Chapter 3
Three
Baby
By the time he’s back, nips no longer free, I’ve already got the movie going and my favorite blanket draped over my lap.
“Nope.” I shake my head and point at the other end of the couch when he tries to plant himself right next to me.
He grunts unhappily, but does as he’s told, and I’m grateful.
I simply can’t do it, sit by him. He runs hot, and the last thing I need is to be feeling all his body heat.
Or worse, smell him. He always smells good.
Even when he comes home from work all sweaty and reeking of dirt and cement, the underlying scent is just… so nice.
But right now, he probably smells like a girl.
Which is another reason he can’t sit by me—I’m still mad at him. And Liz. I know I have no right to be, but… I am. I knew he slept with pretty girls—I didn’t have any evidence of it, but I knew. He’s sweet and hot and… a lot of other very wonderful things. Of course, girls want him.
That doesn’t mean I needed to see it with my own eyeballs though.
In his defense, I didn’t see it, and I suppose that is a small blessing. I’d have died. Actually wilted away. Pulled a Wicked Witch and simply melted into a puddle of pathetically heartbroken twink just like that. No water necessary.
I roll my eyes at his outstretched hand and ignore it, opting to lay the tin he’s expecting on the couch between us instead.
The fact that he thinks he can touch me right now is baffling.
The audacity alone has me wanting to stomp my feet.
But if he can tell that I’m annoyed, he doesn’t show it.
He’s probably used to it—I do what I can to avoid touching Logan.
Even though sometimes it seems like he does all he can to make sure he touches me.
It wouldn’t surprise me if he found some way to do it now, but he doesn’t.
It’s as much a relief as it is a bummer.
He wordlessly grabs my tin and opens it. He wanted to smoke, but I don’t think I actually have anything to burn at the moment. It’s rare that I don’t, but my trusty little tin is always packed with something useful.
I have great parents. My moms are so loving and accepting and the perfect balance of strict and just a tad smothering, but their jobs pretty much set it in stone that I’d become a level ten pothead.
I grew up in a marijuana-friendly household.
It’s not like they put it in my hands, and Genevieve would have lost her shit if she’d ever caught me with it, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s got her own legal drug empire.
Anyone who didn’t know her would be shocked to know that.
She looks like a lady Don Draper, and sort of acts like him too.
But Florence is the exact opposite. Sometimes she looks like a caricature of a hippy.
It’s always been a little funny to me how different they are.
But they fit together perfectly. Flo had a passion and turned it into a decent flow of cash, but Gen turned it into the business it is now.
They now own two dispensaries, and I got access to a family discount at both CanaBliss Collective locations, the second I turned twenty-one.
I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t take advantage of that.
So, no bud, but I always have something available.
The click of a lighter confuses me, but I guess I did have some left. Not enough to share, so I guess he’s called it. Kinda rude of him. It’s mine. I should have gotten the last puff.
I watch him inhale slowly, the very tip of the roach burning red as he does. Romanticizing drugs is lame, but it’s hard not to be turned on by Logan when he does anything at all. The sharp jawline, his veiny hands. I could watch him tap dance and still be attracted to him.
He looks at me as he pulls the last bit of the joint away from his lips and then leans in. I’m confused, but part of me is delusional enough to think he’s going to kiss me, so I stay perfectly still. My lips part instinctually, and as soon as he blows out a long, slow breath, I inhale.
His mouth is so close to mine. If I moved at all, our lips would touch. My eyes shut, the urge to lean forward almost painful.
When he’s done, he pulls back with a dopey smile. “That’s all that was left.”
I nod silently.
“Baby?”
“Hm?” It’s a calculated choice to stay watching the screen, pointless as it is. I just hope that he can’t see the arousal simmering beneath my skin. Not that he ever does.
I don’t need to look at him to see his face. I have it memorized. The blonde hair that surrounds his face like an unruly crown, not really curly but not all that straight either. Pretty, sun-kissed brown eyes and well-defined features with just enough baby fat left to point out his youth.
Hottest guy to ever step foot in the apartment.
I mean it when I say that—it’s not something I say just to bother my roommates.
It was the first thought I had when I met him after posting that listing about needing another roommate, and it’s still true.
By the time this building is demolished or decaying from natural forces, it will still be true.
