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GRACE
"Okay, I know this all comes with the territory, and I'm so proud of you, John, and I know I said I would be able to let all of this go, and it's not that I don't trust you, I do--"
"Gracie, baby, it's barely 6AM here. Can you back track a minute for me?"
I sigh. He's right. I'd been stewing about this all morning before I finally called Logan, and my brain was two steps ahead of my mouth again.
"I'm not okay with that girl being in your bed last night," I huff.
"Good, 'cause neither am I," Logan chuckles at the other end of the line. "Only girl I want in my bed is you, baby. Forever."
As frustrated as I am, I can't help but smile. "I know, and I'm not mad at you," I clarify. "I mean, that's sexual harassment, John. You were stalked and sexually harassed, and I hate it. I hate that these girls think they have some kind of claim to you! I'm the one who gets to claim you!"
"Ooh you're kinda hot when you're jealous, babe."
I don't even hear him. "But why am I jealous? They should be jealous of me!"
"Puck bunnies aren't known for their brains, Grace."
"I'll give them something to be jealous about," I grumble. Wait. "Actually, John, I need to go. Call me after the game tonight! I'll be watching!"
"Grace, wait, what--?"
"Bye, I love you!"
"I love--" Click. I hang up and immediately flip to Twitter.
I will give those puck bunnies something to be jealous of.
LOGAN
"Goddammit," I grumble, clearing the Twitter notification from my phone. 10 minutes. It only took her 10 minutes. Good thing she's the love of my life, because she's stirring the hockey Twitter pot right now.
Garett saunters up to me, a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder, as I'm muttering --"love of my life."
Garrett grins, teeth still perfect even after years of hockey. "Yes, honey?"
"Not you, dipshit," I laugh, shoving him and picking up my own bag. We're on our way to a lukewarm hotel breakfast and then morning skate before tonight's game against the Coyotes. "Grace."
"Ah, yes, the woman who replaced me in your heart. What's the old ball and chain up to?"
"You better shut up, G, or I'll tell Wellsy how you talk about women when she's not around."
That gets him. Garrett Graham can play the cocky hotshot NHL-er all day, but he's gone for Hannah Wells. He worships the ground that woman walks on.
"You need a ball and chain in your life," he counters. "Grace will keep you grounded when your ego gets too big and you go mad with power."
I chuckle. "I don't think I'm the one going mad with power, bro."
I turn my phone around to show him Grace's latest tweet. She tagged me in it, so I got a notification, and I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.
It's a picture of us from last winter's All-Star break, taken by one of my teammates we were sharing the villa with. We were in Fiji, and, yeah, we'd traveled internationally together before, but there's a difference between staying in Paris with your girlfriend's mom and getting drunk on a private beach with your girlfriend. For instance, the latter is way better.
And my girlfriend looks good in this photo. She's sitting in my lap on the deck of the villa wearing a red and white polka-dotted bikini top with some white cover-up skirt thing. Which is probably for the best, because just the memory of that tiny swimsuit has me getting hard. We must be either coming from or going to the beach because I'm shirtless, and she has her arms around my neck, her face buried in the crook of my shoulder laughing about something while I'm grinning up at the camera. Come to think of it, I'm probably telling her how badly I want to fuck her in that bikini. I said that a lot that trip. And I followed through. But not in the pool because, "Johnny, do you know what chlorine does to a woman's pH?" Well, I do now.
So she posts this picture on Twitter with the caption, "Missing the sunshine and this man of mine! Hope you can hear me cheering all the way from Boston tonight, @jlogs22! Love you!"
For all her talk of giving the puck bunnies something to be jealous of, this is a little wholesome and innocuous, but it's so Grace. I like the tweet and retweet it with my own caption: "Ur MY sunshine, @gracieeivers. Luv u."
"Damn, man, I try to forget that you all went and partied it up in Fiji while I was stuck freezing my ass off in St. Paul!" Garrett groans.
I can't help but laugh. "That's what you get for being an All-Star, dude. Maybe drop a pass once in the while like the rest of us, and you and your lady can come next year."
"What's got Grace posting throwbacks anyway? Usually all I see from her are retweets of Taylor Swift fan theories."
Now it's my turn to groan. "Last night's puck bunny incident. If you ever tell her I said this, I'll disown you, but I think she's jealous. So this is some scheme to claim me, I guess."
Garrett laughs. "Don't sweat it bro. In 24 hours we'll be on our way home, and you can make her feel as secure in your relationship as she needs."
Sex. He means sex. I know it, and he knows I know it, and I'd be lying if I said that wasn't on the docket for this weekend, but Grace seems pretty caught up in this plot right now, and I have no idea how it'll play out.
