Page 31

L ogan’s air-conditioned place attacks me like a ton of bricks and my body shakes.

“Here.” He holds out a towel, but instead of letting me take it from him, he wraps it around my shoulders. “I’ll go get you some clothes. You can take a hot shower if you want.”

I needed more clothing around him, not less.

“Just clothes will be good. Thank you.”

He nods and heads upstairs.

I tug the towel a little closer, spotting the couch I had previously sat on as he generously tended to my wounds.

On paper, Logan’s the perfect boyfriend. He’s kind—even though his first impression wasn’t great. He’s loyal to his friends. He obviously takes care of himself and he’s not an egotistical sociopath. Worst of all, he’s dangling right in front of my face, and I’m not allowed to have him.

Footsteps hit the stairs, and Logan comes back with one of his shirts and sweatpants. I bet they smell like him.

“Thank you,” I say as I take them from his outstretched hand.

“Bathroom’s upstairs to change in but obviously you know that. Same duplex and all.” He lets out an awkward huff and I smile.

Since all I need is to change clothes, I decide to just do it here. “Turn around.” Déjà vu.

When he does, I drop the towel and start with my tank first, then my shorts. I catch Logan watching me from the reflection on the glass of the balcony doors.

My skin blazes as he worships me with his stare. A dark, heated stare.

When I’m finished and wearing Logan’s oversized clothes, I turn around and dab my hair before placing the towel over his kitchen chair.

“I guess I should text Lana.”

“Right. Let me grab my phone.”

The air is thick with tension swirling like shadows.

He hands me his cell and I scroll to find Lana’s name in his contacts. I’m not trying to be nosy, but she isn’t hard to miss.

Charlotte.

Just seeing her name rears the little green monster’s ugly head inside me. Their relationship sounded serious, so maybe he’s still in love with her. Or maybe it’s nothing. Also, I have no business reading into it because I basically told this man I want nothing more than a friendship.

Logan busies himself in the kitchen as I wait for a response from Lana.

Lana: Oops. I can’t believe I did that.

I shake my head, mentally cursing her.

Logan: Just forget whatever you’re trying to do. Nothing is happening between me and Logan.

After making sure the text got delivered, I delete it. I glance up from the screen, and Logan must have taken off his shirt because his naked inked back is on full display.

Jesus. He is so getting shirts for Christmas. Lots of them. If I make it that long.

Lana: I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I’m going to be late at the studio. Maybe you can hang out at Logan’s until I get home. Love you. Bye.

Ugh. I hated, but loved, my best friend.

“What did she say?” He sets the spoon down after using it to mix something and hands me a black matte mug. “It’s hot chocolate.”

This man makes hot chocolate.

Kill me now.

“That sounds perfect.” I take it letting the warmth seep into my hands. God, did it smell delicious. “Lana said she’s going to be at the studio late tonight. So… if it’s not too much trouble—”

“Sora. You can stay here as long as you want.”

“Okay, but after what happened in the lake, I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

His jaw moves before taking a sip of hot chocolate. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. “Consider it forgotten. We’re friends and I’d rather have that with you than nothing at all.”

My legs turn to Jello, gripping the chair with my free hand for stability. My smile is sad, and I’m not sure I can mask it. “What crazy and wild plans did you have tonight that I’m probably ruining?”

“You’re looking at them.”

“Hot chocolate was the plan?”

“That’s a bonus.” Holding the cup in one hand, he raises his free arm and runs his hand through his hair, his bicep flexing. “I’m always on call, so I have to stay available most of the time.”

“What about the road trip?”

“An exception.”

My cheeks warm, the feeling crawling to my ears. I’ve never blushed so much in my life as I have around him. “You’re a good man, Logan, whatever your last name is.”

It truly doesn’t matter if I know his last name, it’s just another layer of the Logan onion I need to peel.

“Beckham. My last name is Beckham.”

That’s a great last name.

“I like it. Okay, Logan Beckham. What do you want to do?”

He leans his weight down on his shoulders as his hands rest on the table, and it makes his muscles pop even more. “I have Monopoly.”

“Oh, you’re so on.”

He walks toward the game, but I stop him. I put my hand on his shoulder, then snatch it away because touching him is a bad idea. “Before we do, I have one request.”

“What’s that?”

“Please, for the love of God, put on a shirt. If this friend's thing is going to work, we need to wear more clothes around each other.”

A devilish smirk forms. “I’ll be right back.” Before he heads upstairs, he places the game on the table. “Start dealing the money. And no cheating.” He points a finger my way.

“I’m offended!”

