Chapter 1 #2
“Why the hell is it even—ugh!” If the door being locked wasn’t enough to ruin my day, the leftover spaghetti my moms sent me home with that spills all over my white shoes when he shuts the door in my face definitely is.
I can hear him unlatching the lock as I try to remember that lyric about mom’s spaghetti, all while kicking off some of the noodles sticking to my jeans.
“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s—I’ll clean it up.”
“Yes, you will.” I take a step back, moving away from the mess.
“Why’d you lock me out?” I let out a groan when I finally look at him.
“And why are you shirtless? We have rules, Logan.” And for good reason.
I know everyone—him especially—thinks my house rules are overkill, but I guarantee Logan doesn’t want his roommate jerking off to mental images of his abs.
To avoid that very thing from happening, I avert my eyes.
“I didn’t know anyone would be coming back today.”
He reaches for the duffel bag I’m carrying, and it’s heavy enough that I let him. “Then why’d you lock it?”
“We should—oh.” A girl—a naked girl wrapped in one of my clean towels—is standing next to the bathroom door in the hallway behind him. “Hi.” She smiles awkwardly as she tightens her hold on the towel.
“I see.” Not to be dramatic, but it kind of feels like he just punched me in the stomach. I’m not an idiot. Logan is hot. Obviously, other people—girls—have eyes and can see that, but I didn’t think he brought them here. “I’ll just… go.”
She doesn’t even have the decency to be ugly. And she’s naked in the living room, also breaking one of my rules. Two, since that is my towel covering her boobs.
“Wait, you don’t have to.” Logan moves to set my bag on the kitchen table, and I get a good look at his bare back, at his shoulder blades where her fingernails have left their mark.
Another punch to the guts. He should just kick my ass.
Beat me with a bag of bricks. It’d hurt less than this. “She was about to leave.”
I hate him. I wish I could go back in time to just before I told Logan he could move in and stab some sense into myself. With a big knife. Right where the ache in my belly is currently residing.
“Baby, wait.” His oversized hand grips my arm, but I’m quick to jerk it away. I don’t like it when he touches me—which he knows but insists on ignoring.
“Baby?” His friend scoffs behind him, and I decide that I hate her too. “You have a boyfriend? What the hell, Logan?”
“Wha—no.” He looks genuinely confused about how she managed to jump there before it dawns on him. I turn to leave once again, not wanting to be there while he explains that he’s not mine. “That’s his name. Baby, hold up!”
It’s true. I am not his boyfriend, will never be his boyfriend, and I don’t need that rubbed in my face right now. Especially by the girl who just spent the past… who knows how long living one of my wildest, stupidest dreams.
“Hey!” He catches up to me just as I get back to my car, and it makes me wish I’d parked somewhere farther away from the door. “She really was about to leave.”
“Might want to make sure she knows that, Logan.”
His hand weighs heavily on my shoulder, and I freeze with my door open until he removes it.
“Sorry,” he lies. If he were actually sorry, he wouldn’t do it.
But he does. He touches me all the time.
“But you don’t have to go. You’ve been gone most of your break.
It’s almost like you don’t live here anymore. ”
That’s both true and a little dramatic. I usually visit my moms when there are no classes to worry about, and I did come back for a few days after Christmas—not because I missed Logan—but it has been almost a week since I left again.
I had butterflies acting stupid in my guts the closer I got on the drive here, and now they’re all gone.
Dead, probably. Murdered by the awful sight of some slut wrapped in my towel.
That’s not fair. I don’t know her, but she’s probably not a slut. Or if she is, there’s nothing wrong with that. She’s probably a nice one. And I can’t really blame her for the slut-like activities where Logan’s concerned. I’m pretty sure I’d be doing the exact same thing as her if I could.
I am aware that I feel some type of way about this idiot.
It’s unfortunate and gross and a little pervy and a lot bad for my health, and I try so hard not to let it show.
Which is why I need to leave. Right now.
I don’t want to do something psychotic just because he’s a moron who thought it’d be a good idea to bring a girl home.
“Logan, your nipples could cut glass right now. Just go inside. I’ll be back later.”
“Why are you so mad?” He’s the one who looks mad. I’m doing my best not to look as pissed off as I feel. I can’t even be angry at him—it’s my fault I’m in this situation.
Mostly, I’m sad and doing my best not to seem as pathetically heartbroken as I feel.
“It’s a stupid rule, Baby. It’s not like I’m waving tits all over the place.
And you don’t walk around shirtless, but I’ve seen most of your ass hanging out of those tiny shorts you sleep in.
What’s the difference?” He thinks I’m angry because he’s not wearing a shirt.
It’s a fair assumption based on my past behavior, but that’s not the entirety of it at the moment.
“I—” I’m gay! That’s the difference. He probably doesn’t jerk off to images of my male booty cheeks in my pajamas, but I—though I try hard not to—have let images of his six-pack creep into my mind once or twice during my…
alone time. “You have a naked girl in the apartment. I don’t understand why you’re standing out here in the cold when you could be in there.
” Being kept warm by some hussy. I groan quietly, disappointed in myself at the mental name-calling.
“And I’m not mad, but it’s awkward. I’ll be back. ”
“You don’t have to leave, though. She’s leaving.”
I roll my eyes. “Bye, Logan.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“Move. Unless you want to lose some toes.” I shut the car door and start the ignition without giving him another glance.