Chapter 12 #3
What would it have been like if it’d been Logan instead? Instead of leaning as far from Kyle as possible, leaning back into Logan’s chest?
My foot slipped on the gas, pressing down too hard on the turn, and I spun out.
Logan laughed as he straightened in his seat. “You’ll never beat me at this rate.”
I didn’t like his confidence.
So, without a word, I reached over and grabbed ahold of his steering wheel, yanking it sharply to the side.
Much like I had earlier when he sabotaged my basketball shooting, Logan gasped in outrage, though it was quickly overshadowed by his laugh.
He tried to pry my hand off, his fingers slipping against my skin. “Hey, hey! Cheater!”
I gave up on my own steering wheel and wrapped both my hands around his, twisting it back and forth until his car careened into the sidewalls. “You said I needed to be prepared to cheat,” I argued. “You’re the one who gave me permission.”
Despite the fact that my car was in dead last, Logan reached over and grabbed my own steering wheel with one hand, retaliating for no reason at all.
I laughed hard as his arms tangled with mine, our bodies brushing in a way that was totally all fun and games—until we both looked at each other at the same time, and then suddenly it wasn’t.
Our laughter stalled like the deceleration of an engine, filtering off until there was just a ghost smile on his lips as he looked at me. My heart swelled in my chest, unnerved and electrified at the same time.
I’d never had my first actual kiss. I mean, I’d kissed Logan’s cheek, but lip-on-lip action?
Not yet. If my choice was to never have my first kiss or have it be with a guy like Kyle or Ashton, I sure wasn’t choosing the latter.
Of course I’d thought about what my first kiss would be like, but nothing beyond the idle wondering of when it would happen, if I’d see it coming.
My eyes drifted from Logan’s blue gaze to his mouth, and I found that ghost of a smile had completely disappeared. Will he kiss me?
Logan let go of my steering wheel and practically jerked back into his seat, clearing his throat. “I technically ended in seventh place,” he said, gesturing at the screen. “And you finished in eighth. So that means I win.”
My body was still reeling from the touches, from the almost kiss, that I’d forgotten what he was even talking about.
“Oh. Right.” My eyes lingered on the red skin that was beginning to bloom at the collar of his shirt.
Fighting the urge to touch his skin there, I fished my tickets out of my front pocket, frowning at the small pile of orange paper I’d collected. “You’d better pick something nice.”
Except when we made our way to the ticket machine, we found a sign taped to the front of it. brOKEN.
I pressed a hand to my mouth, but it wasn’t quick enough to stifle the laugh that burst out.
Logan’s shoulders slumped, looking down at his now-useless mass of tickets. “That’s just wrong.”
I laid my hands on his shoulders—his beautifully firm shoulders, holywow—and turned him. “Here, I’ll pay for a few rounds of the claw machine. You can try and win your prize.”
He didn’t seem thrilled. “Aren’t these things usually rigged?”
“We can try anyway, can’t we?”
Rigged or not, the thing was depleted, as if once upon a time, someone had stood here and pilfered the claw machine of all the good prizes. There were a few plushies and mystery boxes left, and after I plugged in a dollar, Logan begrudgingly grabbed the joystick.
He went for the mystery box first, to which the claw immediately denied. The second time he tried, the claw lifted the box an inch before it slipped from its grip. The third time, he tried a different box, and missed it entirely.
He glared at the machine with one try left. “You want a try?”
“Nope.” Instead, I put my hands on his shoulders again, pretending it wasn’t for selfish reasons, and leaned in.
There was something so intoxicating about a simple touch that it nearly made me giddy.
I could see our huddled reflection on the mirrored back panel of the claw game, and watched as Logan’s eyelashes fluttered. “It’s all you, Romeo.”
“Romeo?”
“Because you’re into theater.” Duh. “Would you rather I call you Troy Bolton instead?”
“Troy Bolton sings. I do not sing.” Logan gave a little scoff, like duh. “Let’s stick with Romeo. Does that make you Juliet?”
My heart totally shouldn’t have skipped a beat. “As long as we don’t die in the end. Now—focus.”
He obeyed, swallowing and zeroing back in on the claw game.
This time, as he moved the joystick, he bypassed the mystery boxes entirely.
Instead, he tapped the joystick centimeter by centimeter until it hovered over a stuffed goose wearing a pink dress.
Its body was thick, which made it the perfect size for the claw to grab onto.
The timer ticked down, but Logan tapped the joystick until the very last second.
The claw dropped, but instead of wrapping around the goose’s body, it hooked its long neck.
I squeezed Logan’s upper arm, gasping. “Oh, oh, oh!”
Logan had his eyes squinted until they were nearly shut, too afraid to look. I watched eagerly for him as the claw dragged the goose over the machine’s barrier, opened, and let the stuffed plushie fall into the return hole.
I let out a little shriek at his final success, and Logan turned and wrapped his arms around me easily. I curled my own arms around his neck as he spun me in the middle of the arcade, our laughter its own kind of music that paired with the melody pumping from the games.
Logan’s body tensed, and as soon as the rotation was over, he placed me abruptly back on my feet.
I swayed a little, dizzy. “That—that was super dramatic,” he said, and his ears were blazing red.
He ducked into the claw machine return, pulling out the plush goose.
Still dodging my eye, he offered it to me.
I raised an eyebrow. “You won that fair and square.”
“What am I going to do with a goose dressed like Barbie?”
“Think of me when you see it.”
Logan’s lips parted, and I could see him practically curse himself in his head. “So much better at flirting than me,” he muttered, but still pushed the goose into my arms. “You can think of me when you see it. Are you someone who sleeps with plushies?”
I hugged the stuffed animal to my chest. Its filling was light, which caused its head to flop over my arms, and it smelled like dust, but it was perfect. “I am, actually.”
“Well, good. Because it’d be the perfect addition to your bed. Not—God, not that I’m thinking about your bed. Or about you sleeping.” He abruptly squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not thinking about you sleeping—no, I’m seriously, seriously not thinking about that—”
I pushed up onto my tip-toes and pressed a quick kiss onto his cheek, falling back on my heels before I even could fully register what I’d done. I couldn’t help it, though. Hearing him fumble over his words caused a surge of affection within me, one that tingled each one of my nerve endings.
Logan’s eyes popped wide, and I watched his pupils contract in the light. I ducked my head to bury my grin in the goose’s head, but I was sure it still sparkled in my eyes. “You’re ridiculous, Logan Castle. You know that?”
Logan pressed his hand against his cheek, shielding part of his expression. It was no use. The flush that’d migrated from his neck to his cheeks gave him away. “I know.”
Even though he’d put me down moments ago, it still felt like I was spinning, my world tilting one way, and then the other. Under Logan’s hopeful stare, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel steady on my feet again.
In that moment, I’d forgotten all about the world outside of the arcade.
I’d forgotten that there were more difficult things than rigged claw machines and hand-eye coordination.
I’d forgotten that liking Logan Castle had bigger implications than the fact that he’d take all my orange arcade tickets.
I’d forgotten that Logan was a Bulldog and I was a Bobcat.
Logan had been wrong before. I didn’t just like the idea of a boyfriend holding my hand in the hallways, one I could be the next It-Couple plastered all over Brentwood Babble with. I didn’t just like the idea of him. And this wasn’t just exposure therapy.
I liked him. Even Logan’s dorky side. A lot.
And I was seriously in so much trouble.