Chapter Twenty – Wren
It took a lot for me to muster up the courage to do this, so when Logan answers the door and says, “What the fuck are you doing here,” I can only stare at him like he just spoke another language to me. I mean, I know I showed up randomly, out of the blue, but still, that’s rude, isn’t it?
He is a rude person, so I shouldn’t have thought he’d say anything else.
My heart is beating way too fast, just like it’s been beating ever since I decided to do this. Force myself out of my comfort zone with this guy again, only in a different way.
I haven’t seen Logan since the cemetery. I don’t know if he skipped class or if he decided to sit somewhere else. Frankly, I was too busy wrestling with myself to dare toss a glimpse around the auditorium. Maybe I was afraid of what I’d feel if I saw him sitting somewhere else.
Sadness? Jealousy? Annoyance? He’s the one who inserted himself into my life. I didn’t want him to sit with me that first day, when we saw each other again.
I open my mouth to say something back, but before I have the chance to, I realize he’s standing before me in nothing but sweatpants…
sweatpants that hang a little too low on his hips.
His entire torso is bare, his muscles on full display, including a V-shape pointing downward, to an area I definitely shouldn’t pay any attention to.
Jeez. Is he wearing anything under those sweats? I’m pretty sure I see an outline of his…
I avert my eyes before that thought can finish itself, although it’s too late for me to pretend I’m not blushing. Oh, get a grip, Wren, I tell myself. It isn’t like you haven’t seen it before.
“Hi to you, too” is what I end up saying, sounding just as lame as I always am.
He rolls his eyes at me, but his scowl lessens somewhat as he leans on the frame of the open door. “Come here for round two?” he asks, though based on his tone, it sounds like he’s not interested in doing any of that right now.
“Believe it or not, not everything is about sex,” I tell him.
“Uh-huh. Whatever.” His eyes fall to my feet, taking me in as they travel up my body and check me out. “What do you want?”
I fiddle with my fingers. This isn’t easy for me, that much is plain. “I didn’t know if you’d be home, but… if you were, I—” I swallow hard, like I’m about to confess my undying love to him or something. “—I wanted to see if you were up for going out tonight. With me.”
Ugh, as if that much wasn’t already obvious.
He chuckles, the first break in an otherwise serious demeanor. “Are you asking me out?”
“I am.” I almost vomit when I say those words, but I manage to get them out without throwing up my dinner. Granted, I didn’t eat much because I couldn’t stop worrying about tonight and how it could backfire spectacularly in my face, but whatever.
Logan cocks his head at me, his scowl morphing into a knowing smirk. “I thought it wasn’t always about sex?”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes at him. “Going out doesn’t automatically mean sex.”
“Please. We go out again, where do you think you’ll end up tonight? Snug in your own bed, or getting your brains fucked out by yours truly?”
“Um,” I pause as my cheeks heat up. Leave it to Logan to say something so out of pocket it makes me speechless.
“I don’t think that’s physically possible—” I can tell he’s seconds from arguing with me, as if he has some specific examples of him screwing the brains out girls, so I add, “Look, just throw on some clothes and come with me tonight.”
He folds his arms over his chest. “Why should I?”
There is a lot I could say to that, but I settle for the truth: “Because I want you to.” He acts taken aback by my answer, which pushes me to go on and say, “I didn’t see you in class.”
“Wasn’t feeling too good,” he mutters, although I seriously doubt the truth of that.
We stare at each other for a long thirty seconds, neither of us budging. I decide to plead one more time with him, “Please, Logan. Just come. There’s something I want to do with you.” Maybe it’s the seriousness of my tone, but he doesn’t joke about sex.
No, in fact, Logan actually gives in—he gives in with a groan and a shake of his head, but he gives in all the same. “Fine. Give me two minutes. You can come in while you wait, I guess.”
Ever the gentleman. He turns away from me, not even bothering to hold the door open for me as I enter, which leaves me to shut the door myself as he disappears up the stairs.
No lights are on, which makes it really dark inside.
I meander to his living room and find the TV on, along with an empty plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.
Is this what Logan does when he’s home alone?
Here I thought my life was depressing, but this?
