[Mature Content]
Noah's POV
"With leaving the Shadows and coming back home to Eastvale, I'd just been off my game," Logan had said.
"I'm feeling much better now and I'm ready to play to my fullest capacity."
"I just do it for the love of the game, y'know?"
Logan Whitaker's post-game interview had been quick, efficient, and maddening. Half flirting with the reporters, half bragging—how all good post-game interviews should be. He had the art of being insufferably suave down to a T.
Sly smirks. Short, cocky laughs. The occasional swipe of sweat across his brow. He knew what he was doing. He wanted to be seen. Wanted everyone watching at home to know: I played like a champ, and I won.
And he'd done it all in Beastman form, standing in front of the cameras in his half-shift state—ears sharp, tail flicking behind him, golden eyes glinting with satisfaction.
"Your tail is gorgeous," one of the reporters had gushed.
Logan, never one to waste an opportunity, had given them his most devastating smile. "Thanks, I grew it myself."
I should be happy for him.
And I am.
I'm happy that Fenrir is back. I'm happy Logan is back. I'm happy for the team—because now, we actually have a shot at winning The Golden Sun.
But I also want to kill him.
Because I cannot stop thinking about it.
The way he pointed the bat at me.
The way he winked as he ran the bases, fully aware there was nothing his opponents could do to stop him.
The moment his body started shifting mid-game, the roar of the crowd as he became something unstoppable.
Finnian hasn't shut up about it since.
'Our mate is back.'
'We should be with him.'
'We should be celebrating together.'
'We should be—'
"Enough, Finnian."
I drown her out with another swig of my drink.
Ginger beer.
Not the real thing. Not whiskey. Not vodka.
I don't trust myself to drink tonight. The team can go overboard with celebrations, and the last thing I need is to get too comfortable, too reckless.
I set my glass down.
We're at Casey's, the local restaurant and bar that we come to celebrate wins like this. It's been in Mateo's family for generations and, although he won't be the one taking over, it's still awkward when his Nona sets a basket of fries in front of me and he shoots me a glare. I don't think he'll ever forgive me for benching him like that.
"It was a lucky shot," Mateo scowls, taking a swig of his beer. "Could've been a swing and miss if the pitcher hadn't tripped."
"Watch the replay, buddy!" Logan calls from his seat, smirking.
Laughter breaks out across the restaurant, Logan leans back in his seat all smug confidence and bravado.
The entire team is scattered across different booths in the restaurant, eating, drinking, chatting and laughing. Then Logan's eyes meet mine.
A pink tongue darts out to lick condensation off the rim of his bottle. My breath catches in my throat. Those blue eyes stare me down. Tear me about. Devour me.
All these people and he's focused on one thing, and one thing only.
Me.
Heat shoots straight down my spine. I curse my body for reacting.
I swallow hard and look away, focusing on the table, on the barely touched basket of fries in front of me.
Elliot nudges me with his elbow. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I say too quickly. I push my chair back. "Just need to use the restroom."
I don't look in Logan's direction as I leave.
But I feel his eyes on me every step of the way.
---
The restroom is quiet, empty.
Cool water runs over my fingers as I let out a slow breath, staring at my reflection.
I just need a second.
Just a moment to clear my head.
I'll stay for a few more minutes out of obligation, eat a few fries so I don't look like I hated that we won. Then I'll leave and I won't have to see Logan again until practice.
I bring a handful of water to my face, the chill shocking against my skin. It doesn't help.
Finnian still purrs in satisfaction.
'You want him.'
'You miss him.'
'You belong to him.'
I grit my teeth.
No.
I hear the door to the restroom open and close behind me.
I glance at the mirror.
Logan silently turns the lock behind him, his gaze still picking me apart.
Heat coils in my stomach like a wicked pit viper.
I stand there, gripping the edges of the sink, forcing my expression into something neutral as Logan takes slow, deliberate steps toward me.
"Did you enjoy the game, Coach?"
I keep my voice even. "It was alright. Good game."
Logan tilts his head, smiling like he can see straight through my lie.
"Is that all?" He takes another step closer.
I swallow. "And congratulations on getting your wolf back. That must be a relief."
"It is," Logan confirms, stopping just behind me. Close. Too close. "But that's not what I'm referring to."
I glance up at his reflection in the mirror. "It isn't?"
Logan presses into my back.
