Chapter 15 Logan
LOGAN
It’s been two days since the Halloween party, and Nathan still hasn’t looked at me.
Not in the kitchen yesterday morning when we reached for the same mug. Not when I waved the last inch of coffee in front of him. Not even this afternoon when I cracked a joke about Ryan and Isabella’s over-the-top, gross PDA.
He just kept walking, his eyes fixed on anything that wasn’t me, like the Halloween party never happened.
I lie back on my bed with a groan and stare up at the ceiling, where one of my hockey socks is still looped over a blade—Austin dared me to hook it from across the room, I did, and I haven’t cared enough to get it back down.
There’s a pile of laundry in the corner that I need to do and I haven’t even fucking started the essay for class I have to hand in this week. I’ve got a thousand better things I could be doing, but instead, I’m lying here replaying every second of that conversation.
And that’s the part that pisses me off the most.
Because this isn’t me. I don’t overthink, and I definitely don’t sit around dissecting why a guy can’t meet my eyes. I crack a joke, shake it off, and move on. Simple.
Except nothing about this feels simple.
Every time I glance at my door, I have to talk myself out of going down the hall and knocking on his.
Because we’re not doing this. We’re not pretending the last forty-eight hours didn’t happen. I didn’t imagine the way he looked at me or the way he blurted out that he hated seeing another guy touch me. He said it. I heard it.
I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I need a drink, food, anything that doesn’t leave me rotting in bed and thinking about that night for the thousandth time.
I grab the nearest hoodie off the back of my chair and pull it over my head as I head downstairs.
Austin’s at Maisie’s. Ryan and Isabella have disappeared into his room, and the whole place feels weirdly quiet.
The kitchen’s dim when I flip the switch, one of the bulbs flickering. Someone should probably fix it. Not me, though.
I rub a hand over my face and yank open the fridge, my shoulders deflating when I see nothing but leftovers, a few beers, and someone’s unlabeled Tupperware that’s been here for… fuck, over three weeks now.
I grab some leftover lasagna, and then I hear footsteps on the stairs and glance over my shoulder.
Nathan freezes for a second when he sees me, not expecting anyone to be down here. My eyes flick down to his bare chest. The guy who gave me shit every damn day for not owning a shirt is now standing there with bare shoulders, tight abs, and low-slung gray sweats that should be fucking illegal.
He blinks once, runs a hand through his hair, and then walks right past me without a word. He grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with water.
Cool. So that’s how it’s gonna be.
I shut the fridge, place the lasagna on the counter, and cross my arms. “You’re avoiding me.”
He takes a sip of water, still not looking at me, which pisses me the fuck off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I huff out a laugh. “You’ve barely said two words to me since the party.”
Nathan keeps his eyes on the faucet. “Been busy.”
He’s trying so fucking hard not to look at me. Trying too hard to act like everything’s normal.
“Doing what? Counting ceiling tiles? You’ve barely left your room.”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “I’m not avoiding you, Logan. Drop it.”
“Sure,” I say, pushing off the counter. “Just like you didn’t bolt out of that hallway the second someone else showed up.”
“That was nothing,” he mutters.
“Right,” I scoff. “Because blurting out that you hated seeing another guy touching me and then running is totally nothing.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek, and he sets the glass down harder than necessary. “I was drunk. It was a long night.”
“You were stone-cold sober,” I shoot back. “And we both know it.”
The silence stretches between us, only broken by water dripping from the faucet.
“I shouldn’t have said it.”
“Why?” I ask, my brows dipping. “Because it wasn’t true?”
“Because it was,” he grinds out, meeting my eyes. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”
I step toward him before I even think to stop myself. “Then maybe stop pretending it didn’t happen and figure out what the hell this is.”
He shakes his head, dropping his head. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Try not to disappear on me again,” I say. “Try looking at me.”
He lifts his eyes, meeting mine, and whatever is in his eyes makes my pulse race. His fingers brush the back of his neck, then drop again.
“I just—fuck.” His voice cracks on the word. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve spent my whole life being a certain kind of person. Following rules. Controlling everything. Knowing exactly who I am.”
I watch him struggle for words, watch the way his throat moves as he swallows.
“And you think wanting me ruins that?” I ask him.
He stops spiraling, lifting his brown eyes to mine and the look in his eyes makes it hard as fuck to breathe.
“I’m not you, Logan,” he says, catching me off guard.
I lift a brow. “Meaning?”
“I don’t just flirt my way through shit,” he says, looking up at me now. “I don’t get to act like it’s all a joke.”
A frown tugs at my lips as I take a slow step closer to him. “You think that’s all I do?”
He clenches his jaw, like the words are fighting to get out. I can practically see the war going on in his head.
“You’re killing yourself trying not to say it,” I murmur. “So say it. What do you want?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says, the word strained. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Just… let it go. Forget I ever brought it up. Please.”
The way he pleads almost makes me want to turn around and act like it never happened, but I can’t do that. Not anymore. “What do you want?” I ask again.
His throat works, but he doesn’t reply.
“Goddamn it, Hayes,” I bite out. “What. Do. You. Want?”
“Fuck.” He exhales hard, his eyes closing for a second like he’s trying to will the words back down. He opens his eyes a couple of seconds later and I think he’s going to tell me to let it go again, but then he blurts out the last words I ever thought I’d hear from his mouth. “I want to fuck you.”
My heart stutters, and for a second neither of us breathes. His eyes widen slightly as if he can’t believe he just said that.
Neither can I.
My brows lift, and I let out a slow breath. “I do the fucking.”
He stares at me, then lets out this low groan. “Fuck.”
