couple.” Logan’s words had you choking on your drink. Garrett nearly did the same, but he was quick to rub your back in soothing motions. The action really didn’t help your case. Dean howled in laughter after catching it. Logan and Tucker snickered to themselves.
After calming down, Dean moved on to his next question. “How have we never heard of you before?”
The room went a little quieter. Garrett mumbled, “You guys know I don’t really talk about home.”
No one pushed. They all knew that much.
The boys knew Garrett didn’t like interacting with his dad and that his mom had passed away when he was younger. What they didn’t know was that you had been there through it all.
You nudged his knee with yours, and he glanced at you briefly. Just for a moment, but his shoulders loosened a little.
“There was never a reason to bring me up. I was away in New York, and god knows that Columbia kept me busy enough to have any downtime,” you explained. “And you guys were always away when I would visit during the summer.”
“Wait, a damn minute.” Dean paused mid-bite.
“What’d you just say?” Logan was taken aback.
“What do you mean by that?” Tucker probed.
Garrett shook his head and poked you in the side. “They didn’t know that, Petal.”
“Well, now they do.” You finished the last bit of your slice and put your plate on the coffee table. You leaned back against the couch and tucked your feet under you. Garrett lifted his arm, and you scooted closer to his side.
His arm came behind your waist, and his hand landed on your hip. He tugged you to be snug against his side.
“Now, a serious question,” Dean remarked, even though he felt like he was interrupting something.
“Dangerous start.” Your laugh was airy, with tiredness starting to dawn on you.
“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”
“Straight for the kill,” Logan snorted.
“Oh god,” Tucker mumbled into his drink.
“So help me, god.” You heard Garrett mutter under his breath. You turned your head to look at Garrett and found him already facing you. “We’re not answering that,” Garrett scoffed.
“There was a first time!” Dean gasped.
“Everyone has a first time,” Garrett attempted to brush him off, but he replied too quickly to seem casual.
“That is not helping your case, G.” Logan chuckled.
Dean sat back, feeling victorious. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” you asked.
“That whatever this is–” Dean gestured between you and Garrett, “–has been happening for years.”
Garrett groaned.
Tucker nodded thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m just glad you finally showed up. He’s been unbearable this week.”
“I have not.”
You laughed again, and before you could think about stopping yourself, you leaned your head against Garrett’s shoulder.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was, and Garrett didn’t even hesitate before leaning back.
Dean, Logan, and Tucker exchanged identical looks like before. None of them said a word. They didn’t need to. The answer to every question was sitting right there on the couch for them to see.
The next morning, you woke up to Dean banging against the bedroom door. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds. You turned slightly and felt your cheek brushing against Garrett’s bare skin. The bed was a sight of tangled limbs and Garrett’s head tucked into the crook of your neck.
The persistent knocking caused him to shift in his sleep, an arm instinctively tightening around you.
“Gare, I cannot breathe.” You attempted to pull yourself away from his grasp.
“Baby, it’s too early,” Garrett murmured in your ear, not aware of the knocking yet.
“Guys, wake up, we want to go to breakfast!” Dean yelled from the other side of the door.
“Dean, just come in,” you permitted him.
The door creaked softly, and Dean entered the room with a hand covering his eyes. “Angel, are you guys decent?”
“You wish I wasn’t.” You chucked a pillow at him, which he annoyingly caught.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Garrett grumbled, realizing Dean was in the room.
“The guys and I want to get breakfast at Malone’s, and Angel hasn’t been yet, so it’s perfect.” Dean begun. “We’re leaving in 30 minutes.”
“That sounds great. We’ll be ready,” you told him.
“Okay, okay, now get out,” Garrett shooed Dean away.
“Angel, you see what we’ve had to deal with?”
“Try dealing with him for your entire life,” you countered.
“You’re a strong woman.”
“The best. Now, seriously, man, out.” Garrett pointed an arm to the door.
“Fine, but you guys better be downstairs soon!” Dean said as he shuffled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Finally,” Garrett mumbled, tucking his head back into your neck.
“Bub, we have to get up.” You ran a hand through his hair. You felt him smile against your skin. “Come on, let me up,” your hand continuing to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Baby, I haven’t woken up with you in my arms for months. You’re breaking my heart here.” Garrett expressed, trying to be serious, but the whisper of a smile played at the edges of his lips.
“You are being dramatic.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Fortunate for me.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead and finally loosened his grasp around you.
You rose from the bed and stretched. You looked out the window. “This is nice.”
“Yeah,” Garrett replied. You turned back to face him.
You found him already staring at you.
The drive to Malone’s was chatterful. Your car was chosen, but the designated driver was Garrett. You were seated in the passenger seat, holding Garrett’s hand in your lap. The backseat arrangement was laughable. Dean, Tucker, and Logan, in that order, were squeezed into your back seats, which you always felt like were spacious when driving with your friends. But with three hockey players in place, they were like a tin of sardines.
When Garrett finally parked, Logan was the first out of the car and almost tripped over his own legs, with Tucker trying to push him to get out faster.
Logan beat Garrett to opening your door. “Angel,” he said, a smirk pinching at his cheeks while he offered his hand to you.
“You’re doing this on purpose.” You stifled a laugh as you peeked at Garrett, who was five steps short of your door.
“Let me have this one?” Logan whispered. You took his hand and got out of the car. Rather than letting go of your hand, he wrapped your arms together and guided you to the entrance of Malone’s. “You are going to love this place, Angel.”
“Petal.”
You heard him say from behind you, turning back to look at him. “Yes, Gare?”
Garrett Graham would never admit to pouting, but lo and behold, a sliver of a pout was edging his lips. “You’re just leaving me behind?” he gaped. Instead of responding, you let Logan lead you guys in.
“Snubbed by your own girl, that’s got to be tough.” Dean clapped a hand on Garrett’s shoulder.
“G, stop moping and let’s go. I’m hungry, man,” Tucker told him, heading in after you and Logan.
Inside, you and Logan were waiting by a booth. Logan slid into one side, and you to the other. Tucker sat next to Logan. Dean dragged over a spare chair, spun it around backwards, and sat at the end of the booth. Garrett stopped at the edge of the booth. “Oh, now you want to be next to me?”
Ignoring his dramatics, you looked up from the menu. “What do you guys usually get?”
Garrett sighed pitifully. He slid next to you and snaked his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. You automatically put the menu in front of both of you. “You’ll like the berry waffles.”
“Sounds yummy.” You leaned your head against his shoulder.
“You’d think they didn’t wake up next to each other,” Dean teased. “Garrett, get a grip, dude.”
Even with the teasing, Logan, Tucker, and Dean enjoyed seeing Garrett like this. A kind of softness that he never really displayed to people besides you. The tenderness as he whispered to you as if no one else existed. The way the menu was shared, and Garrett was pointing out all the things he thought you would like to try at some point.
A waitress came by with coffee. Without asking, Garrett reached over and slid a mug in front of him before adding two sugar packets. Then a splash of cream. He stirred it once before pushing it toward you. “There.”
“Thanks, baby.” You took a sip. “Perfect.” You pressed a kiss against his jaw.
“You didn’t even watch him make it,” Logan commented.
“I don’t have to?” Your eyebrows pulled together, showing your slight confusion.
“You just trusted whatever he put in it?”
“He’s made my coffee since I first started drinking coffee.”
Logan blinked. “They’ve killed me.”
“God, I forgot that you guys have been married for years,” Dean joked.
Tucker ignored the rest of the group and got to ordering. The rest of you followed suit.
Around the diner, people had definitely started noticing. Mostly because four starting hockey players were difficult to ignore, especially when one of those players is the captain, Garrett Graham. What really stuck out was you, the unfamiliar girl who leaned into his side as if you belonged there.
Whispers bounced between tables.
“Who is she?”
“Is that the new transfer girl people have been talking about?”
“How does she have Graham bringing her with the guys?”
“I thought he said he doesn’t do girlfriends.”
Two girls near the counter glanced over one too many times. One leaned toward the other. “I’ve literally never seen him with a girl before.”
“Maybe she’s his sister.”
You happened to laugh at something Garrett said, but the smile that was plastered across his face said it all.
One of the girls frowned. “Definitely not his sister.”
Dean noticed before anyone else. Without turning around, he spoke just loudly enough for it to reach anyone sitting at the counter. “Man.” The others looked at him. “It’s amazing how people forget that minding their own business is free.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Tucker said bluntly. The whispering behind him immediately quieted.
Logan casually leaned back in the booth. “It’s almost like we have our own lives.”
There was a softness that came over your features. It radiated such appreciative affection for such new, devoted friends. The guys defended you as if you were their own, without a second thought or hesitation.
Dean caught your eye and winked at you. “We’ve got your back, Angel.”
“Always,” Logan added.
“You’ve got us for life, Angel,” Tucker finished.
“You guys are going to make me cry.” You teared up a bit, and your face flushed with heat at the gesture. Garrett rubbed at your side soothingly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Angel, we’re practically family already,” Logan reasoned, sending you a sweet smile.
“I am going to be the best uncle ever,” Tucker claimed, nodding his head.
“But I get to be the Godfather,” Dean asserted in full seriousness, but the act dropped quickly with a grin spreading across his face.
“We’ll play rock, paper, scissors for it.” Logan contended, waving a hand at Dean.
Garrett snorted, shifting the attention to him. “Unlikely,” he scoffed jokingly under his breath, but it wasn’t quiet enough for the guys not to catch it, and especially not for you.
You pressed a hand against the one he had on your side. Your thumb rubbed circles against his knuckles.
“Listen, buddy, we never said you had to be the dad,” Logan tutted at Garrett.
You felt Garrett stiff beside you. “That’s not even funny, man.”
“Oh, this is gold.” Tucker snickered at Garrett’s obvious displeasure at the mere idea of you creating a life with someone else.
“I’m fine.” You all caught on to Garrett’s voice and how defensive he sounded.
Dean wasn’t ready to end Garrett’s suffering just yet. “You want blond babies, Angel?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “They’d be beautiful.”
Your whole body shook with laughter at Dean’s insinuation. You didn’t see Garrett’s face, but the guys did. The way his brow wrinkled into a deep frown. His right eye twitched while he was glaring down at Dean. “Godfather, typically means you’d have to be alive for the role.”
Dean paled slightly. Instead of replying, he took a long sip from his water, gulping awkwardly.
Tucker had put his hand to muzzle his laugh that was threatening to spill out.
Logan was suddenly very interested in a ketchup bottle. “These ingredients are so funny.”
The waitress came up to the table with breakfast, unaware of the scene she was walking into. “Hope you all enjoy,” she said, setting plates in front of each of you. She refilled your waters before finally walking away from the booth.