And his body is stupid. Not like Batman levels of sculpted, but he’s got more muscle than Spider-Man for sure. I don’t even know if he works out—unless you count his actual job. He’s a guy who works with his hands and throws heavy shit around all day, and it shows.
I shouldn’t have agreed to hang out with him.
It makes my skin crawl when he’s this close to me.
It’s like the cells that make up my body are literally on their knees and crawling towards him.
I can feel them endlessly vibrating in a pathetic effort to find him.
That’s why I’m even out here. I could have—definitely should have—gone to my room instead.
My lack of willpower is beyond frustrating.
I blame him. Logan is a touchy guy, and I fight it a lot—a lot—but when it’s just us, it’s too hard to deny myself.
I simply lose the will to do so. He’s had his arm around my shoulders more than once.
I was shocked when it happened, but there’s no way I could have told him to stop.
Not after I realized how well I fit tucked against him.
Like two puzzle pieces—I can’t stand how corny that is, but it’s true.
If it weren’t for the girl all over him, I’d probably be there right now, under his heavy arm and relaxing against his rib cage.
“Why’d you come home early?”
I got home late tonight, so I know he’s asking why I left my moms’. I shrug, but he’s nosy and doesn’t let me get away with that. He pokes my ribs, and I can’t keep from growling.
“I’m avoiding a wedding.” I can’t help the snark in my voice. It’s simply there and demanding attention. I know I have no actual right to be mad at him, but I truly am. Furious. Kinda want to slap him, actually.
“Cade’s?”
I snort. “No. That one’s supposedly over and done with.”
“Can you believe—”
“Yeah, I can actually. They’ve been going at it like pissed-off rabbits ever since Nic moved in.
” And it’s not even like I’m sharing a secret.
Logan and I have been subjected to hearing their hate-fucks in action on more than one awkward occasion.
“And y’know. They’re kinda stupid.” It’s definitely wild, but nobody makes bad decisions better than college kids. I’m proof of that.
“If not their wedding, whose?”
I sigh angrily. As much as I try to avoid this guy, he does know more about me than Cade and Liam combined—and they moved in a whole year before Logan did. And Nic is the strong, silent type. None of them ask a lot of questions, whereas that’s all Logan does.
It’s annoying and not at all cute.
“Audrey’s.” I’ve talked about her enough that he knows the name, but it still feels oddly pleasant to see the recognition on his face. It’s proof that he pays attention to me.
“Why avoid it? I’d think you’d be happy for her.”
“I am. We just don’t talk all that much these days. And apparently she wants me to be in the wedding, and I don’t… it doesn’t sound fun.”
“Say no.” He shrugs and leans back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch.
His fingers are eerily close to my neck, and it has an internal struggle raging.
Do I lean towards him or away—it’s a constant battle.
But he doesn’t want to touch my neck. If he did, he would. And then I’d have to tell him to stop.
It’s all so confusing.
He kind of reminds me of Westley, the heartthrob on the TV screen at the moment.
It’s something I’ve pointed out to him before.
But according to Logan, he’s much hotter than Westley.
His eyes are brown instead of blue, he’s got more muscles and prettier hair, and he doesn’t have Westley’s weirdly over-groomed stache.
I didn’t let him know that he was right, but truthfully, Westley—swoony as he may be—has got nothing on Logan Matthews.
I roll my eyes—more at my pathetically lusty self than him. “It’s not that easy.” Audrey and I have grown apart, but I still think of her as a good friend. I wouldn’t want to ruin that. Plus, if I ever asked anyone to be a part of my wedding and they turned me down, I’d be upset.
“Then say yes.”
“Ugh,” I groan. I know I’m being dramatic, but he bugs me! And so does Liz, but he’s sitting here asking me a million questions like none of that even happened.
“I don’t get it,” he says, and I couldn’t agree more. He definitely has no fucking clue.
“I don’t… her brother would be there,” I force the words out, trying to stay focused on the conversation. “It’s been a while, and—”
“Why’s that matter?” There’s an accusation in his tone, and it makes me a little self-conscious. I swipe at a lock of hair that tickles my brow and turn my head when he looks at me to avoid seeing his face. He doesn’t know about Zeke, the history there.
Nobody does.
“I don’t like him.”
He snorts. “You don’t like most people. It’s gotta be more than that.”