Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
LOGAN
By the time her brother opens the closet, I’m already on the lawn. Meanwhile, I’m shirtless and shoeless.
Not to mention completely naked.
And yeah. This is a big problem.
Okay. Think, Logan.
This feels like a flashback to college. Except I never actually went to college.
Clothes. I need clothes.
I scan Cassie’s back patio, eyes darting like something might magically appear. Why did we, as a society, abandon clotheslines? This feels like exactly the kind of situation they were invented for.
My gaze drifts to the trees. Right. Because I’m Tarzan now.
Unfortunately, this isn’t the , and there’s not a single leaf big enough to preserve my dignity.
I am so screwed.
Wait.
My eyes lock onto something draped over a lawn chair: Cassie’s blue yoga pants that she left out here for some odd reason.
Jackpot.
I slip them on.
Well, that’s an exaggeration. I painstakingly, carefully, roll them on. How do women fit into these things? They’re so tight.
I look down and, yeah, this doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Pretty sure my ass looks great, though.
I consider my options and come up with a plan on the fly.
Step one: I drop to the ground and crank out a bunch of pushups—fast, brutal, enough to get my heart pounding and my skin flushed. Sweat beads across my shoulders. Good. Sell the part.
Step two: I jog through the neighbor’s yard like Ferris Bueller, cut around the side of the house, and loop back toward Cassie’s front door like I’ve just finished a nice, normal morning run.
Logan, you absolute genius.
Okay, now, step three: slip inside, head straight upstairs, grab my clothes, and pretend none of this ever happened.
I probably won’t even see Jackson.
And if I do? I’ve got a cover story.
I press the door open, and no one’s there. I breathe out, relief hitting fast and heavy.
I dart the twenty feet to the stairs—almost home free before I hear his voice.
“Yo. Buddy.”
I freeze and turn slowly.
Jackson stands in the kitchen, coffee in one hand, cabinet door hanging open behind him like he’s mid-repair. His gaze drags over me—sweaty, shirtless, barefoot—then back up to my face.
“…Morning,” I say nonchalantly.
“You just get back from a run?”
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat.
“You ran…barefoot?”
“Oh yeah,” I say, nodding like this is completely normal. “Barefoot running. I read this book all about it. It helps with the, uh…arches. And ankle joints.”
Jackson takes a slow sip of his coffee. “On concrete. That doesn’t seem healthy, honestly. Seems insane.”
“It builds character, too.”
He hums, unconvinced. His eyes drop again, scanning me—lingering this time.
“What’s with those pants?”
I clear my throat and glance down at the bright blue yoga pants hugging my legs.
“They’re these special compression tights,” I say immediately. “They help with circulation. They’re huge in Europe right now.”
“Really? Because they look like women’s yoga pants.”
“Nah,” I don’t miss a beat. “It’s a unisex brand.”
Jackson just stares at me long enough that I start to sweat, for real this time.
“Also,” I add, because hell, at this point, why not, “sustainable materials. It’s a whole thing.”
“Really.”
“You should try it.”
“I think I’m good.”
Jackson takes a slow sip of his coffee.
Right then, Cassie comes into view.
Her eyes widen the second she sees me.
Jackson glances over at her. “You hear about any of these new trends? Barefoot running with men’s compression shorts? Logan says they’re big in Europe. I mean, to each their own. I’ve just never seen someone wearing them.”
Cassie pauses like she’s actually considering it.
“Hm. You know what? I did hear something about that. I think it started in Sweden.”
“Sweden.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Very progressive over there. After the Berlin Wall fell and whatnot.”
Berlin Wall? What the hell am I even saying?
“Berlin Wall?” Jackson looks back at me, unimpressed. “That was Germany.”
“Oh, yeah, obviously, but it spread throughout Europe. Culturally speaking. And it, uh, really picked up steam in Sweden.”
He nods slowly, like he’s filing this under complete bullshit.
“And not to be crude,” he says, “but those don’t exactly hide your…situation. You didn’t get any stares out there in the neighborhood? This isn’t Miami Beach.”
I shrug, doing my very best not to convey how much I want to be done with this conversation, up the stairs, and out of these pants. “I’m trendsetting. Like I said, I think Riverbend could use a little more, uh, outside culture.”
Cassie almost chokes on a laugh, but holds it in.
Luckily Jackson doesn’t see her.
“Anyway,” he says, like this is a normal conversation we’re having, “I wanted to mention, I’m hosting a barbecue this weekend. You should come.”
He looks at Cassie.
“Both of you. Obviously.”
“Oh,” she says. “Cool. Yeah, sounds like a blast.”
“Yeah,” Jackson adds, turning back to me. “Just…maybe don’t wear that.”
He takes another sip of his coffee, then heads back to the cabinet like this is just another normal morning.
The second he turns his back and is out of earshot, Cassie looks at me.
“You climbed out my window,” she says in a hushed whisper.
I shrug. “You shoved me in a closet.”
Her lips twitch. “You’re wearing my pants.”
“They’re unisex,” I wink.
She lets out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
“You can’t do that again.”
I tilt my head. “Which part?”
She hesitates. “Just…maybe we should stay in separate rooms. For now.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Probably a good idea.”
And just like that, it’s not funny anymore.