Page 52 of Wild Catch
“How do I get off?” I ask directly to his massive back. The world tilts a little and I squeeze him tighter.
Logan coughs and feels around my arms until he finds my hands, then tries to pry them off but I won’t budge. “Uh, first you have to let me go.”
“But then I’ll fall,” I explain.
“Not with the kick stand to balance the bike.” Oh, that must’ve been the thingy he kicked earlier. With his other hand, he taps my knee. “C’mon, ease off.”
“If I fall, I will hunt you down.”
“Rose, you won’t die from a fall this low.” He really puts some strength into tearing my arms open and it works. Next, he pushes both of my knees to spread and in the blink of an eye he’s gone.
I have a quick moment of panic where I don’t know where to put my hands and the world starts tilting again, but then a pair of big hands is on my waist from behind, and he lifts me off the bike like I’m not 5 foot 8. I bring my knees up in the air so I don’t kick his bike, deep down fearing he would kill me for that.
Finally, I can put my feet on the ground. As he spins me around, I catch sight of his backpack laying on the sidewalk by the spot I usually park at. I sway as I face him.
“Purse,” he says, offering a hand palm facing up.
“What, robbing me now?” I joke even as I fumble with the strap of my purse.
My arms are tired from all the effort it took to not blow away into a premature death, and I can’t for the life of me figure out this jacket. He’s the one who takes my purse and hangs it around his neck, and once again I watch as he unzips his jacket from me.
“Stay still,” Logan commands, reaching for the jacket and taking it off me with surprising efficiency, even though for a quick second there I almost eat his shoulder.
As he takes the garment, he returns my purse and I slide the strap over my shoulder. In an exaggeratedly peppy voice, I say, “Thanks for the ride home. Let’s not do that again any time soon. But I’m in for food again. Bye, goodnight, bye…” I drag the last word as I stumble around the bike toward the driveway.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Serious, I turn over my shoulder and say, “This wasn’t actually a date, Logan. I’m not gonna kiss you.”
“Not that.” He waves a hand like the concept is completely absurd. “My helmet.”
“Oh.”Oh. I wish a black hole could open up and swallow me whole.
I retrace my steps on tippy toes, struggling to pull the thing off my head. Again, it requires his effort to do so. I blow air hard enough to push away a curl that has glued to my face and it doesn’t budge.
But then Logan helps me with that too.
He slides the pad of a finger across my cheek, ever so softly, and pushes my hair all the way behind my ear. His eyes are fixed on the motion, and when he’s done they focus back on mine.
“I’ll do it,” he says all of a sudden.
“Do what?” I slur, frowning in confusion.
“I’ll fake date you until I get traded.”
My jaw drops.
CHAPTER18
LOGAN
Idon’t feel like garbage during this flight, for a change. My mind is busy with enough things that it has no time to latch onto the irrational fear that lives at the back of my mind.
Instead, I’m trying to rehash the key plays we had during the last series, jotting them down on my pocket notepad. I make special emphasis on the plays where we screwed up, so I can think about how we can avoid those mistakes during the upcoming away games.
It’s only been maybe ten minutes since being airborne, enjoying some peace and quiet while the seatbelt sign is on, and Starr and Rivera play chess behind me. They’ll make a fan of the game out of me because it keeps them quiet like no other. Yet the second I celebrate that in my mind, the seatbelt sign goes off and the place explodes—figuratively,whew.
“Okay who wants to check the mole at my back?” someone asks.