Garrett’s frown dropped just like that. Before you could reach for the syrup, Garrett poured it perfectly on your waffles. You grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. You took a bite of about half of it before you offered it up to Garrett’s mouth. He ate the rest without questioning.
Neither of you looked exactly at each other, but the way you moved with ease and avoided bumping into one another said it all.
Neither of you broke the conversation either. Garrett asked if you liked the waffles. You nodded sweetly, taking another bite. He hummed, satisfied in response. It happened so naturally that it was obvious that neither of you even processed how you guys were.
Across the table, Logan stared.
Then at Tucker.
Then at Dean.
“I think we’ve been upgraded from roommates,” Logan muttered to the two.
“We’re just watching these two domesticate each other in real time.” Tucker looked a bit in awe at how evidently you both were in tune with one another.
Dean nodded solemnly, “I think we’re witnessing a thirty-year marriage before the first date.” He took another bite of the pancakes. “They’re hopeless.”
You and Garrett looked over. “What?” you both asked at the same time.
The three roommates burst into laughter. You and Garrett looked at each other, and despite having no idea what was so funny. You both started laughing, too.
Della, from behind the counter, watched the way the five of you fit together. She had never seen the boys the way they are right at this moment. She immediately decided that you were a missing piece in a very chaotic puzzle of hockey players. You belonged at that table.
Breakfast lingered long after the plates had been cleared.
The conversation drifted from hockey to classes, then somehow to the time that Dean accidentally set the kitchen toaster on fire. “It was defective,” Dean insisted.
“It exploded because you put a Pop-Tart in sideways,” Tucker replied.
“That’s a design flaw.”
“More like user error.”
You laughed at the pair, shaking your head. You tapped against Garrett’s thigh. “I’ll be right back.”
“Bathroom?” Garrett slid out of the booth to let you out.
“Mhm.” He helped you out like a gentleman and kissed your hand before you walked away from the table.
You did head toward the hallway for exactly seven steps. Then you quietly veered toward the register, looking over your shoulder, and the guys were busy talking about the next home game coming up in a week.
The waitress looked up with a smile. “Everything okay, honey?”
“Perfect, actually.” You pulled out your card that you had sneaked into your pocket before you left earlier. “I’d like to pay for our table.”
She glanced toward the booth. “The hockey boys?”
“Yeah.” You smiled.
“They’re usually fighting over who pays.”
“I figured.”
“You sure? Honey, I’m positive that none of those boys would want you to pay.”
You looked over your shoulder again. The four of them were full of laughter. Logan was dramatically reenacting whatever play he was retelling. Tucker looked like he regretted encouraging him. Dean was adding in parts that Logan was leaving out. And Garrett. He was watching the conversation with that quiet little smile he’d worn almost all morning.
It tugged at something in your chest. “They’ve been really good to me.”
The waitress followed your gaze. “You’ve known them for a long time?” She wondered.
“Just the one I was sitting next to.”
She rang up the bill. You tipped her generously when signing off the receipt. When she handed your copy, you tucked it into your pocket along with your card before anyone could notice.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sweetie.”
When you returned, Dean looked up. “That was fast.”
“I think we’re ready to finish up here,” Tucker said.
“I physically cannot move.” Dean leaned back and rubbed his stomach.
“You had seven pancakes,” Logan reminded him.
“I regret nothing.”
Garrett politely signalled for the waitress’s attention. She placed the check holder at the edge of the table. “Huh,” Garrett muttered when he reached for it.
“What?” Logan asked.
“It’s empty.”
Dean frowned. “What do you mean it’s empty?”
“The bill.”
“You guys already paid?” Tucker questioned.
Garrett looked at the others. “I didn’t.”
“I was waiting for him,” Dean said, pointing to Garrett.
“So was I,” Tucker admitted.
The waitress walked by carrying another tray to pick up the empty plates off the table. “You boys are all set.”
Four heads turned. You busied yourself with applying some lip balm. “What?”
Logan shook his head.
“It was taken care of already.” The booth fell completely silent.
Four pairs of eyes turned toward you.
“Petal,” Garrett said.
“No.” You stopped.
“You paid?” He scoffed.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You absolutely paid,” Logan retorted.
“You didn’t have to do that, Angel,” Dean said.
“I didn’t do anything,” you shrugged.
“Bullshit,” Garrett muttered.
“Breakfast seemed like a pretty cheap way to say thank you for letting me into your lives so easily.”
The table was quiet for another moment. Then Dean stood up. “Oh.”
“What?” You glanced at him. Tucker and Logan slid out of the booth to stand as well. Garrett did the same. Your eyes flickered to each of them. They all shared a look and nodded. In a blink, you were bombarded by the four. They hugged, keeping you in the middle. “Guys, I can’t breathe.”
“Too late,” Logan mumbled.
“Petal, we don’t need that.”
You were holding up two different colored fluffy throw blankets. “Do you like the dark blue better or the gray?” ignoring Garrett’s statement.
“You’re not going to use it, and it’ll end up on the floor.”
“I can use it in the living room.” You brushed him off.
“Okay, fine, just get both. One for the living room and the other for the bed.” Garrett gave in.
You hummed to yourself triumphantly. “You see, that wasn’t so hard.” You brushed a faint kiss against the left side of his jawline before you put the blankets in the cart.
A husband who was in the same aisle with his wife had watched the short interaction between you and Garrett. He had a fond expression written across his face. “Son, happy wife, happy life.” He simply said before following his wife out of the aisle.
“Are you planning a proposal I don’t know about yet?” You teased Garrett, grinning at him. Your faces were inches apart.
Garrett brought a hand to your face with his thumb gently stroking your cheek. His face carried a relaxed smile. His gaze was locked into your eyes. “Not yet. But eventually.”
You wished his words would surprise you, but in reality, it was more of a confirmation than anything else. “I think we’re skipping a few steps.” You placed a hand on his chest, and you could feel the beating of his heart.
“Like there would be anyone for me other than you,” Garrett murmured.
You could tell he was holding himself back. The way he brought himself closer to you and tilted his face to yours. His pupils dilated, and you could feel his heartbeat start to quicken. “You know, for a second there, I thought you were finally going to do it.”
“If I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”
“Who said you had to?”
His lips brushed against yours. It felt like he was trying to test the waters. Your hand slid from his chest to his jaw. The hand on your cheek pulled you in even closer, if that was possible. His lips smiled against yours.
The gap finally closed. The way his lips parted against your own so gently. The kiss was chaste since you both were standing in a store. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He said, pulling away to look back into your dazed eyes.
You pecked his lips again. “We never stood a chance.”
“Against what?”
“Us.”
“It’s you and me forever, Petal.”
The next week breezed past you before you knew it. The transition to classes was easier than you were expecting. Another thing you thought was going to be difficult was you and Garrett, but really, other than stolen kisses in hidden hallways or late nights in the kitchen. The pair of you hardly had to change anything.
Sure, Garrett was even more affectionate than usual, but it wasn’t overly done where the guys caught on to you two. It kind of felt fun keeping it between you and Garrett. Not that either of you meant to keep a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and anyone who had been around lately either assumed you were already dating or, like the guys, just got used to the fact that you and Garrett were suspiciously close.
Plenty of people on campus just thought that the new transfer student finally locked down the infamous Garrett Graham. Not many knew or cared to find out that you guys knew each other prior. No one found that you had moved in either, not that it was any of their business.
As much as you tried not to let it get to you, the puck bunnies were hard to ignore. Especially with the Briar Hawks having a home game soon, everyone was buzzing around you. From the guys’ endless practices and workout sessions to students’ nonstop chatter about the game and after-parties.
Garrett was quick to assure you that the minute he found out that you were coming to Briar. He hadn’t even thought about another girl since. Not that mattered anyway. It wasn’t like you were a saint in New York. You had your fair share of dates that Garrett, over the years, pretended didn’t bother him when you would call him excitedly to prepare for one.
You could hold your own, but that didn’t stop the irk you would get overhearing the bunnies talk about “whatever” you and Garrett had would never last long before he got bored.
You didn’t doubt your new relationship with Garrett. Even your mothers were rooting for you two to end up together, the second they found out about each other’s pregnancies. Garrett was yours just as much as you were his. It’s been like that since the two of you could walk.
“Baby, I’ll see you and the family later at the game, I got to run to meet with coach. I love you.” was the last thing you heard from Garrett at seven in the morning before he hurriedly pressed a kiss against your forehead before heading out the room. You weren’t even fully coherent enough to reply. Just hummed happily before dozing back off.
You decided that around nine it was time to get up for the day. You had the house empty to yourself. The first time since you moved in. Even with everyone’s hectic schedules, there was usually at least one or two other people home. Not that you minded the company, it let you know the guys better and their habits, which some were admittedly messier than others.
Your feet padded down against the staircase. You found yourself looking for something in the fridge to make for lunch. With the game being later into the night, you had plenty of time to get ready for it. Right now, you chose to make lunch for the guys. You had bought a huge slab of salmon the other day and decided that it was the perfect thing to pair with some rice and steamed vegetables for the guys. Just like your dad’s game day lunch.
Music blasted in the house while you cooked. You set out individual meal prep containers that you hadn’t had the chance to use since you bought them. You portioned out a slice of salmon, rice mixed with quinoa, along with steamed broccoli and cauliflower to each container. It was close to noon, and you knew by the time you got to the arena, it would be perfect timing for lunch.
You hadn’t told anyone that you were planning to stop by to drop off the food. The players were still on the ice when you entered the arena. You stopped to sit down a few rows behind the players’ bench while you waited for them to finish their drills. No one had noticed you yet, except for Coach Jensen.
His brows drew together as he tried to figure out if he recognized you. At first, he assumed you were a bunny trying to sneak into watching practice, but his eyes landed on what seemed to be a thermal food bag.
“Definitely a girlfriend.” He thought to himself.
He saw how you watched the boys with trained eyes. It was as if he could see you mentally noting what some of them could work on. That piqued his interest. “Okay. Let’s head to lunch!” He called out to the players on the ice. “I thought I said no girlfriends during practice.” He threw in right after, causing you to snap your head in his direction and see him already looking back at you.
“I’m just dropping off lunch!” You sheepishly called out. You made your way down, and Garrett was quick on the ice to make it over to you. “Hey, bub.” You smiled, watching him take off his helmet.
“That’s the missus, coach!” Logan hollered from across the ice.
“Angel!” Dean’s voice boomed with the sound of his skates coming to a stop near you and Garrett.
Tucker was the only one out of the four to catch what you told Coach Jensen. “I heard lunch?”
“I hope that’s for us too and not just, G!” Logan called out, making his way over.
“Missus?” Coach Jensen questioned to himself more than anyone in particular.
“Is that the transfer from New York?”