"C'mon, let's go eat before Lukov uses all the waffle batter again!" Garrett heads off down the hallway, and I take one more glance at Grace's photo, which is already racking up likes and retweets.
GRACE
My tweet is already racking up likes and retweets, but it's only Phase 1 of Operation Piss Off Puck Bunnies. I've got years worth of ammunition on my phone that'll make their blood boil. I just need one of them to take the bait.
It's the Internet, so it's not long before someone does.
I'm scrolling through the comments, and most of them are genuinely so sweet. There are the ones from Allie, Sabrina, and Daisy that are a mixture of the fire, palm tree, beach, and cocktail emojis. Then there's Hannah's "sooooo jealous I missed this trip! 😭," which I responded to with, "Could've ditched the All-Star beau for a vacay. You were invited 😘." There are ones from fans wishing John and the team good luck or congratulating him on his rookie season.
And then there's the one I'm looking for.
@b00bz4bruins commented on my tweet, "sorry but anyone else think he's wayyy too hot for her? this post reeks of desperation."
This is my moment. I hit the reply button. Phase 2 begins now. "J doesn't complain" I type, adding a photo of us from Allie's premiere party a couple years ago. I'm wearing a short, one sleeve blue sequin dress that matches Logan's navy blue dress shirt. He'd undone the top 2 buttons by this point, and I had been ogling his chest all night. (Well, me and all the girls who weren't already ogling Garrett or Dean.) But in this picture, I've got one leg up around his hip, and he's kissing me full on the mouth, one hand teasingly high on my thigh.
I click reply and move on to the next comment, this one from @xoxokatykat. She's wearing a Bruins jersey in her profile picture, so this should be good. "College gf? Not to be mean but he'll dump u by the end of the season."
"Doubt it 🥰," I reply, adding a quick photo collage of us in Paris last summer. My mom took the photo while we were shopping on the Champs-Élysées, and, in it, Logan is holding my purse, my sun hat, 3 shopping bags, and both of our coffee cups while I look at flowers from a street vendor. And he's looking at me with such puppy dog eyes that I can't even be embarrassed that Mom took a picture of it. Next to it, I've added a screenshot of one of our text conversations:
GI: Miss you, baby. Play so good tonight!
JL: Miss you, too. I'll score one for you. Watch for it!
GI: Okay but be safe! I want you coming home in one piece.
JL: I'll always come home to you. NCKMAFY.
GI: "NCKMAFY" ???
JL: Nothing can keep me away from you
I keep scrolling, replying to any of the particularly brazen comments with little moments from my and Logan's life. Anything to hammer home the fact that I'm the one who gets the real John Logan. The puck bunnies can have TV Logan with his boyish charm and his slapshots and his locker room hijinks that get recorded for social media. But I get Johnny Logan, the man who was willing to give up a professional career so his family's business would stay open. I get the man who makes us watch Die Hard every Christmas, who listens to me talk about my classes when he's too tired to keep his eyes open, who tells me about the most famous serial killer from every city he's ever been to because of an old inside joke.
I get all of him.
And I'm sick and damn tired of these girls not respecting that.
So I reply to a handful more comments, attaching a photo from my 21st birthday, one from Logan and G's last Frozen Four championship, one from our anniversary dinner last year. I'm trying for a balance of sexy and domestic, because lots of women have slept with John Logan--I know that--but I'm the last one who ever will. (Unless I die some sort of horrific and/or premature death. I'd want him to move on and be happy...after a reasonable amount of time.) But I'm the only one who gets to build a life with him, and I hope the puck bunnies are devastated by that.
I think I've just about got it all out of my system when a retweet notification catches my eye. Some faceless avatar by the name of "BostonsBest123" has quoted my tweet with their own comment: "What a whore."
Classy. Well, if they already think I'm a whore...
I quote their retweet because I'm feeling a little bit frisky and a lot bit mad. Since Logan got called up to the NHL, I've gained a pretty big following on my public social media platforms, most of whom won't be too pleased by the slut shaming happening here.
"Jealous?" is all I write, accompanied by a picture of Logan's bare chest with my hand resting on it. It's one of my better artistic moments, actually. We were having a rare lazy morning in bed a few months ago, and the sun was peaking through our curtains and dappling his chest like a freaking Adonis. His hair is mussed from activities that I'll let BostonsBest123 imagine, and his lips are barely parted while he sleeps. My literal golden boy. All mine.
I've just hit reply when I get a text from Logan.
JL: Having fun, babe?
JL: I like green on you, but if you wanted attention you could just LMK.
GI: Okay maybe I want a little attention.
JL: Tomorrow night. Promise. LYF.
GI: Love you forever, too, Johnny. See you tomorrow.