The text came in the early evening, short and vague, but impossible to ignore.
Logan: “Need your help. Come over.”
I stared at my phone, my stomach twisting. I told myself not to overthink it, not to let my thoughts wander into dangerous territory. But they did anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, I stood in front of his house, heart hammering as I lifted my fist to knock. Before I could, the door swung open.
And there he was.
Logan leaned lazily against the doorframe, that signature smirk playing at his lips. His dark hair was a little messier than usual, and the way his hoodie hung off his broad shoulders made something tighten in my stomach.
“You actually came,” he mused, voice low, pleased.
“You said you needed help,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed.
He stepped aside, but as I passed him, his fingers brushed my wrist. Barely there, but intentional. My breath hitched.
I told myself it was nothing.
But Logan Reyes never did nothing without a reason.
Inside, the familiar scent of him wrapped around me—something warm and woodsy, like cedar and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. It felt like Logan, like trouble, like I should leave before I did something I couldn’t take back.
“What exactly do you need help with?” I asked as he led me upstairs.
He glanced back, grin deepening. “You’ll see.”
My stomach flipped.
***
His room was exactly what I expected—chaotic, lived-in, and him. Clothes draped over the back of his desk chair. A half-empty bottle of soda on the nightstand. The window slightly open, letting in the cool night air. His bed was unmade, the dark sheets rumpled, and the sight of them made something warm crawl up my spine.
Logan flopped onto the bed, stretching out like he owned the universe. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned stomach, and I hated myself for looking.
I crossed my arms. “So? What’s the emergency?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes dragged over me, slow and assessing, his gaze dark in the dim light. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Honestly?” he murmured. “I just wanted to see you.”
My breath stalled. “Logan—”
“Relax, Em,” he said, patting the empty space beside him. “Sit down. I won’t bite.”
I hesitated.
He cocked his head, amused. “What’s wrong? Are you afraid of being near me?”
Yes.
I forced myself to move, perching on the edge of his bed as far from him as possible. Not that it mattered. Logan had a way of filling every space, making the air thick, making every glance feel dangerous.
“You’ve been weird since the party,” he said, watching me too closely.
“I’m not weird,” I muttered.
His eyes flickered with something unreadable. “You ran out of the library like I was about to eat you alive.”
I swallowed hard. “C’mon let’s cut the crap. I don’t know how to do this, Logan. Whatever this is.”
His smirk faded. Silence stretched between us, heavy and full of something neither of us wanted to name.
Then, without warning, he shifted closer. His leg brushed mine, and I sucked in a breath.
His hand lifted, fingers barely grazing my wrist. I should’ve pulled away. I didn’t.
“It’s not that complicated,” he murmured.
“For you, maybe,” I whispered.
His thumb traced a slow, deliberate line up my arm, making my skin burn in its wake. Every nerve in my body locked onto that single point of contact.
Then he really closed the space.
I felt his breath against my cheek, his lips hovering close enough to touch. My heart pounded so hard I was afraid he could hear it.
“Em,” he said, voice husky, rough, like he was holding back something sharp. “You feel this, don’t you?”
I nodded before I could stop myself.
His other hand slid to my waist, fingers pressing lightly against the curve of my hip. Not demanding. Not forceful. Just there, waiting for me to push him away.
I didn’t.
“You can keep running,” Logan murmured, his nose brushing my jaw, barely, making my stomach twist. “But it won’t change anything.”
I was drowning. Drowning in him.
And then his lips barely—barely—ghosted over mine.
Not a kiss. Not quite. Just enough to make me ache, to make me need.
“Tell me to stop,” Logan whispered. “And I will.”
My lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come.
Because I didn’t want him to stop.
Not even a little.