“I want lunch, too.”
“She’s the one G was with when we saw him at Malone’s the other day.”
“I didn’t know bunnies made lunches.”
That was the chatter that was amongst some of the other players.
Garrett tuned them out and honed his attention to just focus on you. “You didn’t have to bring lunch for me, Petal.”
“Great! Because I didn’t make it just for you.” Your voice was loud enough for Logan to hear, resulting in him whooping out a cheer. You brought the bag to your front and shook it ever so slightly at the four. “If your coach is okay with me bringing food to feed some of his players…” You trailed off, glancing back at Coach Jensen, who simply was amused by this whole interaction. Never in his life had he seen his star player/captain turn so soft in a matter of seconds, or give any girl the time of day on a game day.
“Whatcha got to feed these hooligans?” He walked over. You opened the bag for him to take a peek in. He could see the stack of meals you prepared for the guys. His eyes spotted how you made sure to take into account protein and grains along with the vegetables. “Not too bad.”
“Approved?” you said hopefully.
“Just make sure they get back to me after lunch is over.” He winked at you in approval before making his way to the locker room.
“Give us a bit, Petal. We’re going to take off the gear, and we’ll come back out. Make yourself comfy on the bench.” Garrett pressed a kiss against your cheek before skating off the ice.
The other three saluted you as they passed by, following Garrett to the locker room. It didn’t take them long to find their way back to you. By the time they returned. They noticed the four containers neatly laid out with a fork sitting on top of each lid, with a napkin placed underneath it.
Dean whistled out, “Angel, you’re my favorite.” He started to pass around a container, so each one of them had one.
Tucker had been the first to open it and see what you made. “Smells delicious, Angel. Is that rice mixed with quinoa? Oh, you’re good.” He complimented, blowing you a kiss.
“Our savior,” Logan greeted you with a side hug and a kiss against the top of your head. Before grabbing a container of his own and taking a seat. “Oh, TIGS.”
“Dude, what does that even mean?” Dean questioned him. “This is good shit?”
“No. This is god sent.”
“Thanks, baby,” Garrett murmured to you in appreciation. He had found his place at your side. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yeah, it’s dad’s game day lunch.” You two were sat pressed next to one another. Your eyes scanned over to the other guys. A satisfied smile wreathed your lips.
Dean closed his eyes, letting out a blissful sigh as he swallowed. “G, you’re evil for not introducing us to Angel sooner.”
Tucker paused to chew, pointing his fork at the salmon. “This is delectable. Thank you, Angel.”
Logan mumbled, his mouth still half-full. “Angel, where were you the past three years on game days? This is so good.”
Garrett just laughed at the three’s antics. “And this is why you didn’t meet them until now.”
“We heard that,” Dean called out.
“How are you guys feeling about tonight?” you asked them, shifting the conversation.
“We got to make sure we win your first Briar hockey game,” Logan affirmed.
“Not her first Briar game,” Garrett corrected before taking another bite of the food. The remark made the other three pause mid-bite/chew.
“She’s been to one before?” Logan raised a brow at him
“Angel, we could’ve known each other much sooner!” Dean yelped dramatically.
“Not the first hockey game, but my first official home game,” you explained.
“When did you see one?” Tucker asked you.
“I’ve been to a few,” you admitted. “My first one was Garrett’s first game playing because how could I ever miss that? Then I’ve been to a couple away games you guys had when it was close to New York. Most recently before the transfer, I went to Garrett’s first game as captain.”
“Hold on a minute,” Dean said. “You’ve been to all these games, and we never knew?”
“Never needed to bring it up,” Garrett shrugged.
“Wait, is that you got so weird at some of the away games? I always thought you were nervous or some shit,” Logan said in an epiphany. He snapped at Garrett’s direction, “I knew it was weird when you didn’t come out with us after.”
“Like that Clovers game! I just figured you were meeting up with a bunny–” Dean was cut off.
“No, I took Petal to dinner after the game.”
“Oh, that was the nice Italian place!” You recalled it in your memory.
“We don’t get taken to dinners after games,” Logan scoffed playfully.
“We’ll take you to dinner tonight, Angel,” Dean offered with a grin.
“Even better, I’ll cook you dinner, Angel.” Tucker winked.
“Sorry, boys. Not tonight. Gare’s got the family coming in to see this game. I’m sure Gramps will want dinner together tonight.”
“Your family is coming tonight? Like actually? I thought that was just like a joke your dad was making.” Logan gaped. “And your grandfather wants dinner?”
“Not with you shitheads,” Garrett snickered.
You smacked his arm lightly. “Be nice. They can come if they want to.”
“Family dinner with hockey royalty,” Dean said, a bit starstruck.
“G, how are you not shitting in your pants?” Tucker said, baffled.
“Her dad is okay with her living with us, right?” Logan brought up.
“More importantly, he knows that you guys are sharing a bed?” Dean added.
Garrett put down the now empty container. “Guys.”
“Yes, my dad is perfectly fine with my living situation. He knows that we’re together, and he trusts Garrett. Well, I think the entire family has had a bet going on since we were conceived.”
“Ma, definitely had one with Mom. You remember when we went to Vancouver for vacation?”
“That was what? When we were ten?”
“Yeah, Ma slid over twenty bucks to Mom during dinner when I was cutting your steak–”
“YOU GUYS ARE TOGETHER?” Dean yelled out the second it clicked in his head.
“Honestly, quicker than I expected,” Tucker claimed.
“Let’s not kid ourselves. They were always together.” Logan retorted.
You tore your eyes from Garrett’s and looked back at the guys. You felt heat flush your face, realizing what you casually said. “Yeah, we’re together.” You couldn’t help the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth.
“Since when?” Tucker questioned.
“The day we brought back the blue blanket from the couch.”
“Oh, I love that blanket,” Logan noted.
“I know, it’s so soft!” You happily clapped your hands together.
“It’s really warm, too,” Logan added.
“You didn’t tell us sooner?” Dean wondered.
Garrett kept his eyes on you. How you animatedly expressed your love of the blanket. The way your eyes lit up when you talked. “Honestly, just slipped my mind. I mean, it’s just so natural being with her.”
“You talking about little old me?” You playfully fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I love being with you, too, love.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, pulling away with a gentle smile.
By the time warm-ups began, the arena was already loud. Student sections were filling with painted faces and homemade signs. Lots of 44 were seen around the arena. The pep band was halfway through the fight song.
Garrett tapped his stick against the boards before skating another lap, absently scanning the stands. He always looked. Even when there wasn’t anyone to find.
But tonight was different. Halfway up behind the home bench sat you, your parents, and grandparents. Your dad had a custom Garrett 44 hat, with your mom sporting 44 on her cheek. You spotted him almost immediately and stood, waving both hands over your head.
Garrett couldn’t help but smile. You were wearing his jersey. His actual jersey. Not one you’d buy from a gift shop. One he’d given you the second you started talking about wanting to plan your outfit.
You gestured to your parents excitedly. Garrett came to a stop, and he scanned the seats next to you. His pause was noticed by Logan. He lifted his stick toward the stands.
“What a night,” Logan looked over in its direction.
Dean nearly skated into Logan. “Man, what are you looking at?” Then he saw them too.
Tucker answered before anyone else. “That’s the family.” His eyes looked over two seats next to you, and rest assured, your grandfather sat there with the quiet confidence of someone who’d once stood behind an NHL bench for nearly twenty seasons.
Dean examined your grandfather. He looked older now compared to clips from his coaching days. The former head coach of the New York Rangers. A living legend. Not to mention your father, who sat next to you. Dean looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “They came for him.”
Your grandfather looked down toward the ice. He spotted Garrett and raised one hand. Garrett’s smile widened even more. He lifted his glove and waved back. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Logan stared.
You laughed from the stands and leaned over to say something to your dad. He smiled, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “ATTABOY, SON!” The words echoed faintly across the ice. Garrett let out a laugh, then tapped his stick twice against the glass in front of them.
The announcer interrupted, “Ladies and gentlemen.” Warm-ups were over.
The game was fast and physical. Two teams were fighting to lead the conference. By the end of the first period, it was tied one to one.
Logan threw a huge hit that brought the crowd to its feet. Dean blocked a shot that probably should’ve gone in. Garrett had two chances and saved both. Every time he returned to the bench, his eyes drifted toward your section.
To the same five people who always cheered him on and like how they always would.
Late in the third period, it was still a tie game with only three minutes left. The arena buzzed with nervous energy. Coach Jensen leaned over the boards. “One more shift.”
Garrett nodded, and the puck dropped. Tucker won it clean, and it was back to Dean, then across Logan, who’d carried through center before slipping it wide. Garrett caught it in a stride. There was one defender. Garrett cut inside and the defender bit. Open lane. For the smallest fraction of a second, everything went quiet. He had snapped the puck.
Top corner. Bar down. Ping. The sound rang through the arena. The red light exploded with the building erupting. Goal.
Students leapt to their feet, and the bench emptied over the boards. Logan tackled Garrett first. Dean nearly knocked both of them over. Tucker arrived a heartbeat later. The arena shook with applause. You were already screaming with both hands over your mouth and tears filling your eyes.
Your dad was on his feet, clapping so hard that his palms had turned visibly red. Your grandfather stood beside him, grinning with unmistakable pride. The television camera caught them easily. “Hockey royalty celebrating that goal,” one commentator laughed. “Looks like they approve.”
The final horn sounded moments later. Briar Hawks won.
When Garrett stepped off the ice, an arena attendant waved him over. “They’re waiting.” He didn’t need to ask who. The family entrance hallway smelled faintly of popcorn and fresh ice.
The moment that Garret rounded the corner, “There he is!” you ran to him. He caught you before you even reached full speed, lifting you clean off the floor as you wrapped yourself around him. “I almost lost my voice!”
He laughed into your hair. “I heard.”
You pulled back just enough to kiss him. Like it belonged there with such ease. When you stepped aside, your dad opened his arms. “Come over here, son.” Garrett didn’t hesitate and hugged him tightly.
“Good game, Pop.”
“You kidding?” Your dad squeezed his shoulder. “That release would’ve beaten me.”
“You don’t have to say that,” Garrett attempted to be modest.
“I know,” your dad brushed Garrett’s hair back from his face. “But I mean it.”
Next came your mom. She cupped his face in both hands before pulling him into a hug. “You look exhausted.”
“I feel exhausted,” Garrett admitted.
“You eating enough?” Your mom tapped his cheek.
“Ma.”
“I asked a question.” She persisted.
“Yes, Ma.” Your grandfather stood, waiting with his hand tucked into his coat pocket. Garrett stopped in front of him. “Hey, Gramps.”
The older man looked over him for a long second and nodded, “I’m proud of you.”
Garrett swallowed hard, “Thanks.”
