Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
LOGAN
I wake up with a ridiculous smile on my face. That’s the first red flag.
The second is the half-formed memory of a dream—something about Cassie, flour on her cheek, and her bare thighs wrapped around me on the kitchen counter.
The third is the hard-on that’s still not going anywhere, even though I’m very much awake.
I scrub a hand down my face.
Did I say her name out loud?
No way. But somehow, I think I did.
Should I not have choked the chicken at 3 a.m. last night on the couch? Look, I couldn’t sleep. I had no other choice. Big game today.
I throw on a hoodie, attempt to tame my hair, and make my way down the stairs like a man facing judgment day.
And there she is at the kitchen counter.
Sunlight streaming in behind her like she’s in a Folgers commercial. Her hair’s up in some kind of messy knot, she’s wearing a faded tee, and those little soft shorts that should be illegal. The domestic goddess look is not helping me forget last night’s dream.
“Morning,” I say, casually. Like a totally normal person who definitely didn’t dream-moan her name while jerking off in a twilight stupor.
“Morning,” she says, without looking up.
She slides a mug of coffee across the counter toward me like a bartender dealing with a drunk regular. The vibe is…weird. Controlled.
I sit down and clear my throat.
“I slept great,” I offer. “Hope I didn’t, uh—talk in my sleep.”
She doesn’t say anything, which is somehow worse.
So I take a sip and stare straight ahead.
“This is nice,” I say.
She glances at me sideways. “The coffee?”
“No,” I say, looking at her. “You.”
She pauses, eyes narrowing. “No flirting, Logan.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “I wasn’t trying to be flirty. I meant your, uh, interior decorating skills.”
“My interior decorating?”
“Yep. Very…rustic-chic. Like a Better Homes and Gardens: Sassy Small Town Girl Edition.”
She makes a face. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know. But a charming one.”
She takes a slow sip of her own coffee, and I swear there’s a ghost of a smile at the edge of her mouth. But she doesn’t give in.
“Anyway,” I say, trying to sound very professional, “if you’d like, I could make us some breakfast.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Is that a euphemism?”
I blink. “No! I mean actual eggs. Like…chicken eggs. I was just being polite.”
“Oh. Wow. Polite and charming? You must be trying to get something.”
“Just trying to be a good roommate.” I lean back in my chair. “I hear it’s frowned upon to seduce your landlady before breakfast.”
She gives me a long look. “That is a good rule.”
And I’m definitely going to break it.
I cough. “Eggs?”
She shrugs. “Sure. Knock yourself out, Romeo.”
I get up and start pulling ingredients from the fridge, trying not to think about how her voice sounded in my fantasy. How she whispered my name like a prayer.
I crack the eggs one-handed. She notices.
“You’ve done this before.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
She leans on the counter and watches me like I’m some sort of science experiment. I try not to combust.
Not thinking dirty thoughts. Not thinking dirty thoughts.
I glance up at her.
She’s licking sugar off her finger from a muffin.
Okay. Well. We’re fucked.
“You sure we’re good? Seems like you’re acting a little weird today.”
“Oh, no. I’m great. Never been better.” I pause. “So did you figure out what you’re going to do for work or or your new career?”
She tilts her head, curious. And yeah, okay, maybe a little smug. She knows something’s off.
I scramble the eggs with extra aggression.
“Nope. No big career epiphanies,” she says. “Just excited about eggs. Big fan of…breakfast protein that comes from nutrients. I tried having a shake, but protein powder isn’t the same.”
I smirk. “Right.”
I plate the eggs and slide one over to her like it’s a peace offering. She forks into them and takes a bite.
“Oh my God,” she says, chewing slowly. “These are actually really good. Like…infuriatingly good.”
“Infuriatingly?”
“Yeah. Because now I have to like you a little.”
I arch a brow. “Just a little?”
She points her fork at me. “Don’t push it.”
I lift my coffee mug and take a sip, giving her the most innocent look I can manage. “So, uh…no plans today?”
She sighs, leaning back. “Honestly, no. Just more unpacking. Journaling. Figuring out how to build a new life from the ashes of the old one. Fun stuff.”
I nod solemnly. “I respect that. Phoenix energy.”
“Exactly,” she says. “Except the phoenix probably didn’t have to deal with surprise roommates with exceptional jawlines and distracting forearms.”
I choke on my coffee.
She smirks again. “What? I didn’t say you. Just…in general.”
I clear my throat. “Well. Just know your phoenix vibe isn’t lost on me.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re like…hot girl rising from the flames. With incredible egg appreciation.”
She groans and puts her face in her hands. “We are not doing this.”
“What?”
“You are so not allowed to be both hot and emotionally perceptive. It’s rude.”
I grin. She groans again, but I swear I catch the tiniest smile.
I know I might be playing with fire here, but it’s too much fun.
And for the first time in a long time…I don’t mind the burn.
“So what time’s your game tonight?”
“Night game. I report at three.”
“Cool. Well…try not to distract the other players with your jawline.”
“I don’t know if any of them swing that way. But I make no promises.”
“Of course not.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling. “I’m gonna hit a coffee shop. Explore a little.”
“Well…how about a run first?”
“A run.”
“Yeah, you know. Cardio. Not the fun kind.”
She rolls her eyes. “Not today.”
“So…maybe some other day?”
“Maybe.”
I give myself an invisible high five.
I’m making progress.
It’s early. Quiet. That kind of calm that only exists before the world’s had its first cup of coffee.
