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I take her in, her small body hidden by my jacket, eyes wide and expectant, full rosy lips, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Again, it’s like I’ve fallen under some sort of spell. I draw in a breath and attempt to shake off whatever hold this girl has on me.

“Okay.”

I followthem home to a street I’m all too familiar with. There’s a moment of awkward silence as Skye and I stand by her door, staring at each other while her sister makes her way inside the building. We both speak at the same time.

“I’ll go get my license—”

“No need to get the license—”

The low sound of a laugh escapes her mouth. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips when her face pinkens.

Her eyes go to the name tag on my chest.

“Thank you again, Officer... ?”

“Logan Cole,” I say.

I need her to know my full name. Not just the last name on the tag.

“Skye Devereux.”

Her right arm rises, but her hand is lost inside the sleeve of my jacket.

“Oh, your jacket! I’m so sorry. Forgot I’m wearing it.”

Another awkward moment follows as she unzips and shrugs my jacket off. Her skin pebbles with the loss of the heat it provided.

I take the jacket back and give her my hand to shake. It’s an innocent enough gesture, but I can’t fool myself into thinking there’s nothing to it.I need to touch her. Just once.

Her hand is so small, it disappears into mine. Delicate bones and soft skin meet my roughened hand. Her left arm drapes over her chest. I know she’s trying to hide her near-nakedness from me. Too late. I memorized it all. But I don’t ogle or make it even more embarrassing for her. Too soon, I let her hand go and gesture to the door behind her back.

“Good night, Skye. Be safe.”

Walking away, I put the jacket on, still warm from her body. A faint scent of orange blossoms lingers on the heavy fabric and it makes me smile. I look back when I get to the cruiser, just in time to see the door close. She’d been watching me.

Chapter Three

“Great! This is just great,”I blurt, holding the empty bag of coffee beans.

It had been River’s turn to go grocery shopping yesterday, but she slept until noon, showered, took the shopping list, and left right after. She hates food shopping and always tries to bribe me to do it. I’m sure she only went out to avoid me. She did a pretty good job of that. Between her being out and my having to finish a paper yesterday afternoon, she’d managed to avoid me all of Saturday. I’m not sure what I’m more annoyed with—her avoiding me, avoiding talking about her drinking the last few months, or her forgetting to buy coffee even though it’s on the list.

I can’t go without coffee. I need my morning fix, so getting dressed and facing the Sunday morning chill it is. The weather app on my phone says the current temperature is a crispy forty-three degrees. It’s a little on the cold side for early September but not unheard of. I pull on my favorite pair of yoga pants, extra soft from many washes, a thermal, and the red hoodie with the Riggins University logo. Then, I step into my shearling boots and grab my jacket.

I’m one of those people who’s always cold. Being born and raised in Vermont should have made me less susceptible to the cold, but I’m not. Which again, for the umpteenth time, makes me wonder what I was thinking when I went out late Friday night—or Saturday early morning, rather—dressed in pajamas.

I leave a note on the fridge for my still-sleeping sister, letting her know where I am, and walk to Pat’s Cafe, half a block away.

A couple of minutes later, I wave to Pat behind the counter as I step through the front door of the café. The scent of coffee and sugary goodness makes me instantly happy.

The décor is what one could call bohemian chic. The hardwood floors are dark with age and use, but the space is bright with sunlight and color. The café is decorated with a mismatch of tables and chairs of all different colors, textures, and sizes. A couple of couches flank one of the walls along with a few oversized beanbags. Those are always taken first.

I’ll miss this place when we graduate and I have to move closer to wherever I can find a job. I first met Pat when we moved into our apartment three years ago to attend Riggins University, and she promptly declared herself our college mom.

I sigh, eyeing the big clock on the wall, and wait in line for my chance to order. The place is busy for 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday, but it’s mostly locals hanging around. I see a few RU students, but they usually arrive later in the day after having slept the morning in. Pat’s Cafe is always busy with college kids despite the food plan the university offers. The chance to eat a meal that tastes like homemade with a side of free Wi-Fi and Pat’s ever-loving mothering of anyone who comes into her café is not something many can pass up. Pat knows everyone by name and has no qualms about giving them a verbal smackdown if she thinks they’re misbehaving. Or an actual smack to the back of the head if she thinks they deserve it.

As I wait, memories of the lastRiver rescue missiontake residence in my mind, and I smile to myself thinking of the police officer who pulled me over.Logan Cole.I let his name roll off my tongue silently, and I like the way it feels. My chest expands and contracts as I release a resigned sigh. It’s just like me to have met the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen during the most humiliating moment of my life. Just thinking about it, my face flames again. I can’t deny the heat that pools low in my belly, either. Just thinking about him turns me on. Embarrassment and lust take turns, fighting for dominance over me. Maybe I’m going through some delayed hormonal puberty.

As if being pulled over and thought to be driving drunk wasn’t bad enough, I just had to be wearing PJs that barely covered my ass and pink bunny slippers because, you know? That’s not awkward or anything. Who goes out in public like that? Apparently, me. I do. And all because of River.