“You earned that one.” The former coach clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Now stop standing around me and go stand next to Petal.” You immediately slid back to Garrett’s side. Your grandfather pointed between you two, “Took you long enough.”
Your mom laughed. “I was beginning to think I should’ve agreed to a betrothal that your mom and I talked about once.”
Your dad shrugged, “I would have given them another year.”
Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. “It was obvious?” Every member of the family stared at him. He sighed, “Never mind?”
“Hey!” Another familiar voice echoed down the hallway. Dean, Logan, and Tucker rounded the corner, still carrying pieces of their gear. They stopped the second they saw your family. Every single one of the three stood a little straighter.
Dean whispered, “Oh my God.”
Logan elbowed him, “Be normal.”
“I’m trying,” Dean told him.
Tucker quietly failed to hide his awe.
You laughed, “You guys! Come over here!” You motioned them over. “This is Dean, Logan, and Tucker,” you introduced them to your family. The three hockey players suddenly looked like nervous freshmen again.
Your father smiled first and shook each of their hands, “Good game, boys.”
Dean looked as though he might frame the handshake. “Sir, I watched your highlights growing up.”
Your father laughed. “Now I feel old.”
“You are old,” Your grandfather commented.
“I walked right into that one,” Your dad admitted.
The former head Rangers coach shook hands with each of them too. “I like watching your line.” The three roommates collectively forgot how words worked.
“Thank you, sir,” Logan managed.
“That means a lot,” Tucker remarked.
Your grandfather smiled, “You boys play the game the right way.”
Dean quietly leaned toward Garrett and you, “I’m never washing this hand.”
Garrett snorted, and you laughed, leaning into his side, “I figured.”
Your mom looked around the group. “So, who’s hungry?” Every hand went up, and she laughed, “Perfect, go get changed and let’s head out.”
The players immediately obeyed. Garrett kissed the side of your head. “I’ll be back out.”
As the guys started walking together, Dean drifted beside Garrett. “So…”
“What?” Garrett glanced over at him.
“They really are your family.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked back to the group waiting for them. At the people that had supported him through everything. Then looked back at the guys, the friends who had become brothers. Then back to you, watching as you shooed him to hurry along.
SUMMARY: The five times Dean realizes you're more than just his childhood best friend, and the one time he finally does something about it.
WARNINGS: Friends to eventual lovers, idiots in love, slow burn romance, psychology!student, fluff, slight angst, non-graphic descriptions of an injury, cursing, jealousy, sexual innuendos, domestic bliss (Dean is down bad), rushed ending sorry!
A/N: Happy Fourth of July!! 🇺🇸 I’ve ALWAYS wanted to write one of these fics and inspiration finally struck! Let me know what you guys think, and if you want to see more! Hope y’all enjoy!! Divider by @dividers-are-us <3
➩ main masterlist
➩ dean di laurentis masterlist
1. Garrett’s not so secret feelings
After a brutal Friday in the weight room with Beau, Dean wanted nothing more than to demolish whatever leftovers Tucker had most likely abandoned in the fridge, scrub the sweat and soreness off his skin, and disappear in his room until Monday. The workout had been relentless. His shoulders ached, his legs felt like concrete, and he was fairly certain Beau got some sick enjoyment out of making him suffer.
As he pushed through the front door of the hockey house, the familiar scent of stale pizza, laundry detergent, and whatever Tucker had cooked earlier greeted him. He kicked off his shoes near the entrance and rolled his neck, already mentally planning his evening. That's when he noticed you and Garrett sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the kitchen island, textbooks spread across the countertop.
Dean slowed, not because Garrett was studying, that wasn't unusual lately, but because Garrett looked utterly miserable. "Jesus," Garrett groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Remind me again why you want to pursue a career in this?" His eyes narrowed at the open psychology textbook like it had personally offended him. "Not memorizing the difference between operant conditioning and classical conditioning isn't the end of the world, G."
Dean couldn't help smiling. Somehow, whenever you were around, the house felt lighter. Before either of you could react, he crossed the room and made a beeline toward the kitchen island. Garrett spotted him first, a knowing smirk immediately tugged at his mouth, one which Dean blatantly ignored it. You barely had enough time to look up before all six-foot-two of him folded himself around you.
One arm slid around your shoulders, the other wrapped around your waist as his face buried itself in your hair as he let out a long, exhausted groan. "If you're having trouble distinguishing classical and operant conditioning, just make flash cards," You advised Garrett, as though you weren't currently trapped beneath an oversized hockey player. "Handwritten ones. They always helped me."
Without even thinking about it, your fingers slipped between Dean's where his hand rested against your stomach. The gesture was entirely unconscious. Dean's tired brain barely registered it, but Garrett's definitely did. "Are we not going to address the overgrown golden retriever currently hanging off your shoulder?" Garrett questioned, motioning toward Dean.
In response, Dean didn't move, in fact, his hold only tightened around your waist. You rolled your eyes at both their antics. "Are we not going to address the fact that you're here 'studying' on a Friday night because you refuse to admit your feelings for Hannah and couldn't stand the thought of her going out with Justin tonight?" The reaction was immediate, Garrett immediately went red, really red.
His jaw clenched as he snapped his attention back to his notes with exaggerated concentration. "Your girl is disturbingly insightful, Di Laurentis." He muttered which made you scoff as you playfully nudged his shin with your foot from across the table. “Damn straight she is.” Dean’s answer came instantly, low and smug, with a kiss pressed to your forehead that you unconsciously leaned into which made Dean's stomach do something profoundly embarrassing.
For a few moments, only the rustle of paper and the hum of the refrigerator filled the kitchen. Then you reached across the counter and squeezed Garrett's hand, your expression softening. "Hey, G," You muttered softly as Garrett's eyes slowly lifted to meet yours. "For what it's worth, I don't think Hannah likes Justin nearly as much as you think she does." Garrett squeezed your hand back, hope flashing across his face before he could hide it.
Dean watched the exchange quietly, body still wrapped around you. He didn't notice the way his thumb kept tracing small absent minded circles against your waist. He did notice that when you smiled at Garrett, he felt oddly jealous of his best friend for getting that look. And for the first time in a very long time, Dean couldn't help but wonder if maybe his attachment to his childhood "friend" wasn't quite as platonic as he'd always pretended it was.
2. Self-Care Day with Summer
Safe to say Dean had a shitty day.
All he wanted now was you. He wanted to kick off his shoes, collapse onto his bed, and bury himself in your arms while your fingers lazily carded through his messy hair. He wanted your soft voice filling the silence, your hand rubbing slow circles across his back until the tension seeped from every tight muscle in his body. The guys would never let him live it down if they knew, but Dean really couldn't bring himself to care.
As he pushed open the front door of the hockey house, the familiar sounds of shouting commentators and button mashing greeted him. Logan and Tucker were planted on opposite ends of the couch, controllers gripped tightly in their hands as they battled it out on the TV. An empty pizza box sat abandoned on the coffee table, surrounded by half-empty Gatorade bottles and crumpled napkins.
Dean barely spared them a glance, his eyes immediately sweeping areas where you'd probably be. The kitchen, empty. The dining room, nothing. No backpack tossed over one of the chairs. No oversized sweatshirt draped over the counter. No mug of tea you'd inevitably forget to finish. "Looking for your girl?" Logan's amused voice pulled him from his search. Without taking his eyes off the television, a knowing smirk spread across his face.
Dean didn't even bother correcting him anymore. "You seen her?" He asked, already craning his neck toward the hallway as if you might magically appear. Logan shrugged one shoulder. "She was here with Wellsy earlier. Upstairs probably." That was all Dean needed. He took the stairs two at a time, each step creaking beneath his weight. His exhaustion momentarily forgotten, as he headed straight for his bedroom.
"Y/N?" He called, knocking lightly before twisting the doorknob. The room was empty, bed neatly made, and the hoodie you'd stolen from him last week was nowhere to be found. Dean frowned. Without even realizing what he was doing, his phone was already in his hand, your contact pulled up from muscle memory. His thumb hit the call button before he had a chance to even think twice.
The phone rang twice before: "Hi, Dicky!" Dean physically recoiled. "What the hell— Summer?" His eyebrows shot toward his hairline. "What are you doing with Y/N's phone?" An exaggerated scoff crackled through the speaker, he could practically see Summer rolling her eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, Dicky," Summer huffed. "She doesn't belong to you. She was my friend first."
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, a fresh headache blooming almost instantly. "Just give her the phone, Summer." He heard muffled voices, the sound of the phone changing hands, and then: "Hi, Dean." It was amazing what two simple words could do. The knot between his shoulder blades loosened. His jaw unclenched. The lingering frustration in his body eased just from hearing your voice. A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.
"Babydoll," He murmured, unable to hide the relief in his voice. "Where are you? And why on earth are you with my hellion of a sister?" Your soft laugh drifted through the speaker, warm enough to make him wish you were standing beside him instead. Somewhere in the background, Summer barked an offended, "Dick." You laughed harder before finally answering. "She called me this morning after my eight a.m. class. She was having a bad day, so I drove into Manhattan to spend the day with her."
"You drove all the way to Manhattan?" Dean blinked. "Of course I did, Summer needed me." His heart did that stupid thing it always seemed to do around you. You hadn't hesitated. Summer needed someone, and you'd simply gone. No complaints. Just packed your things and made the drive because someone you cared about asked. There was another shuffle on the other end before Summer snatched the phone back. "Retail therapy works wonders, Dicky," She announced proudly.
"She'll be all yours tomorrow, but today?" Summer continued, smug satisfaction dripping from every word. "Today she's mine. Love you. Bye!" Seconds later, the line went suddenly dead. Dean stared down at his phone for several long seconds before letting out a disbelieving laugh. Of course Summer would steal your phone. Of course she'd hang up before he could get another word in.
But none of that was what stuck with him. What lingered was the realization that the second his sister admitted she was struggling, you'd dropped everything and driven nearly four hours just to make sure Summer didn't have to be alone. No hesitation. No expectation of anything in return. Just because that's who you were. Dean had always known you had the biggest heart of anyone he'd ever met. Today, though...
Today, he caught himself wishing he was more than just a friend.
3. The Injury
"Let her through! She's with the team!" Garrett's authoritative voice cut cleanly through the chaos surrounding the arena tunnel, commanding enough that even over the frantic chatter, blaring arena speakers, and the lingering roar of thousands of fans filing toward the exits, everyone nearby turned their heads. However, you barely heard him. Your heartbeat thundered so loudly in your ears it drowned out almost everything else.
"I'm the captain of this team," Garrett interrupted sharply, stepping between you and security. "She's family." The guard hesitated only a second before stepping aside. The moment the path cleared, your feet carried you forward before your brain had a chance to catch up. Garrett fell into step beside you, one steady hand settling against the middle of your back as if he could feel the way your entire body trembled.
