Ellie
Logan and I were having dinner with my parents.
No one knew that we were wading into something far deeper than the easy friendship everyone had always seen.
The sex. The lingering touches. The way our eyes found each other in a room like there was a magnetic pull neither of us could fight.
It was becoming a rhythm I craved, and I wasn’t sure I could play it cool long enough to keep our secret.
It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t shame. It just didn’t feel like the right time to announce whatever this was between us… mostly because I wasn’t even sure I could put a name to it myself.
I stood in the kitchen with my mom, helping her pull together the last of dinner before Boone and Logan came in from work. I’d only arrived a short while ago, but I’d caught sight of them in the barn, cleaning up from the day. That meant they’d be walking in any minute.
My heart gave a traitorous kick at the thought of Logan being here.
“So,” my mom said casually, stirring a pot on the stove, “you haven’t told me about the trip or the rodeo.”
I inhaled slowly, keeping my back to her as I rinsed the last of the dishes from her meal prep. “It was fun.”
“That’s it? Fun?” I could feel her gaze burning into me like a spotlight. “I want details. What did you do? How were Logan’s parents?”
I dried my hands on a towel and turned, leaning against the edge of the sink.
“Well… we went to this super cool theme park that was made to look abandoned. We played games, rode the rides.” I couldn’t help laughing as I remembered Logan dramatically failing at one of the games, only to still win me a little keychain.
The same keychain that now dangled from my car keys, traveling everywhere with me.
“An abandoned theme park? That sounds perfect for you.”
I grinned and nodded. “Then, we went to this restaurant where they write insults on your hats.” Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through my photos and held it out so she could see the picture I’d taken of Logan and me side by side, ridiculous paper hats perched on our heads.
Mom took the phone, her smile softening. “You two are so cute. I swear it feels like just yesterday you were both running around this yard, soaking wet from the sprinkler, asking me what I was making for dinner.”
I dropped my gaze to the floor, memories of us with bare feet on summer grass, his laugh chasing mine across the yard flashing through my mind.
When I looked back up, her eyes were softened with a subtle smile on her lips—like she saw the truth that was blooming between Logan and me.
Before she could say more, the front door swung open. Boone’s laugh and Logan’s deep voice rolled through the house, wrapping around me like a promise I wasn’t ready to explain.
Just in time.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and turned back to the dishes, warm suds still clinging to my hands.
“Ma!” Boone’s voice boomed from the doorway. “We’re here!”
“How could I not hear you two?” she replied with a playful sigh.
“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Cassidy.”
Logan crossed the kitchen with his easy, confident stride, leaning down to place a kiss on my mother’s cheek. “You too, Ellie,” he murmured when his eyes found mine. Passing behind me, he gave my hip a gentle squeeze—a brief touch that lingered long after he moved toward the fridge.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs, and then my dad appeared, his messy brown hair streaked with silver at the temples.
“Smells delicious,” he said, kissing my mom’s cheek before pulling me into the same affectionate greeting.
“Boone, grab the salad bowl from the fridge,” my mom instructed. “Logan, the plates are stacked on the counter—set the table, please.”
They moved without question, Boone’s grin already up to something. I dried the last plate, setting it in the rack just as he piped up.
“You’re never going to guess who Dottie let touch her today,” Boone announced smugly.
I tapped my chin, carrying a pitcher of tea to the table. “Rhodes?”
“Nope.”
“Logan?” I jerked my thumb toward him.
“Wrong again.”
“Well, that’s all I’ve got.”
Boone rolled his eyes dramatically, dropping into his seat across from where Logan and I stood. I was secretly glad Logan chose the same side of the table as me. It felt deliberate, like he knew exactly where I wanted him.
My mom swept in with her secret raspberry-sugar sauce and a steaming casserole dish I knew by scent alone—her famous French toast casserole.
“The answer,” Boone said, “is me.”
I reached for my chair, but Logan caught it first, pulling it out with that quiet, gentlemanly ease. He waited until I was seated, pushed the chair in, then took the spot between me and my dad at the head of the table. My mom and Boone sat across from us.
“I’ve touched her plenty,” I teased Boone. “The struggle is getting her to listen and follow.”
“You’ll get there, sweetie,” my mom said, dishing food for herself and then my dad.
“She’s a tough one,” my dad added. “But now that you’re back, I know you’ll break her in.”
The casserole dish landed in front of me, but before I could reach for it, Logan leaned over, serving me first before adding to his own plate.
The gesture was subtle, but it warmed me from the inside out.