He grins, heading upstairs, and I smile again, finding myself doing that a lot around him.

Logan joins me after applying more clothes to his body and sits next to me. Right next to me, so close, I can smell his woodsy scent. Fucking shit, I need to find out what soap he uses. But truly, I’m gasping for air with his body so close to mine.

I am going to murder Lana when she gets home.

His scent is torture, and his arm is brushing against mine.

I place the pile of cards in their proper space. “Another thing before we start. I know there are a ton of rules, but I follow the original to a T. So, none of that bullshit people made up.”

“You mean like collecting money if you land on free parking? Or getting out of jail after three rolls. That kind?”

“We’re going to need some alcohol in this hot chocolate.” I hold my mug in the air, and he laughs.

Mental note: memorize the sound of Logan’s laughter.

“Okay. No made-up rules. I promise.” He picks up the dice and places them in front of me. “Ladies first.”

An hour later and we’re still at it. Tiny houses and hotels line the squares while money is scattered everywhere.

“I hate you.” I pout with my arms crossed against my aching nipples that haven’t stopped perking up since he’s sat down.

“You don’t hate me.”

“I hate that you bought Boardwalk. Especially when I own the other ones.”

“That’s the heat of the game, dove.”

“You’re annoying.”

“How about this? I’ll trade you my Boardwalk for your New York Avenue.”

I contemplate his request, but I know how valuable the orange spaces are. However, I’m not a Monopoly pro, so I’ll just agree purely on gut instinct. “Fine. Deal.”

He takes the property card from me, then a wide grin flashes on his smug, stupid, handsome face.

“What?” I say in irritation as I study him.

“Amateur,” he quickly says under his breath.

Hell no.

“I changed my mind. I want it back.”

“No can do, dove.”

“See. I hate you.”

His one-sided grin appears again, and I strain to see it, as I lean back in the chair with a yawn, checking the time on Logan’s cell. It’s almost midnight and I always worry when Lana is out this late alone. Though she swears the studio is safe, it doesn’t make the situation any better.

“Want some more snacks?” he asks, planting his gigantic hands on the table’s edge.

“I already ate half your bag of Doritos.”

“So?” He gets up, heading for his pantry door.

“So… what if you wake up with a sudden craving for cool ranch and you go for the bag and remember I ate them all? You’ll hate me.”

He grabs a bag of pretzels. “One, I don’t wake up randomly craving Doritos. And two, I can never hate you.”

My chest tightens. “Why are you always so nice to me?”

“Because you make it so easy.” He pops a pretzel in his mouth—a mouth I want to kiss.

“Stop saying sweet things like that.”

He leans down, his arms on either side of my body, and he takes another pretzel from the bag. “I’ll never stop saying nice things to you.”

Where the hell is Lana?

I break the euphoric eye contact, focusing my attention anywhere but on his ocean eyes.

“I’m not coming onto you, Sora. I’m just being honest.”

I swallow. “Fuck it. I’m eating all your pretzels, too.” I reach into the bag, biting a piece of salty goodness. “Oh my God. They’re honey mustard… I’m leaving no crumbs.”

He laughs, pushing off the table, grabbing two waters from the fridge, and I yawn again. “If you’re tired, you can stay. This couch is way more comfortable than the one at the shop, I swear. Better yet, you take my bed, and I’ll sleep down here.”

“I am not taking your bed.” I wonder if it smells like him.

I glance at the oversized gray sofa I sat on once before. It is comfy, and these clothes are cozy as hell, too. As the night moves on, I’m finding it harder to keep my eyes open.

“Sora.”

At some point, I must have laid my head down because someone is whispering my name in my ear. The voice is sexy and masculine.

“Sora.”

There it is again. Buttery smooth.

“Mmm,” I respond, keeping the side of my face plastered to the table.

I’m being lifted from my chair. My face no longer smashed against the grain of wood, but now against Logan’s chest. I force my eyes open, staring at the magnificent view that is Logan as he carries me somewhere, anywhere. I honestly don’t care.

“You’re warm.” I nuzzle my face closer to his chest, and when he smirks, I mentally curse myself for speaking that aloud.

He gently sets me on the couch, my eyes already closing as soon as I lie my head down on the pillow. “Sleep, dove.”

Sleep. Sleep sounds nice.

It’s dark when I open my eyes except for a small light off to the right.

Logan’s place is like being wrapped in a warm blanket. I’m conflicted. Do I murder my best friend who purposely sabotaged me, or do I hug her because being here makes me feel all kinds of things? Warm, fuzzy things.