"How is he?" Your voice barely sounded like your own. Garrett's jaw tightened. "The medic thinks he'll be out at least two weeks." His expression darkened. "Mild concussion and a fractured ankle." Hot fury ignited beneath your ribs. Not at Dean, but at the player who had recklessly swept his stick between Dean's legs. You'd watched it happen. There'd been no attempt to play the puck. It was just a cheap shot.
A dangerous one.
Your hands curled into fists as the replay flashed through your mind all over again. "He keeps asking for you," Garrett continued, his tone softening. "Won't let anyone get a word in." Despite everything, the corner of your mouth twitched. "He's being more annoying than usual," Garrett added with a tired sigh. "Logan and Tucker are about five minutes away from knocking him unconscious themselves."
That definitely sounded like Dean. "I should probably go micromanage before they make good on that threat." Garrett chuckled under his breath and pulled open the door to the medical room. The sight waiting on the other side nearly made your knees buckle. Dean sat propped awkwardly on the examination chair, his hockey pants and jersey still on, shoulder pads discarded in a heap beside him.
His normally perfect blond curls were damp with sweat and flattened where his helmet had been, several loose strands sticking out in every direction. A medic knelt beside him, carefully supporting his injured ankle while a PT intern shined a light into his eyes, checking his pupils. Logan and Tucker both stood on each side of him, still wearing their jerseys, neither looking remotely interested in getting changed until they knew Dean was okay.
"Garrett went to get her, just wait." Logan reminded him patiently, keeping a firm hand planted on Dean's shoulder the second he tried to stand again. "Let the medic finish checking you out, man." Tucker coaxed like the mother hen he was. Dean opened his mouth, ready to argue then his eyes found yours. It was almost eerie, like he'd sensed you before you'd even stepped through the doorway.
The tension visibly drained from his shoulders. Relief flooded his features so quickly it made your chest ache. "Babydoll..." He breathed, every ounce of stubbornness disappearing. "Thank fuck." He sank back into the chair, extending both hands toward you without an ounce of hesitation. "C'mere... please." There wasn't a universe where you wouldn't. You crossed the room in two quick strides.
The second your fingers slipped between his, Dean gripped them like a lifeline. Like he'd been holding himself together by sheer force of will until you walked through that door. Your eyes immediately began searching him. A faint scrape along his cheekbone. Fresh bruising already blooming beneath one eye. A split lip. The ugly swelling around his ankle. "You scared the hell out of me, Dean." You whispered, your voice catching despite your best efforts to keep it steady.
Dean's thumb swept absentminded circles across the back of your hand. Whatever pain medication they'd given him had softened the hard edges around his eyes, leaving him wearing a crooked, hopelessly boyish smile that somehow made him look younger. "How's your head?" You asked gently, your free hand lifted almost on its own, brushing one stubborn blond curl away from his forehead before tucking it back into place.
Your fingertips lingered there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, wanting the reassurance that he was really here. Dean leaned unconsciously into your touch. "Never had any complaints, babydoll." He punctuated the line with an exaggerated wink. An audible chorus of groans filled the room. "Oh my fucking God." Logan muttered, eyes rolling. "He's concussed and still flirting." Tucker complained, rubbing both hands down his face.
You felt heat instantly flood your cheeks, but ultimately chose to ignore it. "Oh, you're absolutely fine." You huffed, rolling your eyes as you tried to tug your hand free. Only Dean wasn't having it. His fingers tightened around yours and with one gentle pull, he drew you closer until you stood between his knees, your bodies only inches apart. The teasing grin he'd been wearing slowly faded.
Something quieter settled over his features, something almost fragile. His thumb continued tracing slow circles across your knuckles, grounding himself in the simple fact that you were here. That he could still hold your hand. "Thanks for being here." The words came quietly. Without the usual confidence. Without a joke to soften them. Just plain, raw honesty. You didn't even have to think about your answer.
Your other hand rose to cup his cheek, brushing over the rough stubble beginning to grow along his jaw. "There's nowhere else I'd be." Dean's breath caught. Those five simple words landed somewhere deep inside his chest, slipping past every wall he'd spent years carefully building. He'd spent so long convincing himself that what he felt for you was just harmless, a silly crush that would eventually go away.
But watching you burst through security with tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. Feeling your hands check every bruise like you could somehow erase the pain. Hearing you tell him there was nowhere else you'd rather be. It unraveled him. The feeling he'd been trying so desperately to bury came rushing back all at once, stronger than ever. Because for one terrifying moment on that ice, he'd thought he might open his eyes and not get to see you looking at him like he was the only person in the room.
4. Tucker’s Deathbed
Dean: Might wanna stay away tonight, Tuck’s got one hell of a cold.
Respectfully, there was no way in hell you were listening to that text. Your psychology paper on stress sat half-finished on your laptop, several journal articles scattered across your desk, but they could wait another night. Tucker couldn't. Besides, you knew exactly why Dean had texted you. He wasn't trying to be controlling, far from it.
He knew how often you caught whatever bug was going around campus, and the last thing he wanted was for you to spend the next week sniffling and miserable. It was sweet, but it was also completely futile seeing as your mind was already made up. You quickly shoved your laptop shut, gathered your keys, slipped your feet into your sneakers, and headed out the door before you had the chance to think twice about it.
Ten minutes later, you were pulling into the familiar driveway of the hockey house. The porch light cast a warm glow over the worn wooden steps, and the second you let yourself inside, the usual atmosphere felt...off. There was no music blasting from Logan's room. No laughter echoing through the halls. No Tucker humming while experimenting with whatever recipe had caught his attention that week.
Closing the front door behind you, your gaze immediately landed on the couch. "Oh, sweet Tuck." Your voice softened into something almost maternal. Tucker looked absolutely miserable. He was cocooned beneath two thick blankets despite the thermostat being turned up, curly hair sticking out in every direction, cheeks flushed an unhealthy shade of pink. A mountain of crumpled tissues littered the coffee table beside half-empty glasses of water and an abandoned mug of tea that had long since gone cold.
Setting your purse onto the nearest chair, you crossed the room quietly until you stood beside the couch. Your hand found his forehead with featherlight pressure, careful not to startle him awake. The warmth beneath your palm made you hiss. His skin was damp with sweat, far warmer than it should've been. He cracked one sleepy eye open before lazily batting your hand away with all the strength of a disgruntled toddler. "You're gonna get sick, Y/N." He mumbled, voice rough from congestion.
"Have you taken anything? Eaten?" You asked, purposely ignoring him. A weak shake of his head made you frown as he burrowed farther beneath the blanket until all you could really see was the top of his head. Without another word, you disappeared into the kitchen. Opening cabinet after cabinet, you smiled when everything was exactly where you'd expected. If there was one thing Tucker took almost as seriously as hockey, it was cooking.
Rolling up your sleeves, you got to work. Butter melted with a quiet sizzle before onions, carrots, and celery joined the pot, filling the kitchen with the comforting aroma of sautéing vegetables. Garlic followed moments later, its rich scent curling through the house. You shredded leftover rotisserie chicken Tucker had prepared earlier in the week, added handfuls of fresh herbs from the windowsill, poured in the homemade stock, and let everything simmer low and slow.
Nearly twenty minutes later, the soup bubbled gently on the stove, filling every room with warmth. Which was probably why the front door swung open. Logan stepped inside first, Garrett followed, and Dean came in last. All three stopped dead in the entryway as the unmistakable scent of homemade chicken noodle soup drifted toward them. Dean's gaze found you almost instantly, it was second nature nowadays.
You stood at the stove in one of Tucker's aprons, sleeves pushed to your elbows as you stirred the soup with practiced ease. Something deep in his chest squeezed painfully the more he looked at you. God, you looked like you belonged there. Like you'd always belonged there. His stomach flipped at the domestic image. The thought came so naturally it almost scared him. He could picture this years from now: Coming home after practice. Finding you in a kitchen making dinner, scolding one of the guys for skipping lunch.
It was such a simple fantasy, one he had absolutely no business imagining. "I thought I told you to stay home." Dean's voice carried equal parts exasperation and concern as he crossed his arms against his chest. "Last I checked, none of you know how to cook," You replied matter-of-factly while ladling soup into bowls. "Tuck needs homemade soup not whatever sodium-packed excuse for soup you three would've heated up from a can." Their silence spoke volumes.
Oh how you loved being right.
You slid two steaming bowls across the island toward Garrett and Logan who were openly salivating. "Sit and eat." Both men obeyed immediately, neither needed to be told twice. "You're my favorite person ever." Logan declared, already reaching for a spoon. "I've been saying that for years," Garrett chimed in, grinning as he accepted the bowl. "Thanks, sweetheart."
Dean watched the exchange in silence, eyes never leaving you as he watched you carry another bowl into the living room. You crouched beside Tucker, placing the soup carefully on the coffee table before setting cold medicine and a bottle of water beside it. "There we go." Your fingers brushed his forehead once more. "A little less warm." Tucker managed the weakest smile imaginable before taking a tentative bite.
Within minutes he looked noticeably more alive. Color slowly returned to his face as warmth spread through him. Dean, however, couldn't stop watching you. Couldn't stop noticing how naturally you slipped into caretaker mode. You remembered everyone's favorite meals. You always noticed when one of them skipped breakfast. You always looked after them without ever expecting anything in return.
It was simply woven into who you were.
"Serious question." Logan's voice pulled everyone's attention back toward the dining table. You looked up, brows furrowing and mentally preparing for what Logan was about to say. He pointed his spoon toward you. "Why has literally nobody wifed you up yet?" Your eyes widened, heat creeping up into your cheeks as you blinked at him processing his words. A nervous laugh escaped as you simply shrugged one shoulder instead of answering.
Thankfully, Logan accepted your non-answer. "Wild." He muttered before returning his full attention to the soup in front of him. You let out a quiet breath of relief, completely missing what happened across the room. Tucker slowly lifted his gaze as Garrett did the same, both men turning towards Dean in perfect synchronization. Dean was already glaring at them, if looks could kill both hockey players would already be six-feet under.
Garrett bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling and Tucker looked seconds away from bursting out laughing despite the gruesome cold. Because they both knew. They'd watched Dean stare at you from the second he'd walked through the front door. Watched his eyes follow every movement you made. Watched the way his expression softened whenever you smiled his way.
Logan, blissfully unaware of the silent conversation unfolding beside him, happily shoveled another spoonful of soup into his mouth. Dean barely noticed, because despite his two smartass friends smirking at his obliviousness, his attention had drifted back to you. Back to the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you rinsed dishes. Back to the quiet hum you made under your breath while cleaning Tucker's kitchen.
