Page 32 of We Were Something
It was the stupidest, most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen her do. And I’ve seen Lennon do a lot of dumb shit, so that’s seriously saying something.
“Just so you know, I didn’t put her up to it,” I tell Logan, turning back to look at his handsome profile. “I don’t knowwhereshe came up with that, but I wasn’t involved. I’m guessing she just wanted to try to be helpful.”
“And she was being helpful, huh?”
I shrug. “Well, Imighthave confessed to her that I have a bit of a crush on you. She was probably just trying to give me a chance to have a few moments alone with you before you turn me down again.”
The words come out in a lighthearted way, but I can see the way Logan mulls them over in silence next to me…as if each one is something to be examined.
We sit in silence for most of the car ride after that, and I allow myself to think back to Lennon’s suggestions on how to accommodate what is most likely nerves on his end.
But when we pull up to my house, there’s this pregnant pause, this extended bit of silence where we both just watch each other. Logan’s eyes scan my face, dropping to my lips for long beats before dragging back up to my eyes.
That’s when I know that, while I should take Lennon’s thoughts into account, I still have to be me. And the Paige I’ve always been is more comfortable with being direct than coy.
“I’m gonna just ask you something, and I’d really like for you to answer honestly,” I tell him, watching as my words seem to shake him out of whatever stupor he was in as he watched me.
He nods. “Of course.”
“I am very attracted to you,” I tell him. “Especially with those glasses,” I tack on, giggling to myself for a second and enjoying the way Logan smiles at my honesty.
Taking a deep breath, I keep going.
“And I keep getting the feeling you’re attracted to me too, but…am I reading something wrong?” I lick my lips, giving myself a breath to make sure I say it right. “If you’re not, no hard feelings…I…just keep feeling this tug between us. Like you are…but you also don’t want to be.”
Logan huffs out a chuckle and runs a hand along his jawline, his eyes sliding away from mine and looking out the windshield.
“Of course I’m attracted to you, Paige. How could I not be?” he says.
My lips begin to turn up at his statement, enjoying the fact that he’s finally being honest with me about how he feels, and also that he’s being honest with himself.
“But you have to realize…” he continues, looking back at me with what looks like an apology in his eyes.
And that’s when my lips turn down. I know whatever he says next, I’m not going to want to hear.
“…I feel like I’m in way over my head right now. Forsomany reasons. I…”
Before he can say anything else, I reach out and place my hand over the same spot on his jaw where he was just brushing his own hand, and my thumb moves to cover his lips, halting his words.
I shake my head.
“You don’t have to explain,” I tell him. “In a different world, maybe things could have been different.”
Though if I’m being completely honest with myself, I don’twanthim to explain. I don’t want him to give me the reasons why anything else is more important than the strange thrum of chemistry linking us together any time we’re within 50 feet of each other.
Because for the first time in my life, that link feels like the most important thing I’ve ever felt, and I don’t want to hear him deny something I know is worth risking whatever bit of discomfort he doesn’t seem to be willing to put on the line.
I scoot closer and lean forward slowly, telling myself that one soft kiss on his cheek will be the last thing I take from him.
My lips press softly against the bit of stubble on his face, right at that sensual dip at the corner of his mouth. I breathe in deeply, drawing as much of him as I can into my lungs before I pull back and give him a sad smile. Wishing things between us could be different and, realistically, facing the rawness of true rejection from a man for the first time in my entire life.
But as I open my mouth to say good night, I feel his hand come up and clamp around the back of my neck, tugging me forward. Drawing me back in.
And then his lips press against mine—but it’s only lips for the briefest of seconds, because before I know it, his mouth is opening, as is mine, our tongues sweeping across each other, the flavor of him exploding in my mouth. His single glass of wine and the bit of chocolate he had for dessert mixed with something warm and dark and delicious that can only be the taste of Logan himself.
My hand, which gripped his shirt in surprise, now rests flat against his chest, and I can feel the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat as it thuds beneath my palm.
Slow and steady, I remind myself.It’s not a race.