I inhale sharply, my knuckles turning white against the sink.
His hand wraps around my throat—not tight, not choking, just holding.
Guiding.
Forcing my head up, making me meet his gaze in the mirror.
I should push him away.
I don't.
"Logan…" My voice comes out weaker than I want it to.
He husks in my ear, "Don't play coy, Noah. It's adorable when you try to act tough and aloof—but I see through you."
My breath stutters. My pulse spikes. Logan grins against my skin, like he can feel me unravelling. Perhaps he can.
"And what do you see?" I ask, desperate to sound unaffected.
"You were impressed during the game," he murmurs, his lips trailing lower. "And now, you're aroused."
"Bullshit."
"Is it?" His lips are right behind my ear now.
Finnian is preening, all but pressing against my senses like a puppy starved for affection.
'This is our mate. This is right.'
'Stop it.' I shove her down, forcing logic over instinct.
Logan's other hand slides down my torso, teasing, trailing.
"You're letting me touch you," he whispers.
"I don't want to cause a scene," I grit out.
Logan chuckles darkly. "Uh-huh. Can't cause much of a scene with the door locked, Bennett."
His lips graze a sensitive spot behind my ear. "Finnian likes this, doesn't she?"
She does. So do I. My body is a traitor and I can't help the heat that pools in my stomach, spreads lower.
Logan's hand slides lower.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs.
It's getting harder and harder to think with him touching me like this. "Hm?"
"You don't want to cause a scene, right?" He reminds me, chuckling softly. "Then tell me to stop. Tell me to get my filthy paws off you. Tell me that you don't want to be mine."
His fingers tighten around my neck slightly and a weak moan escapes my lips. It's not a 'no', it's not a 'stop'. It's a pleading sound and, one thing about Logan Whittaker is he knows all my pleading sounds.
He hums, pleased. "I told you already, I see right through you. I could smell your arousal from across the aisle."
"That doesn't mean anything," I force out, even as my hips twitch toward him.
He chuckles. "No?" His fingers tease the waistband of my pants. "I for one remember we have such fond memories of this place."
I let out a shaky breath as a finger gently slips past the barrier of my waistbands and traces the start of my pubic region.
"I'd bring you in here. Fuck you in the stalls. You're always so responsive when you're doing things you're not supposed to."
Like right now.
My brain fogs with lust.
The memory is too vivid— his hands gripping my hips, his voice rough as he whispered, "Be quiet, baby, or they'll hear you."
My fingers twitch against the sink. I should move. I should stop this. I should—
I jolt back, yanking away from his grip like I've been burned.
"I'm not in the mood to reminisce, Whittaker," I snap.
Logan smirks, raising his hands in mock surrender. "You're not?"
I inhale sharply. Focus. Stay in control.
"I should be going. I have to meet up with Kieran."
It's a direct hit. I say it just to hurt him. Just to get back at him. To remind him that he doesn't own me, that I'm not sitting around waiting for his love.
But Logan doesn't react.
He just smirks. "The doctor?"
"Yeah," I press on. "We went on a date a few days back. It was great. We're going on another."
Logan shrugs. Casual. Unbothered.
"I know you're trying to make me jealous, Noah."
I cross my arms. "Is it working?"
His smirk deepens. "No. Because I know that when you're alone in that quaint little bathroom of yours tonight, taking care of that sexy bulge…" He leans in, voice a murmur against my skin. "He's not going to be the one on your mind."
My lust bleeds into hatred and the hatred burns with lust. It's weird how the fact that I hate him makes me want him more. Makes me want him to punish me for my insubordination.
'You're always so responsive when you're doing things you're not supposed to.'
Logan turns, unlocks the door, and steps out.
Before leaving, he throws one last glance over his shoulder.
"See you around, Bennett."
The door shuts behind him and my knees give out underneath me. I hang on to the sink to keep myself from crumbling onto the floor.
Holy hell, Logan. Holy-fucking-hell.
Finnian purrs in satisfaction like my imminent mental breakdown is nothing but a mere inconvenience to her happiness. 'Mate is sexy.'
'I'm not even fully sure you know what that word means,' I shoot back mentally, placing a hand over my chest. My heart is beating faster than a rogue on the run.
'You say it,' Finnian snaps back. 'It means we want him to breed us. Look.'
I glance down.
My cock is rock hard through my pants.
"Fuck."