Back to how effortlessly you took care of people you loved.
You were a catch. Dean had always known that. He'd known it long before anyone else started noticing. Long before Logan blurted it out over dinner. The problem was, other people were starting to realize it too. And someday, someone was going to look at you the way Dean already did. They'd flirt with you. Take you out. Learn your coffee order. Memorize the little wrinkle that appeared beside your nose whenever you laughed.
Most importantly, they'd get to call you theirs. The thought alone lodged itself beneath his ribs like a skate blade carving into fresh ice. It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. You were his childhood best friend. He should've been thrilled if someone made you happy. Instead, all he could think was: I hope they don't. And that terrified him far more than any hockey game ever could.
5. The Male Gaze
"Hey, Y/N, is it true that Archer Beckett asked you out?" The question left Beau's mouth so casually you'd think he was asking you about the weather. Dean, on the other hand, nearly inhaled his beer. He coughed violently, setting the bottle down with a little more force than intended as carbonation burned the back of his throat. Beside him, Garrett didn't even attempt to hide his grin, his shoulders already beginning to shake with silent laughter.
Across the table, you took another leisurely sip of your piña colada, completely oblivious to the internal crisis unfolding three feet away. "He did." You confirmed, shrugging nonchalantly. Dean's entire body went rigid, his jaw locked so tightly he could feel his molars grinding together. Archer Beckett, of course it had to be Archer fucking Beckett. The lacrosse captain had been circling you for weeks like a damn shark.
Every time Dean turned around, Archer was "coincidentally" showing up wherever you happened to be, outside the psych building, in line at the campus coffee shop, even at Malone's after games. Dean had noticed, he noticed everything when it came to you. "What'd you tell him?" Hannah wondered from across the table, tucked comfortably beneath Garrett's arm.
Dean sat a little straighter without realizing it, every muscle in his body tensed as he waited for your answer. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Garrett and Beau exchanging identical shit-eating grins. Again. Lately they'd been doing that a lot. Assholes. You swirled the straw around your drink absentmindedly before answering as though the conversation couldn't possibly be less important. "I told him I wasn't interested."
Dean forgot how to breathe. Relief washed over him so suddenly it nearly made him dizzy. It came in one overwhelming wave, loosening the knot in his chest before he'd even processed why. His shoulders relaxed and the death grip he'd had on his beer bottle eased. A part of him, a part he'd spent months trying very hard to ignore, felt absurdly, ridiculously happy.
"The guy's relentless," Garrett observed, lifting his beer toward his lips. "I'm honestly surprised he backed off that easily." Dean caught the smug smirk Garrett aimed directly at him over the rim of his bottle. The silent message couldn't have been clearer: You hear that, Di Laurentis? She turned him down. Make your move, idiot. Dean responded by silently mouthing, I'm going to kill you to which Garrett's grin only widened.
Thankfully, you remained blissfully unaware of the silent death threats being exchanged across the table. "I need another drink." You stood, gathering your empty glass before pointing toward the bar. "Anyone want a refill?" Everyone but Hannah declined. Dean opened his mouth to offer to go with you, but the opportunity disappeared before the words reached his tongue because you were already weaving through the various crowds of people toward the bar.
His eyes followed instinctively as they always did. He watched as you smiled at Allie the second you reached the bar, leaning comfortably against the polished wood as the short brunette reached over the counter to squeeze your hand before beginning your drink. Dean couldn't help smiling too. "Dude, you're so whipped." Beau's voice yanked him back to reality. Dean managed to drag his gaze away from you just long enough to glare murderously at his best friend.
"At least pretend you're listening to us instead of staring at her like she hung the moon. You've watched her walk to the bar like four times already, man." Garrett interrupted, amusement dancing across his face. Dean scoffed at Garrett's words, opening his mouth to rebuttal before Hannah held her hand up stopping him. "Dean, at least try to hide it better." Hannah teased, smiling far too knowingly.
"Wellsy, don't encourage them." Dean groaned dramatically. "I'm not encouraging anything." Hannah's smile only grew. "I'm just observing." Dean rolled his eyes dramatically before looking back toward the televisions mounted behind the bar. Or at least, that was his intention. Instead, his attention landed on you again, watching as your eyes were fixated on Shane Hollander as he carried the puck through the neutral zone while Ilya Rozanov shadowed him stride for stride on the television screen.
Dean smiled despite himself, only you would get distracted by hockey while ordering drinks. Then he noticed them. Three guys at the opposite end of the bar. One of them glanced your way, then another. A fourth turned completely around in his stool. Dean's smile vanished instantly. They weren't watching the game, they were watching you. His grip tightened around his beer bottle until his knuckles turned white.
One of them, a tall brunette with an easy grin and far too much confidence nudged his friend before climbing off his stool. Dean's pulse immediately picked up as he watched the guy walk straight toward you. "I just love it when he gets territorial." Beau snickered as Hannah immediately elbowed Garrett in the ribs hard enough to earn an exaggerated grunt, though the smile she was unsuccessfully trying to suppress betrayed her.
They'd all noticed. Of course they did.
Dean didn't bother with them, his gaze was solely on you, stomach twisting unpleasantly. He had absolutely no right to feel possessive. You weren't his girlfriend. Hell, you weren't even remotely close to being his. You could flirt with whoever you wanted. Accept drinks from whoever you wanted. Go on dates with whoever you wanted. The thought alone made something ugly twist low in his stomach.
Jealousy.
Because it wasn't just that he didn't want Archer Beckett asking you out anymore. He didn't want anyone asking you out. He didn't want another guy making you laugh. Didn't want someone else memorizing your coffee order. Didn't want someone else bringing you flowers during finals week because they knew you were stressed. Didn't want someone else being the person you instinctively reached for.
He didn't want to be just your best friend anymore. He wanted to be the man sitting beside you. The one whose hand you'd reach for beneath the table. The one you'd kiss goodnight. The one you'd introduce as yours. Thankfully, after a few gruesome minutes which really seemed like decades, he watched as the brunette returned to his friends a few moments later. Empty-handed; no longer smiling and head hung low. Only then did Dean realize he'd been holding his breath.
You followed shortly after, balancing two frozen piña coladas with practiced ease, once again, completely oblivious to the emotional crisis currently unfolding inside Dean's head. "What'd he want?" The question escaped before Dean could stop it. You slid Hannah's drink across the table before answering. "Oh," You shrugged, hand waving dismissively as if it was no big deal. "He wanted to buy me a drink, but I told him my boyfriend was waiting for me."
Silence.
Dean stared, his brain stopped functioning altogether.
"Boyfriend?" He echoed weakly. You looked at him as though the answer was obvious, a tiny smile tugged at your lips. "I knew he wouldn't question it if I pointed at you." Dean's heart slammed against his ribs. You'd said it so naturally, so effortlessly. As if pretending Dean was yours had come as easily as breathing. You reached across the table without thinking, your fingers wrapping gently around his forearm, the simple touch nearly undid him.
"You don't mind, do you, Dean?" You looked almost worried, like the possibility of upsetting him genuinely bothered you. Across the table, Garrett looked ready to burst into laughter. Beau had outright stopped pretending to hide his grin. Even Hannah pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Yet, Dean barely noticed. He was too busy imagining what it would've felt like if your words had actually been true. My boyfriend. God, he wanted to hear you say that again.
Not as an excuse, not to get rid of some random guy at a bar, but because you meant it. The realization settled over him with startling certainty. He wasn't just protective. He wasn't just attached because you'd been friends forever. He wasn't just comfortable around you. He was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his best friend. And judging by the three idiots trying and failing not to laugh across the table, everyone seemed to know it before he did.
He swallowed hard, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before forcing himself to smile. "Course not, babydoll." You smiled back, satisfied with his answer, completely unaware that the tiny lie had just shattered what was left of his resolve. Because the truth was, Dean minded more than he could ever admit. Not because you'd called him your boyfriend, but because he wasn't. God, he wanted to be. More than his next championship. More than hockey. More than anything.
+1 The Hat Trick
The sharp November air nipped at your cheeks the second you stepped out of the car, your breath curling into soft white clouds as you made your way toward the entrance of the Briar arena. Even after countless games, countless Friday nights spent wrapped in Briar blue, there was still something magical about hockey nights.
The bright arena lights reflected against the freshly resurfaced sheet of ice, music boomed through the speakers as students flooded into the stands. Your eyes immediately searched for one player in particular. Dean, it was always Dean. The knot that had lived in your stomach for the past two weeks loosened the moment you spotted number sixty-six gliding effortless laps around center ice during warmups.
He was back. After the concussion and the fractured ankle. After countless days of sitting beside his bed while he complained about being benched, insisting he was "perfectly fine," and begged you to sneak him out of physical therapy. The team medic had finally cleared him that morning. Watching him skate again should've filled you with relief. Instead, your traitorous brain decided to notice how his practice jersey stretched across his shoulders every time he leaned into a stride.
How the muscles in his thighs flexed beneath his hockey pants as he dug his edges into the ice. How one damp blond curl escaped beneath his helmet while he stretched against the boards. You tore your eyes away with an embarrassed cough. Absolutely not. There was a hockey game to watch, not Dean Di Laurentis looking unfairly attractive while doing literally anything. Beside you, Hannah caught the direction of your gaze, hiding a knowing smile behind her cup of hot chocolate.
Thankfully, the referee's whistle echoed through the arena, signaling the start of the game before she could say anything. The opening puck drop snapped your attention back where it belonged. The first period against Harvard flew by in a blur of hard checks and blistering speed. Dean looked like he'd never left the lineup. He was everywhere. Breaking up passes through the neutral zone. Winning puck battles along the boards. Setting crushing screens in front of Harvard's goalie.
Even when he wasn't scoring, he dictated the pace every time his line hopped over the boards. Midway through the first period, Garrett intercepted a sloppy pass just inside Briar's blue line.Without hesitation, he banked the puck off the boards toward Logan, who exploded down the right wing with Tucker keeping pace on the opposite side. The three connected like they shared one brain.
Logan faked a slapshot which allowed for Tucker to intercept, cleanly sliding the puck into the goal. The red light flashed, the goal horn erupted, and the arena exploded. You shot to your feet along with Hannah and everyone else, cheering until your throat burned. Dean was the first one to reach Tucker, wrapping an arm around his shoulders before shoving his helmet affectionately.
By the middle of the second period, Logan buried one of his own after Dean fought through two defenders behind the net to feed him a perfect no-look pass. A few minutes later Tucker struck again on the power play after Garrett rifled a shot from the point that bounced straight onto Tucker's stick. Everything Briar touched seemed to turn into goals tonight. The chemistry between the four upperclassmen was almost unfair to watch.
