7:55 pm reads the clock on my phone. I got here just in time, I think to myself as I stroll through the doors of the discrete sushi restaurant on the corner of Lexington Avenue and 52nd Street. You’d think that a multimillionaire athlete like Logan would choose something extravagant, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

The restaurant looks homely and, despite having a small dining room area, there still are a few vacant seats by the counter. As I walk through the room, looking for a place to sit, I can’t help but feel that I’ve been transported from New York to a place hidden right in the middle of Tokyo. Everything in this place, from the tables to the décor, screams Japan. Even the employees behind the counter are chatting softly in perfect japanese. This definitely isn’t a trendy sushi bar, but something more traditional and grounded.  

Oh, right, you’re probably wondering why the hell I’m going to a sushi restaurant chosen by Logan. It’s quite simple, really; I’m going to have dinner with him. You see, being a journalist has its perks. Even if you’re someone as unimportant as I am, press passes are always a good thing. For instance, press passes are what allows me to be places where I shouldn’t be—like Logan’s gym, for instance.

Maybe I should've done some more research beforehand, but I couldn’t resist the urge to go straight after my marks. I decided to start with Logan because he sounded like someone more… approachable. From what I’ve read, he’s level-headed and reserved, while Hunter is a complete trainwreck. While one likes to keep to himself, the other doesn’t mind being photographed while he parties hard inside the most exclusive nightclubs in the world.  

The moment I said that I was a journalist, though, Logan shut down fast. I thought my mission had already failed, but I decided to trust my instincts, and my instincts proved to be correct. I mentioned Hunter just once, and I swear I saw something change in his posture. A few seconds later and he agreed to meet me for an interview.

I’m right, I can feel it; there’s a story in here, somewhere.

Sitting by the counter, I drum my fingertips against the surface, anxiously checking the time on my phone. It’s 8 pm sharp and, even though he isn’t late yet, I’m starting to worry; what if he doesn’t show up? Guys like him probably flake on journalists all the time.

“You’re early,” I hear someone say behind me, and I turn around on my seat to see Logan standing behind me. I didn’t even hear him come in. He’s wearing a simple tailored black suit, and it fits him so perfectly that I can’t help but wonder if that’s a consequence of an expensive tailor or of the ripped body he’s hiding underneath the fabric. Maybe it’s a bit of both? Either way, I’m surprised to see him in a tailored suit. It’s kind of stupid of me, but I always assume that athletes (fighters, mostly) wear funky clothes everywhere.

“And you’re right on time,” I tell him, smiling as I feel a wave of adrenaline wash over me. I can’t believe that a guy like him, one of the richest men in the sports world, agree to be interviewed by me. Michelle was right; these profiles on Logan and Hunter might give me some leverage back at the office.

“So,” he starts, taking the seat next to mine, “you want to do a profile on me. Is that it?”

“That’s right,” I reply. Maybe I should tell him that I’m profiling him and Hunter, but instinct tells me to keep my mouth shut about it. “I want to give the readers of the Gazette a glimpse at who the real Logan is.”

“The real Logan,” he whispers, more to himself than to me, and smiles. “I’m afraid that’s going to be one hell of a boring article… There’s nothing really remarkable about myself.”

“I doubt that,” I reply. I don’t even know why, but there’s something about him that tells me that he’s more interesting than most men, famous or not. It’s a kind of aura, one that exudes power and control.

“Have you ordered already?” he asks me and, the moment I shake my head, he turns to one of the guys behind the counter and starts saying something in perfect Japanese. Holy shit, what the hell’s this? He speaks Japanese?

“I grew up in Japan,” he says, readying my thoughts. “My father spent most of his military career stationed there.”

“See? Now that’s something I didn’t know, and it’s definitely interesting,” I chuckle, reaching inside my purse and taking out my notepad and a pen. I set them on the counter, ready to jot down his words, when he reaches for me and places his hand on top of mine.

“I know you’re here to do a job… But don’t ruin dinner, alright? You’ll have plenty of time to take notes,” he tells me, and my body reacts almost automatically; I store all my stuff inside my purse again, and I nod at him.

We spend the next few minutes making small talk, chipping away at the ice between us; when the sushi rolls start being served, I feel as if I've known him for years.

“God, this tastes so good,” I say in what almost sounds like a moan, the most delicious sashimi I’ve ever tasted inside my mouth.

“Asakura is a true sushi master,” Logan tells me, satisfied with what I just said. “And he’s my friend as well,” he continues, nodding at one of the smiling Japanese men. Asakura returns Logan’s nod (in truth, he almost bows down) and goes back to cutting thin slices of salmon.

“Why isn’t this place famous?” I ask, snagging another sashimi from the tray in front of me. “It’s so good.”

“We’re not interested in making it famous. A lot of good restaurants have been ruined by fame… We don’t care about it, we just care about making good food.”

“We?”

“Yeah, well… This restaurant’s mine. And Asakura’s, of course; it’s a business partnership. But, please, keep that off the article, will ya? I don’t want to see this place getting flooded with curious people.”

“Deal,” I reply, Logan’s candidness getting to me. He was so guarded in his gym, but now he just seems like… a regular human being. One with whom I can connect to on a personal level. And it feels good; after covering so many events from a distance, it’s nice to be personal for once.

“Despite what you say… There’s more to you than meets the eye,” I continue, looking into his eyes. He looks straight back at me, turning on his seat, and I feel my heart tightening up inside my chest. Oh God, am I blushing? Keep it together, Natalie!

“I like sushi; is that a big revelation?” He laughs, never taking his eyes off me.

“I’m curious about what other things you might like,” I tell him, unconsciously biting down on my lower lip. With my heart picking up the pace, I start wondering about my cleavage; is it sexy enough? Has he even noticed it? And why the hell am I thinking about my boobs right now?

“Oh, I like a lot of things,” he whispers and, as if he can read my thoughts, he looks down my body. I think that my body temperature is rising so much right now that soon enough my dress will burst into flames.

“What about Hunter? What do you think about him?” I find myself saying, trying to focus on the job while I pull my mind out of the gutter.

“Hunter? He’s the heavyweight champion, I don’t know anything about him,” he tells me flatly, turning to the counter as his voice becomes ice cold. Yeah, right… Logan might be a lot of things, but he definitely isn’t a world class liar. Still, whatever story there is between him and Hunter, I know it’s still too early to press the subject.

“Oh, that’s a pity,” I tell him, changing gears fast. “But I’m not here because of him… I’m here because of you.”

“And what do you want to know about me?” he asks, that sweet warmth returning to his voice.

“Everything,” I find myself saying, the words coming out of my mouth before I can stop them. While I say it, I do just like he did before and allow my eyes to roam down his body, imagining how he must look completely naked… Whenever he’s inside a ring, wearing nothing but trunks, he looks like a God. And I’m definitely curious to see those muscles of his up close…

Oh, what the hell’s wrong with me? I never get this distracted while I’m on the job. He’s the guy you want to interview, not your date, I scold myself, but the way my heart’s thumping tells me a different story.

“Everything, huh?” he says, lowering his voice and looking away from me. He looks deep in thought, and I can almost see the gears turning inside his head. “Well, I have a lot of old photos and whatnot back at my place… Maybe you’d like to see them?”

His eyes lock on mine again, and I completely forget about what he just told me. The only fours words my mind has processed were back at my place.

My answer to that couldn’t be any more obvious.

“Yes.”