Page 22 of Attractive Forces

I try to calm down, but it’s difficult.

Logan sticks by my side, just like he did at Brewer’s party. Unlike Brewer’s party, we don’t really talk. The conversation swirls around us.

I’m hyperaware of his presence. The way his elbow brushes up against mine. A few inches separate us, but somehow, I can almost feel the heat radiating from him. Like I’ve got special Logan detectors in my skin.

“You want another?” he asks.

“Huh?”

Logan nods toward the ground, where I’ve propped my empty beer bottle against the log.

“You want another beer?” he asks patiently.

I’m tempted to keep drinking beer, but my head is messed up enough already tonight. It definitely doesn’t need outside help.

“Thanks, but I’m all good.”

“Okay.” Logan doesn’t move from my side.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get one,” I manage to get out. It might be a good thing if he leaves my side, give me a chance to straighten out whatever’s going on inside my head.

“Nah, I’m driving, remember?”

Oh right, that’s why he’s been drinking soda. Because he drove me here, and he’s my ride home. I really need to get it together.

“Right, who’s coming for a swim?” Jennifer asks.

I gape at her in disbelief because it’s cold while fully clothed by the fire right now. Add in removing clothes and immersing yourself in freezing water, and you’ve got conditions ripe for hypothermia.

But Logan’s friends are obviously made of hardier stuff than me because there’s a chorus of enthusiasm at Jennifer’s idea, along with the prompt removal of clothing.

Logan turns to me. “What do you think?”

“This is next-level idiocy. It’s world championship status.”

He smiles. “You’ve got to embrace idiocy sometimes.”

“I think that belongs on a bumper sticker.”

We stare at each other, both of us smirking. And that’s where it should’ve ended. Although it appears no one gave our eyes that memo because we continue to stare, long past the point where it’s socially appropriate to stare at another guy.

Logan finally looks away, scratching his neck.

I blink. What the hell?

“I…ah…might go in for a bit,” Logan says.

“Yeah, okay.” My voice sounds like it has been rolled in gravel.

Logan moves a few feet away and starts to strip.

I avert my gaze because watching him take off his clothes would be weird, right? But continuing the trend of my eyes having a will of their own, I end up glancing at him when he’s down to his boxers.

A weird feeling overtakes me as I watch Logan.

It’s not envy.

That’s what I should be feeling, right? Looking at another guy’s ripped torso, realizing how far I am from having my own six-pack.