7 #3
I turn over, the little blades of grass sticking flat to my face, my arms, crawling when he grabs my leg. It’s too easy to laugh, dive back in, and start to wrestle him.
Somewhere in the scuffle he’s lost that hairclip, his reading glasses. A few strands of his hair are strewn across his face, catching my attention. I can’t help but stop to drag the pad of my finger across his temple, raking my nails through his scalp.
Every noise, smile, laugh I pull from him feels like a battle he’s losing with himself, to keep it all locked under that stern glare he hides behind. A game of tug-o-war I didn’t realize I’d been roped into, but I want to win.
This motherfucker has captured my attention in a way I can’t quite comprehend. No matter how many times I tell myself to stop looking at him, somehow I always find my stare back on him, my natural resting place.
For several moments, there’s only the stars, the sound of our breathing, and the crickets chirping.
I glance over at him before I’m ready for it. His dark eyes flick up to mine through his long, dark lashes, soft gaze, and slight smile. It’s so tender it spears something through me. I’m not sure if it’s panic, lust, or a mystery third option.
Is this too close? Too personal?
Don’t get me wrong, I think he’s cute. Understatement of the century, I think he’s really fucking hot.
But Logan has the vibes of a guy who would blurt out, “I love you,” on a first or second date.
I’ve been holding him at arm’s length, maybe because of that.
Or maybe I’m projecting my fears onto him.
I tug out of the intimacy of that soft look he’s giving me, rolling over onto my side. I stare down at the dirt, gritting my teeth and willing the fucking butterflies away. Damn this fucking guy.
“Ava, I have a confession to make,” Logan says, and I freeze. I’ve been here before, and I fear I know exactly what he’s going to say.
I know I take too long to prompt him to continue. I honestly don’t want him to, but we’re already here. “What is it?”
Logan strokes the inside of my ankle, quiet for a minute. His stern profile is contemplative under the shadow of evening. His fingers tense around my ankle momentarily as he plucks a bug off my shin and then releases us both.
“Well, so . . . you only wanted a one-time thing.”
“Yeah . . . ”
The bug buzzes between us, a firefly burning in and out of view.
“And then there was a second time.”
“There was.” I nod and try not to wince. I fucking knew it. Oh, here we go.
“And I’m not trying to push back on that—”
“No, you’re right, I guess I’ve been sending mixed signals,” I interrupt him quickly, mentally planning my exit. Put up a roadblock to stall him, put some space between us. “Maybe we can be . . . friends.”
“Sure, friends.”
“Friends who hook up, yeah. We could do that. Friends with benefits. People do that,” I suggest, trying to hold back feeling too excited at the prospect. “I’m just not really looking to get attached—”
“That’s what I’m saying. Neither am I.” Logan sighs, his head tipping back as he turns a little away from me.
I frown.
“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. And I feel like you deserve to know, since we’ve done this a couple times, I have an . . . ex-fiancée. The break’s pretty fresh.”
For a moment I don’t know how to respond. It stings, more than it has any right to. I hate that I’m instantly jealous. This whole time I thought I had his attention all to myself, and he’s been what, pining over his ex, using me as a rebound?
I wonder if some part of me smelled the emotional unavailability on him and that’s what drew me in. Tasting accusations in my mouth, I ask, “When were you going to tell me?”
“Both of the times you told me not to call you,” Logan answers a little wryly, and ok, maybe I deserve that. He has a whole life, and of course I hadn’t bothered to learn about it. I’d thought it’d be safer not to, that it would keep me from getting in too deep.
I can’t help but be curious at what caused them to split, but in the same thought, I’m not sure I want to know.
He says, quiet and pensive, “I just felt like you had a right to know.”
I realize then he’s telling me this thing that keeps happening between us can’t go anywhere.
Which is fine! I don’t need it to go anywhere. I didn’t want to get involved, period; of course, I don’t want to get involved with a guy who just got out of a serious relationship. If anything, this will help curb that overeager crush on him that I’ve been having trouble reigning in.
I hold out a fist. “Friends?”
The crickets chirp through the silence as he leaves me hanging for a good ten seconds. Ugh, this whole situation is so weird.
“Yeah. Friends,” Logan agrees finally, and knocks mine with his own.
Maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe this is exactly what I wanted, actually. This could work, we can just be friends with benefits, and I don’t have to worry that he wants something more than I do.
Besides, it’s fine. It’s not like I’m asking Logan to move in with me. I mean, I wouldn’t. We’re not going to know each other that long. Really, this is what I wanted, just a sexual relationship with no feelings involved.