Every pass landed tape-to-tape. Every line change happened seamlessly. Every player seemed to know exactly where the others would be before they even got there. At the end of the second period, Briar held a comfortable 3-1 lead against Harvard. "Dean is going to lose his mind when he sees you in his jersey tonight." Hannah leaned closer with an unmistakably mischievous smile, which made a blush climb up your neck as you instinctively glanced down.
Dean's navy blue jersey hung almost to the middle of your thighs, the sleeves swallowing your hands completely. You'd borrowed it from Beau after he'd insisted Dean deserved a little 'extra motivation'. "He hasn't even noticed." Hannah smiled knowingly, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Trust me babe, he'll notice." Before you could ask what that cryptic statement meant, the buzzer sounded meaning that the third period had officially began.
Harvard came out desperate. Every shift became increasingly physical as the numbers of the clock counted down. Bodies slammed into the glass hard enough to make the boards rattle. Unfortunately, the referees' whistles remained suspiciously quiet. You hated when games turned like this, knowing that the desperation made players reckless. Halfway through the period, Dean carried the puck through the neutral zone with impossible speed.
One defender challenged him, luckily Dean was able to effortlessly slip around him effortlessly only for a second to step up. Dean toe-dragged the puck between the man's skates. The crowd collectively rose to its feet, only before he could shoot, a Harvard defenseman drove him shoulder-first into the plexiglass. Your breath caught as the impact thundered through the arena. Dean, however, bounced off the boards, somehow maintaining possession before spinning away from another defender.
He never even looked shaken, instead he cut toward the slot. Garrett anticipated the play perfectly. One crisp pass was all it took for Dean to snap a wrist shot through the two defenders. The net rippled as the goal horn blared yet again. You were already on your feet before you realized you'd moved. Dean pointed toward the student section as his teammates swarmed him in congratulatory helmet bumps. For one irrational second, you could've sworn he was looking directly at you.
When you finally sat back down, Hannah's grin could've powered the entire arena. "Told you." You shoved her shoulder, which only made her grin widen. "Oh, shut up." Only, you were smiling too hard to sound annoyed. Barely ninety seconds later, Dean struck again. Logan forced a turnover at center ice and immediately passed to Garrett. In response, Garrett threaded a pass between two Harvard sticks that had absolutely no business making it through.
Dean picked it up in stride, one fake forehand made the goalie drop in anticipation to which Dean calmly pulled the puck back to his backhand and slid it between the goalie's pads before anyone could react. Another goal and another explosion from the crowd. Your hands hurt from clapping, voice embarrassingly hoarse yet you couldn't find youself to care. The scoreboard now read 5-1 which in turn made Harvard's frustration boil over.
With just over two minutes remaining in the third period, one of their forwards blindsided Logan long after he'd dumped the puck in the net. Gasps echoed around the arena as Logan crashed awkwardly into the boards. Dean was halfway across the ice before Logan even climbed back to his skates, Garrett and Tucker followed immediately after seeing Dean shove the Harvard player backward with enough force to send him stumbling several feet.
Luckily, the freshmen on Briar's bench dragged the upperclassmen away before punches started flying. One minute remained. The arena buzzed with nervous anticipation despite Briar's lead, your lip was caught between your teeth watching as Garrett and Dean wordlessly communicated with one another. No words were exchanged. Years of playing together had made communication almost instinctive.
Garrett stole the puck near Briar's blue line and Dean was there in an instant, already alert. Garrett feathered a perfect stretch pass through the neutral zone. Dean caught it in stride without breaking rhythm. One defender remained, shifting left as the the defenseman followed. Dean snapped the puck back right through his own skates, slipping around him with breathtaking ease. The goalie lunged. Dean, however, waited until the last possible second lifting the puck cleanly beneath the crossbar.
The red light flashed and the horn sounded. For a heartbeat, the arena went completely silent, then every single person inside exploded. "A HAT TRICK BY #66, DEAN DI LAURENTIS!" The announcer's voice echoed through the building. Without thinking you threw your arms around Hannah, the two of you laughed as you nearly toppled into the row in front of you, hugging each other while the entire team tackled Dean beneath an avalanche of helmets and gloves.
Six-two. Final. Dean Di Laurentis. Hat trick.
You'd never been prouder. By the time you and Hannah reached the tunnel, your heart was still racing, body buzzing with adrenaline. Players filtered through in small groups, laughing loudly as they relived every goal. Garrett appeared first and Hannah didn't hesitate. She practically flew into his arms, you couldn't help but beam as Garrett caught her effortlessly, spinning her once before pressing a kiss against her forehead before dipping down and pressing one to her lips.
Then, Dean walked through. His helmet had disappeared somewhere during the celebration, blond curls damp with sweat, sticking up in every direction, cheeks flushed from exertion. When his eyes caught yours, everything ceased to exist. The coaches. The teammates. The reporters. The noise. There was only you. In two quick strides he was right in front of you. One second there was a few feet separating the two of you and the next, his hands were around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off the concrete.
A startled laugh bubbled from your lips as your feet left the ground. Instinctively, your arms wound around his neck, fingers brushing against the damp curls at the nape of his neck. He held you impossibly close, burying his face against your shoulder for the briefest moment as his heartbeat hammered wildly against your chest. He'd just scored a hat trick. The arena had chanted his name. Thousands of hats had rained onto the ice. Yet none of it compared to this. None of it compared to having you in his arms.
You melted into his embrace without hesitation, holding him just as tightly. "That was amazing!" You laughed, pulling back just enough to cup his flushed cheeks between your hands. Your eyes sparkled with so much pride that it stole what little breath he had left. "A hat trick, Dean! I'm so fucking proud of you." Dean couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him with so much unfiltered admiration. Maybe no one ever had.
His eyes drifted downward before he could stop them and his breath caught. You were wearing a jersey, but not just any Briar jersey. His. His last name stretched proudly across your shoulders, and the white number on the front rested directly over your heart. Something inside his chest squeezed so painfully he almost winced. It really shouldn't have affected him the way it did. It was just a jersey. Just fabric. Except, it wasn't. Seeing his name on you awakened every selfish, possessive thought he'd spent months trying to bury.
It looked right. Far too right.
"You're wearing my jersey." The words escaped almost reverently. Your gaze followed his before a rosy blush crept across your cheeks. "Oh." You smiled sheepishly, smoothing the front of it with your palms. "Beau practically insisted. He claimed it was good luck since you guys are only two games away from another Frozen Four." Yet, Dean barely registered your explanation. His thoughts were spiraling too quickly. His jersey. Your smile. The way you'd waited for him in the tunnel instead of celebrating with everyone else.
The way you'd hugged him before anyone else had the chance. The way you'd looked absolutely radiant cheering for him from the stands. His mind replayed every moment from the last few months in painful succession. You showing up with homemade soup when Tucker got sick. Driving hours just because Summer needed a friend. Holding his hand while the medic checked him over after his injury. Calling yourself his girlfriend just to get another guy to leave you alone.
Every forehead kiss he'd lingered on a little too long. Every hug he'd held a few seconds longer than necessary. Every excuse he'd made just to have you close. He'd spent months convincing himself that wanting you around all the time was normal. That missing you after only a few hours was normal. That getting irrationally jealous every time another guy looked at you was normal. Only it wasn't. It had never been normal. He couldn't keep pretending anymore, he wouldn't.
"Dean?" Your voice was soft, tinged with concern now that he'd gone completely quiet. Your thumb brushed gently across his cheek. "You okay?" His eyes found yours again. God. How had he been so blind? He was so unbelievably in love with you it almost hurt. A helpless laugh escaped him as he shook his head once, mind made up. "Fuck it." Before doubt had a chance to creep back in, he surged forward and captured your lips with his.
The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant. As if he was giving you every opportunity to stop him. You didn't. Instead, your surprised gasp melted into a smile against his mouth before you kissed him back with equal certainty. Every ounce of fear he'd carried for months dissolved in an instant. His hands slid more securely around your waist, holding you like he'd dreamed about doing for far too long.
Not because he was afraid you'd disappear, but because after wanting this for what felt like forever, he couldn't bear to put even an inch of distance between the two of you. Your fingers disappeared into his blond curls, gently scratching at his scalp as your tilted your head deepening the kiss, tongue sliding against his. Dean nearly melted. The one thing he'd imagined over and over whenever his feelings became impossible to ignore. The reality was infinitely better.
When the kiss finally broke, neither of you moved very far. Your foreheads rested together, noses brushing. His eyes searched yours almost nervously, as though waiting for someone to tell him he'd imagined the whole thing. Instead, you smiled completely enamored. "Took you long enough." You whispered, your lips brushing his as you stole another quick kiss simply because you could. Dean let out a breathless laugh. "You mean," He searched your face in complete disbelief. "We could've been doing this the whole time?"
A sheepish grin spread across your face as you nodded. Dean stared at you for a long moment, then groaned dramatically. "God..." He dropped his forehead against your shoulder. "I really am such a clueless bastard." You laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "It's okay, I still love you." Dean practically tackled you into another kiss, finally hearing the words he'd been waiting for months to hear without knowing it. "God, I fucking love you too, babydoll." He muttered against your lips.
Finally. Finally. Finally.
Off to the side, Hannah bumped Garrett's shoulder with a knowing grin. "See you guys at Malone's?" Dean didn't even glance in their direction. "Sorry, Wellsy." His answer came automatically, one hand absentmindedly tracing circles against your back. "I've got a lot of lost time with my girl to make up for." Because, now that Dean had you, there was absolutely no way in hell he was letting you go anytime soon.
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Summary: Logan knows better than to fall for his best friend’s little sister.
wc: 2,2k graham!reader; figure skater!reader; reader is inspired by alysa liu; brother’s best friend; hockey player x figure skater; mouthful reader; multiple chapter fic
Their house smelled like beer and sweat. Which meant the party was dying.
Bodies still crowded the living room, music still thumped through the speakers, and someone was loudly arguing about video game hockey in the kitchen, but the energy had shifted hours ago, from drunk and chaotic to lazy and half-dead.
Logan leaned back against the couch with a bottle hanging loosely from his hand while Dean flirted shamelessly with two girls near the staircase.
Typical.
Tucker was passed out in an armchair.
Also typical.
And Garrett… “Get your damn feet off my table,” he said, glaring across the room at a freshman defenseman currently ignoring him completely.
Logan snorted into his beer. “Y’know,” he drawled, “you get more aggressive every year.”
Garrett flipped him off without looking away from the kid. “I’m two seconds away from murdering half this team.”
“Only half?” Logan asked, smirking.
Before Garrett could answer, the front door swung open hard enough to hit the wall. Cold air rushed inside.
And then:
“Jesus Christ, this place smells disgusting,” a familiar female voice said dramatically.
