Chapter 18 #3
Logan held me steady despite my protests. “Could,” he agreed, utterly unfazed. “But you’re the one who wanted more hands-on therapy sessions.”
With a firm pull, Logan spun me beneath his arm, my body jerking with the movement. Rain flew out from the hem of my dress, and when he pulled me back around, I was breathless—and laughing. “You’re insane, Logan Castle!”
“And you’re smiling.” Logan curled his fingers around mine. “Admit it—you’re having fun.”
Fun. Fun. Dancing like an absolute lunatic in the middle of a parking lot as rain showered down from the sky was fun? Anyone driving by probably thought we were on drugs or something, because this was absolutely ridiculous.
But my feet… they began bouncing to the rhythm Logan set, holding his hands tightly. He spun me again, and this time, my legs stopped skidding in protest.
I was soaked to the skin with my hair an absolute wreck, but I gave in and joined Logan in the madness.
He tightened his hold on my hands and began spinning us in a wide circle, Titanic style. I threw my head back and laughed, the rain pelting my cheeks, my hair streaming out behind me.
Logan had such a knack for getting underneath my skin, but in the best way possible.
Only he could get me to do things like this.
Dancing in the rain like I’d lost my mind.
Going into a nerd store. Playing games at an old, grungy arcade.
Mini golfing. Logan was gentle yet persistent, determined in his task to turn me into an absolute fool.
And I loved every single second of it. Because before Logan, I couldn’t remember the last time I had fun like this. Genuine, carefree, silly fun.
His soaked sneaker slipped on the asphalt then, disrupting our dancing, causing me to fall into him.
His clothes were water-logged, and his shirt squished when my palm landed on his chest to steady myself.
“You—” I sucked in a gasp, one that bordered on a wild laugh, nearly choking on the beads of rainwater. “You are such a—”
“Dweeb?” Logan’s lips were parted as he breathed hard. “Is that a bad thing?”
“I was going to say you’re such a brat.” My fingers pressed firmer into his chest on their own accord, eagerly soaking up the feel of his muscles as his shirt soaked up the rain. “Dragging me out of the car. You’re lucky I didn’t start screaming.”
Logan gave a beautiful laugh at that, and I let it wash over me. “Your poor makeup,” he murmured, reaching out with both hands. “Your mascara wasn’t waterproof.”
Hot embarrassment swamped me—I must’ve looked awful, oh my gosh—and I knocked him away. “This is your fault—”
But he ignored my protests, cupping my face in his warm, broad hands, his bottom two fingers brushing my jaw while the top two grazed my hairline.
His thumbs, though, rested on my cheeks.
“I like you this way,” he murmured, swiping underneath my eyes.
The touch was infinitely gentle, like a whisper itself.
“Looking like a drowned rat?”
“Looking like you’re having fun.” He swiped again, his teeth monetarily snagging on the corner of one of his lips. “You’re beautiful like this, too, you know. Don’t be afraid of soaked hair or smudged makeup. You’re beautiful either way.”
Any words I had died on my lips, and so did the air in my lungs.
Not oxygen, but I felt full of something, something that left my chest feeling like it was about to burst. Logan’s fingers were still splayed on either side of my face, and my heart still raced from the aftermath of our dancing, and I knew right then that I was done for.
You’re beautiful either way.
He’d said it so easily, simply, as if he hadn’t thought about it. That it was his truth, plain and uncomplicated.
You’re beautiful either way.
The moment between us changed then, a charge jumping from my skin to his.
Logan’s hands on my upper cheeks went from steadying to fire-hot, and goosebumps licked down my spine as if we were about to be struck by lightning.
But it was just raining, no thunder, no storm, save for the one stirring in Logan’s eyes.
They flicked back and forth between mine, searching for something.
A raindrop slipped down the side of my nose and caught on my upper lip. Logan’s eyes followed it and then stopped. The light blue darkened further.
Kiss me, I thought desperately, dizzy with the fierce want of it. I instinctively leaned forward onto the balls of my feet, bringing us a fraction of an inch closer. Kiss me.
The decision was clear in Logan’s eyes, and even clearer in the way his hold almost imperceptibly tightened.
The world moved in slow-mo—even the rain seemed to have paused as Logan leaned forward.
His body heat intensified the closer he inched, but it wasn’t enough.
I needed him closer. I needed him to pull me closer. He needed—
Logan jolted back as if shocked, fingers spasming before he suddenly released me entirely. He yanked his hands back. “Sorry,” he gasped out, something slamming down over his expression. “Sorry. I’m—sorry.”
“For what?” I blinked, water caught in my lashes. Don’t be sorry—just kiss me. “I wanted—”
Logan caught hold of my hand and all but hauled me back to his car, ushering me into the passenger seat. He had the door shut behind me before I could even register what was happening, still caught up in the whirlwind that was our almost kiss.
Because that was what that was, right? I hadn’t just been imagining that almost hungry look in his eyes, hadn’t imagined his hands pulling me closer, hadn’t imagined him leaning in. Right?
It seemed to take Logan a long time to round the back of the car, but his door finally popped open, and, dripping water, he fell into the driver’s seat.
He quickly flipped the AC off, twisted the dial to heat, and blessed warmth began to pump from the vents.
For a long, long moment, that was the only sound—the air pumping out.
“There,” he said suddenly, voice odd. He sat stiff in his seat. “That used up just enough time. We’ll get there right at seven.”
My teeth chattered ever so slightly, but more from the leftover adrenaline of our near kiss than the cold. “Get where?”
Logan seemed hesitant to look at me, and I should’ve taken that as my first bad sign.
Or, really, my first bad sign should’ve been when he’d said I could back out.
Logan knew me, probably better than anyone as of late.
He knew what would make me comfortable and uncomfortable.
He knew what I’d want to do and what I wouldn’t want to do.
The fact that he’d given me an out at the beginning really should’ve been my first clue that his idea was nothing short of insane. Even worse than dancing in the rain.
And my fears were confirmed when, as he reluctantly lifted his gaze, he gave a sheepish smile. “Jefferson,” Logan said, voice soft, as if he, too, knew it was a bad idea. “For a football game.”