Chapter 31 #2
“Don’t tempt me. I’ll take you with us.”
I groan. “You’d put us both in jail before dessert.”
They both turn on me with identical grins, and I know I’ve lost before I’ve even tried.
Betty pats Zoe’s cheek fondly. “Look after my sparkly creature. She forgets she’s tougher than she thinks.”
Zoe’s eyes slide to mine with momentary concern, but then she turns back to Betty with a wink. “Don’t worry. I bite.”
“Good girl. Have fun”—Betty blows us both a kiss as she shuffles back across her lawn—“and call me if you need bail money!”
I groan into my hands as Zoe steers me toward her car.
“I regret introducing you two.”
“You love it,” Zoe sing-songs. “Now get in. Who do I have to kill?”
***
Zoe parks us at a little café tucked off Colfax, the kind with mismatched mugs and fairy lights strung in the window. The kind of place I should feel cozy in, except my heart’s been in freefall since we left the house.
She orders for both of us, sliding me a chai and herself a triple espresso before flopping into the chair opposite mine. Her nails tap out a rhythm on the table.
“All right, Lu,” she says, eyes sharp despite the grin. “Spill. Who do I have to murder?”
I laugh weakly, the sound catching in my throat. “It’s not the PTA. Not exactly. Well, it is, but—”
“Please. Those bitches don’t deserve this level of drama. This is about a man, isn’t it?”
My fingers knot in my sleeve. I should back out, should say nothing. But Zoe’s stare is pinning me in place, and the truth has been clawing at my ribs for weeks.
“It’s Logan,” I blurt. My voice is too high, too shaky. “I’m with Logan. Eli’s—my—Logan.”
For a beat, there’s only silence. Then she gasps so loud the table next to us jumps.
“Shut. Up.” Her chair screeches back as she half-stands. “Shut. The actual. Fuck. Up.”
“Sit down!” I hiss, laughing helplessly as panic and relief war in my chest. “Zoe, people are looking!”
“Let them look!” she stage-whispers. “You’re banging Pookie Miller. Pookie!”
My face burns hotter. “Do not call him that—”
“Oh, honey, I’m calling him that forever. God, this is better than porn. How long? Where? When?”
I bury my face in my hands. “Oh my god!”
“No, no, no, don’t you dare try to downplay this!” She leans halfway across the table. “You’ve been sneaking around with Pookie Miller this whole time, and you didn’t say anything?”
“Zoe.” My voice cracks into a laugh that feels half-hysterical, half-relieved. “Stop!”
“Wait—Hutchy. Reid Hutchison knows, doesn’t he? That motherfucker. I asked him after Halloween, and he looked me dead in the eye and said nothing. The man’s a stone wall of loyalty and secrets.”
I groan with a nod. “He figured it out and asked Logan straight up, and no one can lie to Hutchy.”
“No one,” Zoe agrees fervently. “God, I hate how right you are. Okay, so Reid knows, I know, but Tamara doesn’t, and Eli doesn’t… what’s your plan here?”
“I don’t have one.” My hands drop uselessly to the table.
“Tamara would be stuck lying for me if she knew, and I don’t want to burden her with that, and Eli—he’ll never forgive me.
Or him. And then there’s the team. If this blows up, it’s not just us, it’s Logan’s season.
I don’t want to be the reason anything gets screwed up. ”
Zoe’s expression softens, though the fire in her eyes doesn’t dim.
“Lu, listen to me. One, that boy is so obviously obsessed with you, I’m shocked the rest of the team hasn’t clocked it.
Two, your brother’s temper doesn’t get to dictate your happiness.
And three”—she smirks, leaning back—“Logan would bulldoze the entire NHL before he let anyone pin this on you.”
My throat tightens. “It’s just… everything else feels like it’s crumbling. The PTA sabotaged the costume order, Delacourt all but told me I was a failure in front of the kids, and I’m terrified that all anyone’s going to remember is me messing this up.”
Zoe slams her hands on the table. “They did what?”
“I think they’re about to screw with the programs, too. I spent hours on a design and sent them the file, and they’re insisting they’ll handle printing, but I—”
“No.” She drags her phone out of her bag with the fury of a woman about to launch a PR campaign and a nuclear strike.
