Page 58 of The Player Next Door

Even though he knew Clare didn’t care—she really had the most appalling palate when it came to wine—Logan took his time choosing a bottle. There was no reason to feel like this was some momentous event to prepare for, but a pack of butterflies had taken up residence in his stomach and showed no sign of leaving. He hesitated before going to his bedroom and grabbing a condom, but it wasn’t like he was giving her a condom bouquet or anything. What she wanted (and what he wanted, to be honest) was fairly obvious, but even so he felt more awkward than the first time he bought a pack at the pharmacy. As he was no longer fifteen there was no reason to feel that way, but everything about Clare had turned him upside down.

Clare opened her door and smiled up at him with a hint of shyness. At least I’m not alone in feeling like this, he thought, taking a seat on her couch while she opened and poured the wine. Her streaming service menu was called up on her TV, and Logan lifted his eyebrows when she sat down and handed him the glass of full-bodied Shiraz. “What are we watching?” he asked. He threw his arm over the back of the couch and leaned back.

“If you’re letting me pick,High School Musical 2. It’s my all-time comfort movie.”

Logan chuckled. “Really?”

“Comfort movies are exempt from mockery, okay? And Troy really sings his heart out on that golf course. What would you pick?”

“If we’re doing childhood comfort movies, probablyShrek 2.”

Clare bit the inside of her lips, eyes dancing with laughter. “Shrek 2? And you’re mockingHSM2?”

“You’re the one who said comfort movies are exempt from mockery, and yes,Shrek 2is a banger.”

Still glowing with amusement, Clare picked up her remote. “Shrek 2it is,” she announced, and settled in.

She wasn’t quite tucked into his side, so Logan decided to take matters into his own hands. He dropped his arm down from the back of the couch and pulled her closer, grinning to himself at her little squeal of surprise. “This okay?” he asked, bringing the wine to his lips.

She smiled up at him, taking a sip of her own. “It’s perfect,” she said, and snuggled into his side.

And it was. They were watching a goofy movie made for kids, and it was still the best date he’d ever been on. In fact, it was the first date he could remember whereNetflix and chillwasn’t just code forcome over and fuck me. He was reasonably sure that was where it was heading, but Clare was content to sit and watch a movie with him first.

Because she liked spending time withhim. Logan was getting a little tired of all these freight trains of realization coming out of nowhere and running him down, but there went another one. Even though he was on good terms with just about every woman he’d slept with, or at least the ones he’d kept in touch with, Clare was the first to truly show an interest in him as a person in years. She was willing to watch his dumb favorite movie from when he was a kid; she was willing to hang out with Burt; she was willing to sit and listen to him talk about drawing.

Clare must not have noticed that his world had changed all over again, because she stayed the way she was, curled into him like it was her favorite place to be. Logan idly played with the ends of her hair, and she sighed, melting against him a little more.

By the time the movie was over, Clare had moved from leaning against his side to laying with her head in his lap, the better for him to stroke her hair. It was impossibly soft and silky, and he had long ago stopped paying attention to the movie on her TV. Instead, he played a game he hadn’t played in a long time and considered what color he’d assign her.

It wasn’t really a game so much as a thought exercise, but it was something he liked doing. His dad was a safe, enveloping, dark navy blue, and his mom—or what he knew of her—was the color of the sky in May, when it wasn’t quite the deep blue of summer but still seemed brighter than the pale, icy blue of early spring.

Sam, with her prickly personality and habit of swearing like a sailor on leave, was a dark, bruised purple, and the Aidens were primary red. The credits began rolling, the light flickering off Clare’s face, and Logan settled on a color.

Yellow.

The soft yellow of a newborn chick, or the yellow of butter on whole wheat toast. Clare was sunshine, warm and golden. He smiled softly, still stroking her hair, and she turned to look at him. “What’s that smile for?” she asked, head still cradled in his lap.

“I picked your color.” He’d never told anyone about that game, not even his dad. But telling Clare felt right. Her brow furrowed and he traced his finger down the short vertical line, trailing down across the tip of her nose.

“My color? Like . . . what color I’d look best in?”

“No, that’s pink. Your color is more like . . . the color I associate with you.”

“So, like my aura, or whatever.”

“I guess, yeah. Although I don’t see it around you, or anything. It’s more about how you feel.”

“Then what is it?”

Logan shrugged. “That’s private,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Hey, it’smycolor,” she protested, and pushed herself up so she was level with his face.

“How’s this: if you can guess it, I’ll tell you. But it needs to be the right shade, not just the general category.”

She frowned again, thinking. “It’s not pink, right?”

“Right.”