Page 88 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

Logan kissed me.

We kissed.

I kissed Logan freaking Alexander.

I did that.

And, oh man, oh man, he kissed me. Did he ever.

I plop onto the couch, my head thrown back so I’m staring up at the ceiling.

I kissed Logan Alexander.

Logan kisses just like I imagined he would.

No. So much better.Infinitelybetter.

I could spend a year imagining how he kisses and it would be insufficient. Nothing would have prepared me for our actual kiss.

My fingers drift up to my lips, as if I could recapture the sensation of our mouths together.

That first gentle brush, careful, thoughtful, adoring. Then the way he moved in with confidence and passion. And I was right there with him. Of course I was. He’s everything I couldn’t dare imagine him being. He’s generous, humble, sweet, patient—and he wants me.

I definitely planned to kiss you.Those words. He planned to kiss me?

What kind of man has that level of desire pent up inside of him—and the equal measure of self-control to bide his time, waiting for me to come to my senses? He waited for me, and he would have continued to endure until I was ready.

I pick the throw pillow up and squeal into it again.

I need to change out of my work clothes and go back over to his apartment.

But I’m stalling.

What now?

How will it be between us?

What are we doing? Does he want to date?

Who are we to one another now that we aren’t bitter rivals?

My brain is a swirling cloud of euphoria, confusion, and fear.

I know how to be Logan’s enemy. I’m not sure I know how to bethis—whatever this is.

I pick up my cell.

OLIVIA

Just a quick PSA. You might want to put my ice cream back in the fridge. I’m sort of freaking out.

LOGAN

Freaking out?

OLIVIA

Overthinking the rest of my life—and the first half too, while I’m at it.

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