Page 42 of What It Means To Be Found

We hadn’t spoken since the night we texted.

Part of me felt like I needed to be the one to break the ice, but I was too nervous to. I didn’t initiate the conversation that led us to climaxing over the phone together, and I had no idea how to initiate a conversation with the large man afterward. I hadn’t ever done anything like that before.

Plus, my mom was up my ass lately, taking up all my time.

She needed my help with everything. Redecorating her house, helping the Halls (Adam’s parents) with their garden parties, and of course brunches at the golf course. I had even run into Daddy James one time at my parents’ house, and my mother was still upset with me about how I rudely left without any notice.

…Perhaps I was just being rude.

It wasn’t like he was stalking me, like Courtney and Pat had suggested at work. He had been friends with my father for years before I ever slept with him, and I only worked at the early intervention clinic after his daughter had been a client there. It really seemed like a coincidence, and it wasn’t uncommon for men to not get the hint. He wasn’t angry or demanding my attention. Hell, he didn’t even hurt or abuse me the night we spent together. He just…didn’t really care about how I was feeling. It was gross how self-absorbed he was when it came to simple sex, honestly.

But what could I tell my mother? Sorry, Mom, but I banged Dad’s golf buddy last year and now that guy makes me uncomfortable and I hate being around him.

No thanks.

I had felt so drained from my full-time job, putting in just enough effort with my relationship with my mother so that she would get off my back about moving out, that I had crashed early almost every night. I had very little time to brainstorm how to converse with him again.

So I took tonight as an opportunity.

Nobody, to my knowledge, knew what Logan and I did together. This would be the first time we had seen each other since then. How he acted would give me an idea of how to move forward from this weird limbo I felt trapped in.

The front door opened, and Taylor lifted their hand in greeting as they approached the entryway. I decided I needed to play it cool, so I rinsed out the used shot glasses in the sink while everyone greeted Logan loudly.

It wouldn’t be unusual to anyone for me to ignore him for a little bit.

“We’re doing shots!” I heard Courtney declare behind me in the kitchen. “Hey, Lo, can you pour one for him? Try not to spit in it or anything.” I giggled a little at her comment. Of course, she thought I still hated him. Would we have to pretend like we hated each other? …Did I still hate him? I didn’t think so.

That sounded like fun.

I rinsed out the last shot glass, and reached for a towel to dry it off, before turning to finally take him in.

He was large. Wider than Josh and taller than Adam. I felt my breath catch in my throat as I absorbed his presence. Logan had one hip propped against Adam’s large kitchen island, his arms crossed as his gray t-shirt struggled to hold its seams together. His dark curly hair looked a little damp as if he had showered right before he came over. His black jeans stretched over his thighs as he crossed one foot over the other. His dark eyes were already on me, making their way up from whatever he was staring at before I turned around.

Oh god, was he staring at my ass?

Did I just catch Logan staring at my ass again?

I felt my lips twitch, fighting a smile at the thought.

“I promise I won’t spit in it,” I made my voice sound disappointed as I replied to Courtney’s request. “Here.” I handed the glass to him, and he silently accepted it as he reached for the bottle of vodka that we had left out for him.

His fingers brushed across mine, unnecessary but purposeful.

My heart skipped a beat at the touch.

I weirdly loved it.

“What are we playing first?” Beck asked, rubbing her hands together as if she was a competitive person. She wasn’t. She was just happy to have everyone over.

“Pictionary?” Courtney offered. All of us agreed, and after Logan took his shot and we all wrote down random prompts on slips of paper, the games began.

The night played out smoothly. Logan and I caught each other’s gaze on occasion, but each time we did I felt my cheeks heat from remembering that night. I couldn’t think too much about the presence of our current company, so I quickly broke contact. It was obvious he was thinking about it as much as I was if the heat in his eyes indicated anything.

Or maybe I was just desperate to get laid.

I was sitting on the edge of the couch, on the leather chaise since I wasn’t part of the two couples who occupied the majority of Adam’s couch. Taylor was standing in front of Adam’s TV, frustrated with us for not understanding their scribbles on the large notepad as the timer ran out. Logan was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, thumbing something on his phone when the timer was ticking off its last seconds.

“You all suck!” Taylor cried, angrily scribbling nonsense over their picture when it was clear none of us were going to guess what they drew.

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