This is sad. For someone like him, being home alone on a Friday night must be like torture…
which begs the question: why isn’t he out?
If he’s such a partier, why not go and party?
If he’s who I think he might be, what’s he doing here, by himself?
It isn’t long before Logan appears, dressed in jeans and a fitting t-shirt.
He must have put some styling putty or something in his black hair, because it’s a little less messy than it was when he first answered the door.
When he approaches me, I get a whiff of something alluring. Some kind of body spray, maybe?
His mouth is drawn into a frown as he stares at me. “All right,” he mumbles. “Where the fuck we going? Do I need to drive?”
I shake my head once and step around him, mostly so I don’t have to keep smelling him. Much as I hate to admit it, he smells good. Like, so good I want to bury my face into his chest and breathe him in like a psycho. “No. We’re walking. It’s not far.”
He groans, but ultimately he follows me.
Out of his house we go, turning left when we reach the sidewalk.
He sticks his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped a bit, and he doesn’t say a single word as we start the journey to our destination.
He must still be in a bad mood; I really don’t think he’s been sick.
I think this all stems from me finding him in the cemetery, and if that’s the case, then… then he sure isn’t going to be happy when we get to where we’re going. I don’t dare tell him yet, because I know he’ll turn right back around and march home.
One good thing about being so close to campus is that the streets are well taken care of.
The streetlights are bright, illuminating the sidewalks as we go.
Even now, after the sun fell and the moon had taken its place, the streets are busy as the nightlife of the area surges.
Students going out for some Friday fun, students going home for the weekend.
There might even be a football game tonight at the stadium; not sure about that, since I don’t pay attention to sports.
All that’s to say, we aren’t the only ones on the sidewalk.
The night breeze blows, and even though it’s not cold, it is a reminder that chillier temperatures are coming.
Autumn is right around the corner. It’ll be here before we know it, which means everything will be a wet mess.
Honestly, autumn is my least-favorite season because I hate bringing umbrellas to class.
And if you don’t bring an umbrella to class? Then you pretty much subject yourself to sitting there, drenched, and there’s nothing worse than a sopping wet hoodie you can’t take off because the shirt underneath is just as wet.
“You going to tell me where the fuck we’re going?” Logan asks.
“No,” I say, glancing at him as we walk. “Why do you swear so much?”
The look he gives me tells me he doesn’t want to talk, but he still somehow says, “Because I fucking want to. Is that a good enough reason for you?” When all I do is shrug, he asks me, “Why don’t you ever swear? Still pretending you’re in third grade or something?”
I sigh, and I don’t dignify that with a response. Seconds pass, and the more I just can’t let that go. “If I’m pretending I’m in third grade, what does that make you?”
Logan harrumphs, but he doesn’t say a word, probably because he knows I have him cornered there.
“Seriously, you’d get your point across just as well without swearing.”
“Yeah,” he says dryly. “But swearing is fun. Say the words with me: shit. Damn. Fuck. Ass.” I shake my head again. “Have you ever said those words out loud? You have to think them, at least. No one can go through life without swearing one way or another—”
“Not everyone feels the need to swear.”
The man actually groans like I said the most disgusting thing ever. “Fucking goody two-shoes.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Uh, yeah there is. One: it’s boring. Two: being good won’t get you far in life. Three—”
I can’t let him continue that line of thinking. “So you think everyone who’s made something of themselves is a jerk? You think none of them are good?”
Logan laughs. “In a world like this, you can’t make something out of nothing.
To make a name for yourself, to make money and get your name out there—you have to play the game, and you don’t play the game by being nice.
In real life, you don’t win any prizes for being fucking nice.
You get walked on, taken advantage of, and look down on as naive and stupid. ”
Wow. That seems a little harsh, but what do I know?
“You can only get far by taking what you want. By pushing everyone else down. There are winners and losers in life, and the ones running the show will do anything they can to make sure they keep winning.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong, I want to give him a list of rich people who have good hearts, but I can’t think of any off the top of my head. Still, I won’t admit he’s right. “You’re very cynical, you know that?”
“I’d rather be cynical than stupid.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being nice.” We stop at an intersection, waiting for the crosswalk light to turn green and give us the right to cross.