Page 6 of Attractive Forces

As he works on the equation I’ve set, I can’t help sliding a glance at him.

I sometimes wonder if I notice other guys’ appearances more than is normal, but I don’t think anyone could miss how good-looking Logan is. His face is perfectly symmetrical, with a square jaw and straight nose. His skin is smooth and golden, and he’s got these intense blue-green eyes along with caramel-colored hair. It’s no wonder he leaves a trail of breathless girls in his wake just by walking down the hallway at school.

“Is that right?” he asks. I blink. Great. I managed to zone out. I quickly check the calculations he’s done on the paper.

“Um…yeah, that all looks good.”

I scramble to write down a few more equations, and Logan works through them. A line springs up in the center of his forehead as he concentrates. He easily completes the first equation but gets stuck on the next.

“What am I doing wrong?” he finally asks.

I lean forward to study his calculations and immediately spot the problem. “Um…you need to convert the molar mass to grams before you can calculate the concentration.”

“Oh, okay.” He gets back to work.

It’s kind of awkward sitting here watching him. I grab my phone and check it. But no one has messaged me. It’s a massive contrast to Logan’s phone, which chirps away constantly. But Logan ignores it.

“Are these right?” His smooth voice breaks the silence.

I go through his answers. Everything is correct.

“Well done.” I find myself grinning like a game show host.

Logan flicks a small smile in my direction. He still doesn’t make eye contact.

“How about we move on to some titration calculations?”

Logan leans back. “My brain is fried. Can we take a break?”

“Sure.” I feel a bit guilty. Just because I can keep doing chemical equations all day doesn’t mean I’m normal. Hey, I’m a mathlete. I do equations in my spare time for fun. I’m not exactly on the typical spectrum here.

Logan’s eyes light up when he spots the basketball stashed in my closet. Because my closet door fails to do one of the primary purposes of a door and actually shut.

“Let’s go shoot some hoops.”

“Okay,” I reply.

Logan gets up to grab the ball. I can’t help noticing how his T-shirt shows off his very impressive shoulders and his jeans mold to him perfectly. It’s not that weird to admire another guy’s body, right? It’s like admiring a beautiful mountain or lovely sunset. Just appreciating that Mother Nature occasionally has a particularly inspired moment.

“You ready?” Logan shoots me an inquisitive look. I realize I’ve just been sitting there ogling him.

Heat flushes my cheeks. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

The previous tenant left a pitiful old basketball hoop with the frayed remains of a net clinging to it. There’re a few square feet of concrete underneath—enough to play ball.

I’m an okay basketball player. Basketball was a second-rate sport in my old school, but because of my height, I was roped into playing for the junior team. So, I have some moves.

It turns out my moves are nothing compared to Logan’s. The dude is obviously just a natural at every sport. Freakishly good.

It takes him a few shots to find his rhythm, but after that, I’m more toasted than a pack of marshmallows around a bonfire.

I scramble to defend him, but he sinks basket after basket. When I have the ball, he bats it away from me with ease.

He pulls up for a jump shot, and I crash against him. It’s like running into a slab of granite. I try to straighten up but manage only to trip over my own ankles and end up on the ground.

“You okay down there?” Logan peers at me. He extends his hand, and I grasp it. His palm is firm and warm as he pulls me to my feet. As soon as I’m standing, he lets go of my hand.

“Yeah, I just wanted the opportunity to get up close and personal with the concrete.” I brush some stones from my elbows and level a look at him. “Remind me never to say yes to a pick-up game with you again.”