Chapter Eight – Logan
I groan when I wake up the next morning.
I’m a little sore in strange places, and it takes me a moment to remember why: I brought that cute little nerd home and fucked her brains out.
Right. I yawn and reach for her, expecting to feel her warmth beside me, but my hand finds nothing but an empty bed.
My eyelids fly open, and I turn my head to look at the empty bed beside me. Nobody else is here. She’s gone.
Did she… holy hell. The little nerd snuck out in the middle of the night, like I was some dirty little secret she didn’t want anyone to know about. Waking up with me, in my bed this morning, must’ve been something she wanted to avoid at all costs.
I’m insulted. I am. I’m rightfully insulted. No other girl had ever wanted to race out of my bed. I’m pissed she thought she was so much better than me that she didn’t even need to say goodbye.
But, at the same time, I literally can’t believe she had the guts to sneak out like that, and I find myself grinning as I laugh. Wow. The little nerd is full of surprises, isn’t she? She gave me a first, a first I never thought I’d have.
I drag myself out of bed, take a shower, and then clean up the used condoms off the floor of my room. I hate cleaning, but if I don’t do it, no one else will, and then I’ll be living in filth—and no girl is impressed by a messy house.
I fart around most of the day. It doesn’t take me long to decide I want to go out again tonight.
Last night was fun. I could go for another random girl.
Another deep workout. Once night falls, I end up at the same club, sipping the same beer.
I dance with some girls, think about taking some home, think about railing them into oblivion…
…but I don’t. For some stupid reason, when it comes time to make the call and suggest me and the girl leave the club together, I just can’t fucking do it. The words don’t come out, and I abruptly leave the damn club alone.
Alone. I never leave clubs alone. It’s an unwritten rule.
Honestly? As much as I want to deny it, I was kind of hoping I’d run into Wren again. That fucking look she gave me on the dance floor is still in my head, and it just refuses to leave. That look, something about it, I can’t explain it.
So the rest of my week and the last weekend before classes start is pussy-less after that night with Wren. How boring.
You know what else sucks? Classes. I hated high school and was thankful when we got to switch to online classes so we could focus on Black Sacrament. But here… I’m Logan Crew, and classes are in-person at MSU. The ones I’m in, anyway.
Monday rolls around before I know it, and I’m lugging a bookbag around like I’m a nerd myself.
Though I’m twenty-three, I was forced to take a lot of intro classes since this is my first year of college.
Intro to Sociology, Intro to Business Economics, blah, blah, blah.
I tried taking what I assumed would be easy to pass classes; my head was never good for books and learning.
At one-thirty in the afternoon, it’s time for my Intro to Psych class.
So far, they all seem pretty easy, and I have no reason to think this psychology class is going to be any different.
I get there five minutes early, and when I walk into the large lecture hall, I find a smattering of people in random seats.
The back row, the row I prefer, is already completely taken.
Figures.
The way this lecture hall is set up, on the second floor of the building, you walk into the back of the classroom, at its highest point, looking down to the front of the class, where the professor will be teaching.
With a frown, I walk past the back row, down to the next, and I’m about to choose an end seat when I happen to glance at the front row, where the teacher’s pets sit.
And what would you know? I see the little nerd herself, the book I let her have sitting on the small desk surface that each seat has.
No fucking way. What are the odds?
I shouldn’t go down there. I should sit right where I planned on sitting before I noticed her, but you know what? It might be fun to freak her out. I doubt she thought she’d ever see me again.
I adjust the strap on my shoulder and continue down the steps until I reach the front row, and I plop myself down in the seat beside hers, making sure to touch the side of my leg with hers.
Her head is turned the other way as she stares off into space, but the moment my leg brushes hers, she pulls her knee in toward her and absentmindedly says, “Sorry,” like it’s her fault.
Because I’m an ass, I open my knees up wider and touch her leg with mine again—and this time, there’s nowhere for her to put that leg of hers, forcing her to look at me with a questioning expression.
The very second she meets my eyes, the recognition hits her, and she’s a deer in headlights, frozen in place.
“Looks like we have a class together,” I say, glancing around her, to the book. “Maybe we can share that.”
She doesn’t say a word. She can’t. A cat has her tongue, apparently.
I smirk at her. “I mean, that book wouldn’t be the first thing we’ve shared, would it?” When I say it, I let my gaze drop, taking in her baggy t-shirt and the jeans that swallow up the legs I know for a fact are actually pretty toned. She dresses like a grandma, but beneath all those clothes…
…is a body I really shouldn’t be thinking about.
Finally, she speaks, “You’re… here.”
“So are you,” I decide to state the obvious along with her. “I guess your plan to never see me again failed. Kudos to you, though. No girl’s ever ran out on me like that before. Didn’t know you had something like that in you.”
Wren breaks our eye contact and shifts her weight. A part of me wonders if she’s internally debating on whether or not she should get up and pick another seat—and if she does, she’ll be sad, because I’ll get up and follow her.
Am I being petty? Maybe, but it’s fun.