Logan looked up automatically.
Y/N Graham stood in the doorway wearing leggings, an oversized Briar hockey hoodie (which was, by the way, stolen) and the kind of expression that suggested she’d rather be literally anywhere else. Still… she was here.
Her duffel bag slid off her shoulder as she kicked the door shut behind her.
“Oh, thank God,” Dean said immediately. “An attractive person finally showed up.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “Still using that line?”
“Still working?” he winked.
“It’s really not,” she said casually.
Garrett frowned from the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”
She stared at him blankly. “Hello to you too, sunshine,” she said sarcastically as she moved to give him a light kiss on the cheek.
“Weren’t you at practice?” he asked as he leaned down to receive it.
“Yeah… like three hours ago.” She checked her phone for the time. “I texted you.”
Garrett pulled his phone out, checked it, then shoved it back into his pocket. “Didn’t see it.”
“No way,” she deadpanned. “You mean you ignored your phone during a party? That’s so unlike you.”
Logan huffed out a laugh before he could stop himself.
Y/N’s eyes flicked toward him briefly. Just for a second. Like she only now acknowledged he was there.
Then she walked straight past the couch and headed for the kitchen like she owned the place. Which, honestly, she kind of did at this point. Especially when Dean instantly grabbed her bag from the floor and took it to the living room like second nature.
Nobody questioned it anymore.
Not when she’d been hanging around the team since their freshman year. Not when she knew all their names, their habits, their schedules. Not when she walked into their house without knocking and immediately started stealing their food.
“Is that my pizza?” Dean yelled, watching her take a container out of the fridge.
Y/N opened the takeout container. “If you have to ask, they’re not yours anymore.”
“That’s stealing,” he complained.
“That’s survival,” she replied, already placing the leftovers in the microwave.
Dean pretended to be annoyed about it. But not really, already accepting the terrible fate that his leftover pizza didn’t belong to him anymore.
Garrett, meanwhile, was still watching his sister with narrowed eyes like she might spontaneously set the house on fire if left unsupervised for too long.
She was too much like Garrett. Same sharp mouth, same stubborn confidence, same tendency to look at people like she already knew exactly how to win the argument before it started.
It made her annoyingly difficult to intimidate.
Logan had learned that pretty quickly.
The first time they met, she’d looked him up and down and said:
“You definitely look like a hockey player,” she said.
Logan laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The hair. The ego. The vacant expression. Very on brand.”
That had been two years ago.
And now she was just… always there. Curled up on their couch during movie nights. Stealing all their hoodies. Yelling at the TV during games. Bullying Dean with terrifying efficiency. Part of the furniture, basically.
Y/N hopped onto the kitchen counter and pointed at Logan’s bottle. “Is that the last Diet Coke?”
“No…” he lied, looking away because he knew she’d fight him for it.
“Give it to me,” she ordered.
Logan held the bottle out lazily. “Then come take it, Graham.”
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
Garrett didn’t even look up from his phone. “Don’t encourage her.”
“Too late, man,” Dean said.
Y/N slid off the counter and walked over. Logan expected her to snatch the bottle and leave.
Instead, she stopped directly in front of him.
Close enough for him to notice the cold flush in her cheeks from outside. Close enough to smell winter air and something faintly sweet underneath it.
She tilted her head and pouted cutely.
Logan grinned slowly. “That’s not gonna work on me, princess. I’m not your brother… or Tucker.”
“But… there’s only beer left in the fridge,” she said sadly.
“Come on, Johnny,” she said softly. “You’re really gonna let Garrett’s little sister die of dehydration?”
Logan grinned slowly.
“Pretty sure Coke does the opposite.”
“Wow,” she said, unimpressed. “And they let you into college.”
Dean barked out a laugh somewhere behind them.
Logan looked down at her, still smiling, and willingly handed over the bottle. She smiled and grabbed it before moving to the living room with his soda and Dean’s pizza.
But across the room, Garrett was watching the entire interaction with narrowed eyes.
He knew hockey players couldn’t be trusted around his sister.
Good thing Logan agreed.
And he had nothing to worry about.
“So… what are you doing here, Baby G?” Tucker asked sleepily, barely lifting his head from the armchair as Y/N practically threw herself onto the couch with Logan’s stolen Coke still in hand.
“My roommate’s having her boyfriend over tonight,” she said easily, stretching her legs across the cushions. “She asked me to disappear for a few hours.”
Dean looked offended on her behalf. “And your first thought was to come here?”
Y/N took another sip of the soda. “Well, yeah. You idiots always have food.”
“That’s weirdly touching,” Dean admitted.
“It’s not meant to be.”
Garrett pointed at her from the kitchen. “You’re not sleeping here.”
Y/N blinked at him. “I literally wasn’t asking permission.”
“You should,” he replied.
“Fine,” Y/N said dramatically. “I’ll just sleep in some motel then.”
Garrett looked horrified. “Absolutely not,” he practically shouted.
She smirked immediately, seeing he’d fallen for her teasing.
“You are not staying alone in some random motel.”
Y/N threw her hands up. “You seriously need to stop acting like I require constant supervision.”
Garrett stared at her blankly. “Y/N…”
“What?” she asked knowingly.
“Two days ago you got suspended from practice for fighting another girl.”
Y/N scoffed immediately. “She deserved it.”
“Wait, what?” Dean perked up instantly.
Y/N scoffed again. “Some girl at practice kept acting like I stole her routine or something.”
“You did steal her routine,” Garrett muttered.
“She wasn’t performing it correctly,” she said, offended.
“And you threw a skate guard at her.”
Her jaw dropped dramatically. “It barely hit her.”
Logan barked out a laugh. Tucker and Dean joined immediately.
Y/N pointed at them. “Thank you.”
Garrett looked exhausted. “I hate all of you.”
“That’s not true,” Y/N said sweetly. “You love me.”
“I tolerate you because we share DNA.”
“Aww.”
She leaned back deeper into the couch cushions, entirely too comfortable for someone who technically didn’t live there. Not that anyone was surprised.
At some point over the years, Y/N had stopped being Garrett’s little sister visiting campus and started becoming part of the house itself.
Logan sat on the end of the couch and looked at her.
She looked exhausted.
There was still faint glitter near her eyes from practice, her hair messy from being shoved into a rushed ponytail, oversized hoodie sleeves covering half her hands.
Cute.
The thought came and went so fast Logan barely registered it.
Garrett’s sister.
Mouthy figure skater. Professional thief of their food. Human headache.
Nothing more.
“Hey,” Y/N suddenly said, tossing a pretzel at his chest. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Logan caught it automatically. “I’m trying to figure out how Garrett and you came from the same genetic pool.”
“Easy,” she replied. “I got the personality. He got the anger issues.”
Garrett flipped her off from across the room.
“See? I’m right.”
Y/N smiled proudly.
“Anyways,” she said, taking another sip, “you boys don’t mind me. Just finish your party. I can sleep on the couch.”
She sounded completely unconcerned about it already, like the decision had been made hours ago and everyone else was just catching up.
Before Garrett could argue again, she shifted deeper into the cushions, grabbing one of the throw pillows and shoving it under her head.
Logan snorted softly.
“She’s nesting,” Tucker said.
“I do not nest,” Y/N mumbled, eyes already half-closed.
“That’s my pillow, by the way,” Dean pointed out.
“Communism.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how communism works,” he replied.
Garrett crossed his arms. “You’re not sleeping down here while the house is still filled with people.”
Y/N cracked one eye open to stare at him. “Garrett. I grew up with you. Trust me when I say none of your friends scare me.”
“That’s because you have terrible survival instincts.”
She smiled lazily. “Maybe. But I’m tired enough not to care.”
And honestly, she looked exhausted.
The dark circles under her eyes were faint but there, her voice rough with sleepiness after what was probably hours at the rink.
Figure skating looked elegant until you actually watched the training. Then it just looked painful.
Logan had seen enough practices to know that much.
Y/N shifted again until her sock-covered feet ended up in his lap without warning.
He looked down at them. Then at her.
“…seriously?” he asked, annoyed.
“You’re warm,” she said simply, not even bothering to move.
Garrett rubbed a hand down his face like this entire room was raising his blood pressure by the second.
Within minutes, her breathing evened out.
Asleep.
Even with the music and chatting around her.
Dean noticed first. “Wow. She’s actually dead.”
Garrett immediately grabbed the nearest blanket and tossed it over her without a second thought.
Something in Logan’s chest tightened strangely at the sight.
Not because Garrett was protective, that part was expected. But because Y/N relaxed almost instantly after the blanket covered her. Like she trusted, without even thinking about it, that her brother would always take care of her.
Garrett glanced toward Logan then. “Don’t let anyone wake her up.”
Logan frowned. “And why am I responsible for that?”
“Because I know you won’t anyway,” Garrett said, clapping Logan’s shoulder once before heading off to probably end the party.
It wasn’t even said like a warning.
That was the worst part.
It sounded like trust.
Dean followed right behind him, still muttering something about his stolen pillow, while Tucker dragged himself upstairs looking half-conscious.
And then suddenly, the living room was quiet.
And Y/N was asleep beside him.
Or technically… on him.
Logan looked down carefully. Her feet were still in his lap, tangled under the blanket Garrett had thrown over her earlier. One of her hands was tucked under her cheek, hair falling across her face messily.
She looked peaceful asleep.
Softer.
Not like the sharp-mouthed girl constantly arguing with everybody in the house.
Just tired.
Logan shifted slightly, testing to see if he could leave.
Y/N immediately made a small sound of protest and moved closer unconsciously, pressing her legs more firmly against him like she was searching for warmth in her sleep.
Logan froze.
Completely froze.
“…seriously?” he muttered under his breath, throwing his head back.
Because now if he moved, she’d wake up.
And somehow that felt illegal considering how exhausted she looked.
He leaned his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling with the exhausted resignation of a man realizing the universe hated him personally.
This was ridiculous.
The same girl who once laughed at him for walking into a glass door.
The same girl who stole his fries every single time she came over.
The same girl who called him “Johnny Boy” specifically because she knew it annoyed him.
There was absolutely no reason for him to suddenly be hyper aware of the weight of her legs across his lap. Or the heaviness of her breathing. Or the hair falling across her face.
And yet—
His eyes dropped back to her face.
A strand of hair had fallen over her cheek. Without thinking, Logan reached over slightly to move it away.
The second his fingers brushed her skin, Y/N frowned softly in her sleep before relaxing again almost immediately.
Trusting. Comfortable.
Like she never once considered he could be anything except safe.
Something twisted strangely in his chest.
Logan pulled his hand back fast.
“Yeah,” he muttered quietly to himself, staring back at the ceiling again. “This is exactly how people die.”