“Absolutely not. Those pearl-clutching harpies don’t get to play games with kids.
Consider the programs handled—I’ll have our Pulse designer mock them up, and I’ll print the damn things myself.
We’ll make them so glossy, they’ll need sunglasses to read them. ”
My mouth falls open. “Zoe—”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She waggles her phone like a sword. “Because when this show slays—and it will—you’re going to stand there and take every ounce of credit. And if Pamela or any of her cronies so much as breathe sideways, I’ll eviscerate them on the PTA Facebook group.”
A laugh breaks out of me, shaky but real, and relief punches a hole in my panic.
Zoe grins, satisfied, then points at me with a manicured finger. “Now, back to the important part. Logan Miller, Lulu. Details.”
I hesitate, chewing my lip. “We nearly got caught once.”
Zoe’s eyes gleam. “Where?”
“My place. One afternoon after work. Eli has a spare key and—”
“Don’t you dare!” Her grin is already feral.
“—and he and Tamara bowled straight in while Logan and I were…” My face flames. “…finishing a sixty-nine.”
The sound Zoe makes cannot be classified as human. She slaps the table, wheezing, tears streaming. “Oh my god. I’m dead. I am deceased. They nearly walked in on you sixty-nining! I can’t—oh my god, the funeral program writes itself!”
“Zoe!” I bury my face in my hands, laughing so hard it hurts.
She cackles for another full minute before she finally pulls herself together, eyes still wet. “Okay, okay. I’m fine. Totally fine. Just… holy shit, Lulu.”
I peek at her through my fingers, my smile wobbling. “There’s more.”
Her grin sharpens. “Spill.”
I swallow once, the words terrifying but inevitable. “I think I love him.”
Zoe slaps both hands over her mouth, muffling another shriek, then lowers her voice to a hoarse whisper. “Oh my god. You’re in love with Logan Miller.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear into the mug in my hands. “Don’t say it like that.”
“I’m sorry, how else am I supposed to say it? You just dropped the biggest bomb of all time.”
I laugh and shake my head, watery and panicked all at once.
She leans across the table, grabbing both my hands.
Her expression softens, fierce in its intensity.
“Hey. Breathe, babe. Loving him doesn’t make you weak.
It makes you brave. Trust me, I’ve been through it.
And if that bastard doesn’t already love you back, I’ll personally go down to the locker room and shake it out of him. ”
My chest caves, relief and terror crashing together. “I don’t know what to do. Eli’s going to lose his mind. Tamara—God, I can’t put her in the middle. And the team—”
“Stop.” Zoe squeezes hard. “You don’t have to have it figured out tonight. All you have to know is this: you love him, he’s clearly crazy about you, and you’re not alone in this. You’ve got me, you’ve got us. And when the time comes? We’ll handle Eli together.”
A tear slides hot down my cheek, but for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like I’m drowning in it. Zoe sees me, and she’s not horrified or judgmental. She’s just there.
I sniff and laugh weakly. “You’re gonna dine out on this forever, aren’t you?”
“Oh, babe.” Her grin is wicked again. “Until the day I die. But first, finish that chai and start talking. I want every filthy detail, and I don’t care if it takes all night.”
The weight in my chest finally shifts. Her certainty threads through my panic, steady and grounding and much less terrifying. And for the first time, I believe it.
Later that night, the house is quiet except for Dusty snoring at the foot of my bed. Logan is back tomorrow, and his birthday is in two days. I lie on my stomach with my phone glowing in the dark, scrolling through Pinterest boards I’ll never admit to anyone.
Balloon arches. Hallways filled to bursting. Strings of Polaroids clipped like constellations.
Logan doesn’t celebrate his birthday, says he never has and doesn’t need to. But I can’t stop thinking about filling his world with color, about making him walk through a tunnel of ridiculous, sparkly celebration. About reminding him there’s something worth celebrating.
I can’t control the PTA, or Eli, or any of the mess waiting to blow up in my face.
But I can love Logan the way he deserves.
And I will.