My family didn’t blink. They’d always known how Logan treated me—with quiet, unshakable kindness.
“I can do it,” I said, excitement curling in my voice. “I’ve been doing a lot of research.”
“Oh yeah?” Dad replied, pride lighting his eyes. “That’s my girl. She can do anything she sets her mind to.”
Beneath the table, a hand slid onto my thigh gently. My gaze flicked down to see Logan’s fingers splayed there, his thumb stroking slow, gentle circles. My breath caught, but I forced a calm expression, especially with my father inches away and Boone directly across from us.
“I always can,” I managed, my voice hitching just slightly. Heat pooled low in my belly as his touch inched higher, teasing, before retreating only to settle again.
“Where’s Aspen tonight?” my mom asked, oblivious to the storm brewing under the table.
“She’s at a library fundraiser,” Boone said. “I told her I’d swing by after dinner.”
The conversation swirled on, but I barely heard it. Every nerve in my body was tuned to the slow, maddening drag of Logan’s hand on my skin. I fought to keep my composure, but the second the last bite of food was eaten and chairs scraped back, my restraint snapped.
I didn’t waste time. As soon as our dishes clinked into the sink, I grabbed Logan’s bicep—firm and warm under my hand—and all but hauled him toward the stairs.
“Where are we going?” he asked, voice low, amused.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I shoved him into my childhood bedroom and shut the door behind us.
I shoved him against the door, crashing my lips into his like I’d been starving for him. My hands moved without thought, urgent and greedy, sliding between us to palm him through his jeans.
“Ellie,” he muttered against my mouth, the warning in his tone thin and frayed. I opened to him, welcoming the deep, hungry stroke of his tongue. His hands came to my hips, and then we were stumbling backward, forward—I didn’t even know, until my spine hit the wall. This time, Logan was in control.
It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was the rush of being sixteen again, sneaking my crush past my parents and into my room, only this was no teenage kiss.
This was heat and hunger and the kind of touch that made me feel alive.
His hands roamed like he couldn’t get enough, mapping me with rough palms. I yanked his cowboy hat off and tossed it aside, running my fingers through the thick strands of his hair before hooking my leg around his hip.
His grip slid down to my ass, cupping and lifting me higher, pressing me tighter to the wall. A helpless moan slipped past my lips.
He pulled away just enough to fist my hair, tilting my head and claiming my neck with slow, open-mouthed kisses that climbed to my ear. His tongue traced my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.
“I need you,” I breathed, half-plea, half-confession.
“Right here?” His voice was low, teasing, his mouth still hot on my neck.
“You knew what you were doing down there,” I whispered.
Logan chuckled against my skin, the sound deep and sinful. I was burning from the inside out, the memory of his touch beneath the table still thrumming through me. The secrecy, the risk—it had me unraveling.
My family was downstairs. I was in my childhood bedroom. And I was going to let Logan Walker ruin me.
“Did you like it, Ellie? When I touched you where they could’ve seen?”
“Yes,” I admitted, breathless.
His groan was raw, vibrating against my throat. I grabbed his jaw, bringing his mouth back to mine in a fevered kiss.
He set me down just long enough to unbutton his jeans. My own clothes came off in a blur, urgency crackling between us. A moment later he had me in his arms again, lifting, angling, and thrusting into me in one deep, devastating stroke.
I gasped, my cry muffled by his palm as his dark, dilated eyes locked on mine. His pace was relentless, all possession and no hesitation.
“That’s it,” he growled, each word punctuated by the sharp drive of his hips. “Take me so damn good.”
He shifted, slowing just to torment me, dragging the friction out until I was clenching around him, desperate for more. Then, his movements were fast and hard again. Logan held me up with one arm braced against the wall, making me feel every inch of him.
“Logan,” I moaned, my voice breaking as my release built, winding tighter and tighter until it snapped. My head tipped back, my mouth falling open as pleasure tore through me in waves. He followed, his body shuddering against mine, his groan low and raw in my ear.
We stayed there for a beat, both breathing hard, before he eased me to the floor.
“Think they noticed we were gone?” he asked, fastening his jeans.
“Oh, definitely,” I said, wriggling back into mine before moving toward the mirror on my wall.
I ran a hand down my hair, making sure it didn’t look too crazy.
Logan plucked his hat from my desk and stepped beside me, our reflections side by side. I caught his gaze in the glass, my smile slow and sure.
He smirked, adjusting his brim. “We look good together, don’t we, Ace?”