Page 21 of Attractive Forces

We pull up at the lake, joining the handful of cars in the parking lot. It’s a small gathering with only about a dozen of Logan’s friends on the invite list.

The last remains of the sunset flicker across the surface of the lake, turning the ripples a deep gold among the black.

Leaving the warmth of the car, Logan and I head over to the small patch of beach where his friends have scrounged up enough driftwood to create a struggling fire. It’s fighting a brave battle against the cold wind.

“Hey, Stenton.” Brewer flicks his eyebrows up in acknowledgment as we arrive. A few of the others offer me a muted greeting after exclaiming enthusiastically over Logan.

“Hey.” I refuse to let myself feel awkward around Logan’s friends. So what if they’re popular? They’re still only people.

Logan acts like there’s nothing odd about me being here, so I follow his lead, sitting down on a log next to him.

But he’s hardly seated before he jumps up again.

“Let me grab you a drink.” He clasps my shoulder with his hand. The warm weight of his hand lingers on my skin even after Logan heads over to the chilly bin.

It’s incredibly optimistic to believe that you need a chilly bin to keep drinks cold tonight when the mercury is hovering around ten degrees.

But I don’t spend much time thinking about the science of keeping drinks cool. Instead, I find myself watching Logan as he talks to his friends on the other side of the fire.

He’s wearing a hoodie, but you can see the outline of his body underneath, his broad shoulders tapering down to his waist.

Jennifer leans in close, putting a hand on his chest. My shoulders stiffen until he takes a step back from her and she drops her arm.

He bends down to grab a beer out of the chilly bin, giving me a view of his denim-clad ass that suddenly has my mouth going dry.

What the hell?

I must really need a drink.

When he straightens, he glances over at me. Our eyes meet across the bonfire, and he smiles, grinning the Logan Madison grin that shows a trace of what he must have looked like as a kid.

My heart skips as I return his smile.

Then he’s loping back toward me, the easy smile still on his face.

He hands me a bottle of beer and sits next to me. I can’t help noticing the way his long legs stretch out next to mine.

I twist the lid of my bottle and take a long draw.

He leans in close to whisper in my ear. “What rating are you giving this particular brew?” The puff on his breath shimmies across my skin.

Something stirs inside me like a mythical dragon waking up after a long hibernation.

“Uh…I reckon it’s about a seven,” I manage to get out past the knot that has sprung in my throat.

His eyebrows quirk up. “That’s a pretty high ranking from you.”

I cough, trying to get rid of the knot, but it turns into a splutter. “It’s pretty good beer,” I say when I recover.

I glance at him as I take another sip, noting how his hands clasp his soda bottle. Unlike the rest of him, there’s nothing noteworthy about Logan’s hands. They’re normal-sized, the skin on the back smooth and tanned, but still just typical hands. However, these hands can throw a rugby ball with such precision. The hands he uses when he claps me on the back or touches my arm.

The hands I’m suddenly noticing.

He raises his soda to take a pull, and my attention turns to his mouth. His lips are pink and full, and yep, it appears I’m giving in-depth contemplation to the way Logan’s lips wrap around the soda bottle.

My heart races, and I shake myself, glancing at the fire, aware I’m breathing slightly too fast.

What is with me tonight? Who or what has taken over my brain?