Page 25 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“Okay.”

There are actual cheers when I agree, and before I know it, I’m back in the passenger seat of Logan’s truck and heading to the outskirts of town for fire-pit meat and cheap beer.

We pull onto a dirt road that leads to a huge white house with a sprawling porch. There’s a firepit blazing in the middle of the yard, and at least forty people are clustered around the fire for warmth. The smoky scent knocks me back a step when I exit the truck, but the sweet touch of cherry wood draws me back in.

“Okay, now I’m glad I’m here,” I joke, breathing in the gift being puffed out of a huge smoker.

“My company wasn’t enough, huh?” Logan says, slinging an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close. My palm lands on his chest as my feet stumble and I end up grabbing hold of his flannel shirt. It’s strange how well we fit—like his height was made for mine. Everything seems to have a place.

Logan guides me toward the group, not letting his arm leave my shoulder until he introduces me to a few girls sitting on a log bench near the fire. I don’t catch any of their names because I’m too stupefied by this entire scenario. Plus, it’s hard to hear over the music being blasted from the back of someone else’s truck. The girls seem nice, though. One of them hands me a beer and compliments my shoes, either that or she’s letting me know I stepped in farm gifts, a term my dad uses for horse shit. I thank her for the beer, then let Logan lead me to the next group of his friends. I feel a bit like I’m on tour, so I clutch my beer and take long sips until my nerves subside.

We make a full circle around the fire, stopping to grab more drinks from a huge metal bin filled with ice before sitting at a picnic table with plates full of food. Jax and Dante join us, but Liam and Bradley disappeared near the first set of girls I met.

Within seconds, the three guys are shoveling food into their mouths. My plate is crumbs in comparison. I manage to fashion together a sandwich with the scoops of pork and coleslaw I got from the tables near the porch. I lean forward so I don’t wind up dropping half the meat down my dress and take a bite.

“Right?” Dante says from across the table.

“Err my gawd,” I mumble through a full mouth, a piece of the bun flaking off. Logan catches it in his hand, then brushes what I’m guessing is a splotch of sauce from my chin. I can literally feel my eyes get dopey as I look up at him through my lashes.

“I’m guessing you like it?” His thumb brushes my chin one more time, but I know there’s nothing there to wipe away this time. This touch is extra—a bonus touch.

I nod slowly and lick the flavor from my lips, Logan’s focus dropping to my mouth. His smile spreads a hint, and his lips part to show his tongue caught in his front teeth. Maybe I drank that first beer a little too quickly, or maybe I’m feeling just right. Whatever the reason, I think Logan Ford actually wants to kiss me. And not just for show.

“Rach, you have to try the tots. I mean, everything is good deep-fried, but these—here, just try.” And our moment is once again foiled by one of Logan’s roommates as Jax slides across the bench until his thigh is touching mine and he’s pinching a tater tot in front of me, begging me to try.

“Oh, sure. Yeah,” I stutter, taking it from him and popping it in my mouth. It’s piping hot, and I have to spit it in my palm almost immediately.

“And this is why Jax will never have a girlfriend,” Logan scoffs, taking the tater from my palm then promptly cleaning my hand with his napkin. I dive into my second beer, drinking nearly a third of it down to quell both my nerves and the blisters I fear are coming.

“Sorry, Rach,” Jax says, hiking his shoulders up and flashing an apologetic expression to Logan.

“It’s okay. I was not expecting it, is all,” I say. Not wanting to sour the mood, I reach across the table to his plate and take another tot, this time blowing it cool for several seconds before taking a bite. It’s an average tater tot, but there’s something sweet about Jax and the way he’s hanging on the edge waiting for my response.

“Amazing!” I proclaim, finishing the rest and turning my focus back to Logan, who leans in and rests his forehead on mine.

“You’re way too nice to him. Careful, you’ll get yourself a stray,” he says through a soft laugh.

“I haven’t already?” I say, blinking up.

He leans back enough to look me in the eyes, quiet for a few seconds, then he pushes our plates closer to the middle of the table and grabs my hand.

“Come with me,” he says, swinging his legs around and holding out his other hand to help me to my feet. I hold on and am careful not to flash my underwear to his roommates as I clear the picnic bench.

Country music blasts through the speakers, and Logan slide steps next to me, bumping my hip and sending me a few steps to the side. Our hands still tethered, he quickly pulls me back into him with a little spin then dips me. His breath tickles my throat, and I’m all too aware of how close his mouth is to the edge of my dress and curve of my breasts. Laughter spills out of me so hard it’s silent. It’s mostly from shock, but also, I’m truly happy.

I’m also definitely feeling the two and a half beers. Those went down quick.

Logan helps me back upright, the earth tipping a little in my mind, which translates to loose feet.

“Whoa, Shortcake,” he says, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder. I meet his gaze again as I hold my right arm out like I’m on a balance beam.

“I think I’m good,” I say. My words sound like a giggle.

“Let’s get you a water,” he says, leading me up the porch and into the grand house.

The inside is even more breathtaking than the outside, the walls all painted a dark gray-blue, honey-colored wood accents and trim, and cream-colored oversized sofas by a roaring fire. At least five separate couples are making out by the fire, and my eyes linger on them as we zip through the space on our way to the kitchen. What they’re doing looks fun. Dalton wasn’t much into PDA. Of course, I’ve never really been into being out with the public, which I suppose is step one.

“Here we go,” Logan says, pulling a cold water bottle from the fridge. He twists the cap off and hands it to me, and I guzzle down nearly all of it in one breath. I know how this chemistry works. I drank that water because I’m thirsty. It won’t do a damn thing for my blood alcohol content. Time is the only factor that matters.

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