Logan's POV
I'm not even fully out of the shower when I hear someone yelling my name from downstairs.
The voice echoes up the staircase, loud, annoying and persistent. "Logan! Oh, Logaaaan! I know you're in here!"
I sigh, water still dripping off me, steam curling around my shoulders. I grab a towel, wrap it around my waist, and stand there for a moment, letting my head hang while whoever the idiot is keeps shouting.
"Logan!"
The sound grates against the thin barrier of patience I have left today.
I start drying myself off, muttering under my breath about idiots and the sanctity of post-game showers. The back door slides open downstairs, the creak carrying up through the vents. Then Ma's voice cuts through the noise, her tone is a warning.
"What's this hollering about, Tristche?"
Of course it's him. Only one person would stroll up to the Big House and bellow like a carnival barker.