Jackson and I are jogging side by side through the neighborhood, feet hitting pavement in a steady rhythm. The morning air is cool, crisp, and I kind of love it—feels like a clean slate.
He breaks the silence first. “You starting tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Third base. First home game of the season.”
He nods. “Nice. You looked solid during practice. According to my sources.”
“Appreciate it.”
We jog another block. I can feel him watching me from the corner of his eye. Then he broaches the subject I was hoping he wouldn’t.
“So…you and Cassie?”
My lungs tighten a little, but I keep my breath steady.
“What about us?”
“You met at a bookstore.”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, we did.” I stop myself from offering details, trying to keep things as vague as possible.
“Interesting.” He shrugs like it’s casual, but I know better. “Just wondering how it’s going, having her as a roommate. She’s not exactly low-maintenance.”
I laugh. “She’s been great, honestly. Keeps to herself. Makes good coffee.”
“Huh.”
We hit a hill, and for a moment we’re both too breathless to talk. But as we crest it, he starts again.
“She’s been through a lot lately,” he says, quieter this time. “Breakup. Leaving her job. The whole life reset thing.”
“Yeah, I got that vibe.”
“She won’t admit it, but it hit her hard. Just…if you’re gonna be around, don’t mess with her head. Go easy on her.”
I glance at him. “I wouldn’t mess with her head.”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long, like he’s trying to read something beneath my words. Then he nods.
“Good.”
We round the corner back toward the house. My shirt’s clinging to my back, and my legs are starting to burn, but my mind’s still stuck on Cassie.
The way she looked last night, all curled up on the couch next to me, wine glass in hand. The way she laughed at that dumb baseball movie. The way she fell asleep with her head just inches from my shoulder.
We already know we check the hot sex box. And now, we’re learning that maybe we also check the “having a low-key-fun-domestic night in” box.
I push the thoughts away.
She’s off-limits. This is real life, not some fantasy. We’re roommates. Maybe some category of friends at best. More like frenemies at this point, though.
After my run, I walk into the house sweaty and determined. Jackson’s words are still echoing in my head like a halftime speech I actually listened to.
Don’t mess with her head.
He’s right. Whatever weird tension there is between me and Cassie? I’m shutting it down. No more glances that last too long. No more flirtatious banter. Definitely no more sex dreams.
I grab a towel and wipe down my face.
From now on, I’m a monk. A celibate, focused, mature man. A man of restraint.
She’s just my roommate.
I do a lap around the house and there’s no sign of her. No music, no laptop clicking, no smell of baked goods or margaritas. She probably did head to the coffee shop like she said she was going to.
Perfect. Maybe I’ll sit on the deck, drink a smoothie, enjoy a little peace and quiet.
I open the back door and freeze when I see her.
Bent forward in a deep stretch, arms reaching toward her toes, ass in the air like some cosmic punishment sent to test me.
She’s in one of those matching athletic sets—tiny black shorts, a sports bra that shows way too much toned stomach, and her hair’s in a ponytail that bounces when she moves.
I am so, so screwed.
“Oh hey!” she chirps, turning around like she hasn’t just ruined my life. “How was the run?”
“Good,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. I clear my throat. “Great.”
“You want to join me?” she asks, gesturing to the mat beside her. “I’m just doing some light yoga. You’ll love it. Good for your hips.”
I blink. “My hips are fine.”
“Okay, old man.”
“I’m twenty-nine. Thought you were going to the coffee shop?”
She smirks. “Then you definitely need this. And I decided I needed some activity first. You inspired me.”
I sigh, because there’s no winning. “Alright. One pose. But I’m sitting after that.”
“Deal,” she says, grinning like she’s just recruited me to a cult.
I step onto the mat beside her. Immediately, she starts adjusting my feet like she’s a professional instructor. Hands on my thighs. Then my lower back.
Not thinking dirty thoughts. Not thinking dirty thoughts.
“Okay,” she says brightly. “Now we’re going into Warrior Two.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Just follow me.”
She steps forward, arms extended, legs wide apart in some kind of powerful stance. I do my best to mimic her, which feels a bit like attempting ballet after leg day.
She peeks at me from the corner of her eye. “You’re totally shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Stop looking at me.”
“I’m literally your yoga instructor right now.”
“Oh my God.”
“Now breathe into it,” she says, her voice all calm and serene while I’m basically dying.
I glance at her again. She’s not even trying to be hot. She just is. There’s sweat glistening at her collarbone, and she’s smiling like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
This is torture.
“Okay,” I say, dropping out of the pose. “I’m officially good. My hips are open. My soul is clean. I need to sit down before I pull something I can’t afford to ice.”
Cassie throws back her head and really laughs.
It’s the kind of laugh that makes you forget why you were trying so hard to be careful in the first place.
Somehow, the part that gets me the most isn’t the sports bra or the glistening skin. It’s the laugh.
And that means I’m in even more trouble than I thought.
“Alright, Yoda,” I mutter, pushing off the mat and heading for the door. “I’m gonna take a nap.”
“A nap?” she teases. “It’s not even noon.”
“Well, I just had a spiritual experience. I need to recover.”
“From one yoga pose?”
“From you,” I say before I can stop myself.
She blinks. Her smile falters for half a second, then returns, slower this time. Softer.
But she doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.
I just slip inside, pretending I didn’t mean it like that, and pretend I’m still in control.
Even though we both know I’m not. Not even close.