𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃ℊ𝓈:John Logan X cheerleader! Reader
Logan doesn’t even look up as he skates toward the corner to collect another puck.
“The goalie looked embarrassed for you.”
Several heads snap toward the sidelines.
Then laughter erupts across the ice.
You offer the team your brightest smile before lazily twirling a pom-pom over your shoulder.
“Don’t encourage him,” Garrett sighs from the bench.
Dean, however, looks entirely too entertained.
“Oh no,” he says. “Please continue.”
Tucker nearly falls over laughing.
Logan skates closer until he’s leaning against the glass separating the rink from the sidelines.
“You always this annoying?”
Because somewhere between the spilled coffee incident and arguing over whether hockey players counted as athletes or just men with expensive knives on their feet.
You’d started liking his laugh.
More than was reasonable.
More than you planned to admit to literally anyone.
Before the girl sitting in the front row.
Before the matching smiles.
Before everyone started whispering about John Logan having a girlfriend.
Almost impressively fast.
By the time practice started, half the cheer team knew.
By halftime, apparently the entire arena knew.
You found out when Mia casually said.
You looked up automatically.
Because of course she was.
Sitting near the front row wearing his jersey.
His name stretched across the back.
Like she’d always belonged there.
Because you didn’t like John Logan.
“She’s really committing to the hockey girlfriend thing.”
Your teammate nudges your shoulder.
You force yourself to look away.
Mia studies your expression.
“That wasn’t what I said.”
“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
The lie comes too quickly.
Across the rink, Logan notices.
He notices you aren’t standing near the tunnel anymore.
He notices you stopped yelling insults every time he missed a shot.
He notices you haven’t called him arrogant in almost a week.
He notices you don’t look at him the same way.
That bothers him more than it should.
Garrett’s voice pulls him back.
Logan tears his eyes away from the sidelines.
“You missed your last shot.”
Logan grabs another puck.
“That’s what she always says about you.”
Because that’s the problem.
The sarcastic comments after every practice.
The way you’d clap dramatically every time he missed.
The way you’d grin when he rolled his eyes.
The way talking to you had somehow become the easiest part of his day.
And he hates that he does.
Dean says it casually while reaching for his water bottle.
His eyebrows pull together.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dean gestures toward the sidelines.
“You’ve looked over there more than you’ve looked at your actual girlfriend tonight.”
Logan immediately looks away.
“I was watching the crowd.”
“The crowd isn’t wearing a cheer uniform.”
Tucker doesn’t even try to hide his grin.
“The game is happening on the ice, buddy.”
He knows exactly who he was looking for.
He knows whose reaction he waited for after every goal.
Whose voice he expected to hear making fun of him.
Whose smile he’d started searching for before every game.
And it wasn’t the person wearing his jersey.
That should probably mean something.
You hate that you still notice him.
You hate that your eyes still find him on the ice without trying.
You hate that when he scores, your first instinct is still to cheer.
You hate that you still know his habits.
The way he taps his stick twice before face-offs.
The way he fixes his gloves between shifts.
The way he looks toward the crowd after a good play.
You pretend not to notice.
Because what are you supposed to do?
Walk over and tell him watching someone else wear his jersey bothered you?
Tell him that hearing the word girlfriend felt like someone knocked the air out of your lungs?
Tell him that you’ve spent the entire week
avoiding him because somehow he matters more than he should?
After the game, you’re packing your things when his voice stops you.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
His eyebrows pull together immediately.
The kind you’ve perfected over the years.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“You ignored me twice this week.”
“Then what is the point?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
He just knows something feels wrong.
And somehow that bothers him more than it should.
You let out a short laugh.
“You have a girlfriend, Logan.”
The words come out quieter than you intended.
Not because he didn’t know.
Because he didn’t expect you to say it.
You look down at your bag.
You hate how your heart reacts to it.
The silence that follows feels worse than an argument.
Because neither of you is yelling.
Neither of you is teasing.
Neither of you is hiding behind sarcasm.
You’re both dangerously close to being honest.
Logan wants to tell you that the jersey doesn’t matter.
That the girl wearing it isn’t the person he looks for in the crowd.
That every time he steps onto the ice, his eyes still search for the cheerleader who called him arrogant on their second meeting.
The one who made fun of his shots.
The one who somehow became part of his routine without him noticing.
He wants to tell you that lately, even when someone else is standing beside him
He’s still looking for you.
Because he doesn’t understand why it matters so much.
And admitting that it matters at all would mean admitting something else.
You want to tell him you don’t care.
That seeing another girl wearing his jersey didn’t make your chest ache in a way you don’t know how to explain.
But your silence says enough.
Because maybe the worst part isn’t that John Logan has a girlfriend.
Maybe the worst part is realizing that if he wanted to hurt your feelings.
So you both keep pretending.
Even when his eyes still find you in every crowd.
Even when yours still find him first.
Even when everyone around you notices before either of you do.
Because she might have his jersey.
She might get the goodnight texts.
She might get to stand beside him after games.
When John Logan looks up after scoring , He’s still looking for you.
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𝒯𝒶ℊ𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉: @thecraziestcrayon