My stomach flips, heat crawling up my neck. I want to hear him make that sound again, preferably with my hands on him this time and my mouth against his throat.
I can’t help but smirk. “You like the sound of that?”
He swallows, his throat working hard. “Yeah.”
“Does it scare you?” I ask him, arching my brow.
“Yeah.”
At least he’s honest. But I can also see how much it fucking excites him, which excites the hell out of me.
I’ve heard enough straight-guy-is-curious stories to know how they usually end. I’m forced to sneak around, be shoved back in the closet until they decide they don’t like dick after all and go date a girl they can parade around at family brunch. I promised myself I’d never sign up for that.
But for Nathan?
That rule suddenly feels negotiable.
He drags a hand through his hair. “I’m confused,” he admits when I don’t say anything. “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”
“I didn’t either,” I say with a shrug. “About myself. About any of it. It’s not some switch you flip. It just happens slowly.” I let out a slow breath. “One day you’re looking at a guy and you realize he’s hot. Then you’re looking a little too long. And then it’s not just looking anymore.”
He stares at me and I can tell he’s processing, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his chest moves as he breathes hard.
My eyes drift to his bare torso and I lick my lips. I wonder if he admitted this to me because I’m one of the only guys he knows who’s out? Maybe all he wants is to explore his sexuality and I just happen to be here.
I lift my eyes to his. “You know any guy would kill for a chance with you, right?” I tell him, tilting my head. “If you wanna explore this with someone else—”
“No.” He cuts me off before I can finish, shaking his head hard. “I don’t… I don’t want to do this with anyone else.”
My heart lurches in my throat.
Because I’ve been flirted with a lot, I’ve been wanted before, but I’ve never been the only option before.
He exhales, his eyes darting away, and I catch the flush crawling up his sexy neck. “I shouldn’t have even said anything,” he murmurs. “I don’t even know if… if you’re even attracted to me.”
“Oh, Hayes,” I murmur, a low chuckle rumbling in my chest, “you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”
His breath catches and his mouth parts a little, those brown eyes widening. He swallows again, his bulging throat begging for my tongue. Fuck me, he really has no clue what that does to me. “Yeah?” he manages.
“Mmh.”
Another harsh breath leaves him. “Do you…” he starts, hesitates for a few seconds, then tries again. “Do you think of the other guys like that?”
I snort. “I mean… Ryan’s attractive, sure. Austin’s basically my brother so that’s a big fat no, and Cole’s only hot when he’s not plotting someone’s death. But no,” I admit with a shake of my head. “Never like that. It’s too weird.”
Nathan’s breathing quickens a little. “But you thought of me?”
“Yeah,” I say, without an ounce of hesitation. “I thought of you.”
Silence stretches between us, his eyes locked on mine, so warm and gorgeous, and fuck, it should be illegal to look that good.
He holds my gaze as his tongue drags over his bottom lip, wetting it, which makes my cock twitch in my sweats.
I edge in before my brain can veto the idea, taking one step, then another, until there’s barely an inch of air left between us. No clue how I’m still breathing.
He smells so good, and is so close and all I want to do is close the distance and see what he tastes like.
His breath snags when I lift my hand and trace the narrow strip of skin just above his waistband. Just one slow stroke with my thumb, but his chest jumps like I’ve done a lot more.
His chest is rising and falling fast as hell, and those gorgeous eyes drop to my mouth, then flick back up a couple of seconds later. He’s conflicted as hell, but he’s still not moving away.
My thumb sweeps over him again. “You want this, Hayes?”
His lips part, but no sound comes out. He just watches me, his cheeks slightly flushed, and his pulse racing hard enough that I can feel it under my fingertips.
I lean in the last fraction, let my chest brush his. Heat rolls off him and straight into me, every shaky breath he takes rattling through both of us.
“Logan, I…” He exhales on a rough whisper. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
All I want is to close the last inch, get my hand under his jaw, and find out how he tastes when he says my name like that. But he isn’t ready and there’s no way in hell I’m going to pressure him into this.
I drag in a breath that does exactly nothing to calm me, not with him standing there with a lean line of muscle vanishing beneath those sweats. Unreal.
My hand slips off his hip and I let it fall.
“You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” I tell him, looking into his brown eyes. “You wanna mess around? Cool. You wanna wait? Also cool. I’m not gonna push you.”
His shoulders ease a little. “Really?”
I arch a brow. “Give me a little credit, Hayes. I’m a little more patient than that.”
The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.
“I mean it, though,” I say. “I’ll wait until you’re ready.” I take a breath, running a hand through my hair. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—waiting is gonna suck. I’ve got a pretty low tolerance for delayed gratification. You’ve seen me with microwave popcorn.”
That pulls an actual huff of amusement from him, and my chest loosens a little.
“But…” I shrug. “You’re worth it.”
His eyes flick down to my mouth, then back to my eyes.
“But just so you know…” I lean in, a smirk curling onto my lips. My eyes flick down to his mouth—those stupidly pretty lips—then back up. “I’m gonna make it really fucking hard.”
He huffs out a laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re so fucking annoying.”
I hum, tilting my head slightly. “That’s funny. ‘Cause I could’ve sworn you just told me you wanted me. And only me.”
His eyes flick up to mine, a glare in them. “I said no such thing.”
I grin, loving the flush coating his skin. “Sure, Hayes.”
I take a step back. “Night,” I say as I grab the cold lasagna and a fork and head for the door. I pause in the doorway, glancing back at him over my shoulder with a grin. “Try not to dream about me.”
He rolls his eyes, but I catch the flicker of a smile before he turns away.
I take that win and head for the door, biting back my own grin.
This night ended up being a hell of a lot better than I thought it would be.