“That’s,” she pauses as she swallows hard, “I mean, I wasn’t—” Unless I’m mistaken, I’m pretty sure her cheeks darken in a blush, almost like she’s embarrassed or something.
Embarrassed of me? Embarrassed of what we did?
Come on. We’re both adults here, and I’m me.
She might not know exactly who I am, but I’m not some schlump she picked up randomly.
I’m me. There isn’t a single thing to complain about when it comes to my looks or my sexual capabilities.
From what I remember, she had her fun with me.
“Damn,” I say with a grin. “Was I that good? So good you can’t even speak?”
She juts her chin out in a pout and mutters, “Don’t get full of yourself. You weren’t that good. You were… okay.”
“Okay?” I echo, eyebrows lifting. No one has ever described their sexual encounter with me as okay—that I know for a fact.
This girl is so full of it, it’s hard to hear her over the bullshit in the air.
“Come on. We both know I was better than that.” I lean over my seat and invade her personal space as I whisper, “Maybe you need another demonstration.”
I don’t do second demonstrations. It’s one-and-done for me.
Still, I can’t deny the way I’d hoped to see her again at the club, how I failed in bringing home any other girl after that night—and not for a lack of trying on their part.
Literally, all I would’ve had to do to get myself laid was say the words and invite them to my place, but the words never came out of me.
Had to be because of this girl. This unassuming nerd.
And what does she do when faced with the opportunity to fuck me again? She flips her hair right in my face and whispers, “I don’t think so.” As if it’s the easiest thing, turning me down. As if she isn’t tempted at all by me.
If my ego wasn’t so huge, I’d be hurt.
Wait, no. Even with the size of my ego, her instant denial irritates me. Nobody says no to me. No girl turns down a chance at getting fucked by me. That’s just not how it goes.
“I don’t think you understand,” I say. “Most girls—”
She doesn’t let me finish: “I’m not most girls.”
I scoff. “Clearly.”
“So why don’t you go sit somewhere else and find some other girl to bother? You’re not going to get anything from me again, Logan.” The way she says my name, so defiantly, like she really believes she can keep turning me down. Like she thinks I’ll take no for an answer.
Please. I’ll get her again. Challenge is officially fucking accepted.
“Nah,” I say as I stretch. “I’m right where I want to be—unless you want to move.
I mean, I assume you always take front and center in every class that you can, so if you get up now, with—” I check the clock hanging off to the side of the room.
“—two minutes left before class starts, someone might end up taking your front-row seat, and then what will you do?”
The look Wren gives me could kill. It’s kind of cute.
She pouts harder, as if she’s personally trying to test my resolve. She’s lucky we’re in public, otherwise I’d be tempted to lean closer to her and take that bottom lip between my teeth. “You’re annoying,” she mutters.
“Just wait until we have our first homework assignment, then I’ll be all over you.” I grin at her. “I know you’re the one to stick to if I want to pass the class, miss smartypants.”
She groans, and I know if she could, she’d snap her fingers and rid herself of me. Too bad it doesn’t work like that. “Just don’t distract me during class, okay? I can’t force you to sit anywhere else, but if you distract me, I’ll—”
“You’ll what? What will you do to me, Wren? Tell me. I’m so goddamned curious.”
She exhales a hard breath and rolls her eyes. “You swear a lot.”
“I do. Hope that’s not a fucking problem.
” Lower, I add, “Although my dirty mouth wasn’t a problem for you last week.
From what I remember, you enjoyed my mouth quite a bit.
” I need to stop myself; the more I think about her and the sounds she made while I went down on her, the more my cock tingles with the need to have the girl again.
“Oh, my God,” she hisses, practically seething. Too bad her anger isn’t impressive; it only makes me grin harder. “Can you not bring it up every two seconds? Jeez. I thought a guy like you would’ve moved on already. Don’t you have a different girl every night or something?”
In my rockstar days, sure. Now… things are different. Boring, some might say, and up until very recently, I thought things would never be fun again.
“Maybe, maybe not.” I shrug. “Maybe I’m looking to change—”
She laughs at that, although it’s a dry, mirthless laugh, which tells me she doesn’t believe me in the slightest. “Right. Because all playboys change. I’m not stupid.
What happened was a… a hookup, and nothing more.
That’s all I wanted, and I know for a fact that’s all you want, too, so I don’t know why you’re acting like you—you—” Wren has the hardest time figuring out how to finish that sentence.
Unfortunately for her, I know exactly how to finish it: “Want to do it again? Or, should I say, do you again?”
She huffs and turns her face away, staring at the whiteboard in front of us with an expression that says she’s finished with this conversation.
And that’s fine. I’ll stop—if only because class is about to start.
But she and I are going to see each other at least every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for an hour every time.
Hell no, I won’t be skipping this class, not when I have her to look forward to.
I’m not one to chase something I’ve already tasted, but… for some reason, I can’t help but want to try her out again. I blame that damned look she gave me at the club.
That look. That fucking look still burns in my mind. I don’t know why it has such a hold on me.
I better be careful. If she gives me a look like that again, she might just kill me.