Page 37 of What It Means To Be Found

I pressed send before I could talk myself out of it. I swore I felt my heart stop at the sight of the little “delivered” message underneath my text, letting me know he for sure saw it by now. I watched the three longest minutes of my life tick by on the clock on my phone before I saw those three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen, letting me know that he was replying to my confession.

Logan: Well.

Logan: That makes the ideas that I had in mind for ways to apologize to you significantly more fun, then.

Air rushed out of my lungs.

Was he…? Was he talking about sex? With me? He had to have been talking about sex. Was Logan saying that he wanted to have sex with me? Apologize to me with orgasms that I didn’t have to give myself? The thought made a swarm of butterflies take off in my stomach.

Me: Feel free to describe your ideas in vivid detail.

Wow, bold much, Eloise? I was grinning to myself, rereading his last message over and over and over again as I eagerly, anxiously waited for his reply.

Logan: I would if you weren’t sitting in a room with other people right now.

I frowned, not taking the time to second guess my actions before I sat up from my chair and abruptly announced that I was tired and going to bed. Susan simply lifted her mug up to me in farewell whereas Courtney asked if I was okay before I waved her question off and sprinted upstairs. I jogged to my bedroom, quickly shut the door, and locked it (I had heard many stories of Courtney and Beck almost walking in on each other at inopportune times), and got underneath the covers of my bed, and responded to him.

Me: What if I told you I was alone in my room, hiding under my blankets?

Logan: I would like the sound of that, but I would probably want proof.

I smiled, the dirty dog.

I glanced down at my tank top and sleep shorts set, wondering how I could make it look more appealing. I ended up tugging my tank lower, adjusting my breasts in the built-in camisole bra thing so that they looked nice and plump. I also lifted the bottom a little and tried to make it fall naturally on my stomach, showing off my belly button, and tugged the legs of my sleep shorts up a little more to show off my flower tattoo as well as more thigh. I then quickly lifted my phone, bit my lip the tiniest bit, and snapped a picture. I glanced at the image, glad to see some of my face cut off so that only my nose and mouth showed. I was propped up on the elbow of my other arm, which helped my body look a little curvier than it was in reality.

Though Logan had seen me in a skimpy little bikini, so he already knew what I looked like.

I sent the picture to him anyway, adrenaline pumping in my veins from the excitement of what I was doing with him.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had sent a flirty selfie to a guy.

His response came in quickly.

Logan: Fuck, Eloise.

Me: Your turn.

I grinned and smiled even wider when a picture message came in from him.

Logan was also in his bed, making heat flood in my lower belly at the image he had taken just for me. Logan was shirtless, his covers pulled low on his waist so that the band of his boxer shorts was peeking out the top. His head was cut off, but the jagged scar on his pec proved that it really was him. He was all golden skin and sharp muscle definition, with a light dusting of dark hair on his chest. His large hand rested low on his abdomen, just an inch or two away from the band of his boxers.

A second image came in.

I tapped on it with greedy fingers.

His hand was lower, the tips of his fingers tucked just underneath his boxers.

I gasped, my hand naturally falling towards my lower belly where excitement was burning throughout my skin.

Me: Would your apology include letting me touch you?

Me: I think it’s only fair, after all.

Logan: I think it would make more sense if my apology included me touching you.

Logan: You wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

Holy mother of god.

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