Page 24 of This Is War: All's Fair Duet
I follow, hesitating just over the threshold when I realize he’s talking to himself under his breath. It finally clicks that he’s trying to locate a pair of joggers, because, yeah. Levi’s in the tiniest pair of briefs I’ve ever seen. I avert my gaze. “Oh my god, Levi,” I grit out, putting myhand up to hide my eyes. “I did not need a visual of what you’ve got in your pecker packers.”
“Suck it up, Twinkle Toes,” he scoffs with a twist to his lips. “You get what you get when you enter the man cave after hours.” My mouth drops open, and I can’t help but hazard a glance in his direction. Turns out, the jerk is waiting for just that, and he smirks at my appalled expression as he jams his legs into a pair of joggers. With a final yank of them over his ass, he winks, then grabs the lanyard attached to his keys and sidesteps me.
Before exiting, he pivots, his eyes briefly landing on Logan, who’s on his side facing the wall. “You might not think it was a big deal, wherever you went, but he was worried. That’s all I’m going to say about it.”
I swear, sometimes Levi gives me whiplash with how quickly he can switch gears. First questioning, then teasing, and now strangely protective. I rub my hands over my face and nod, because arguing with Levi isn’t going to help… and I don’t disagree with anything he’s said. I could tell by Logan’s text messages that he was thrown when he couldn’t find me.Shit.I should have texted back when I finally saw them, but I hadn’t known what to say.
Drawing in a breath, I eye Levi, unsure what the right play is here. Apologize? Tell him to mind his own business? Remind him that I’m Logan’s person and to quit worrying? “Levi?—”
Levi holds up both hands as he turns and walks out the door. “You don’t owe me anything, Rya.” He glances at Logan one final time as he closes the door, then I’m left in almost total darkness.
Logan’s bed is lifted, so he has room for a mini fridge and storage underneath. I do my usual nimble act of stepping onto his chair, then his desk, before putting a knee on the end of his mattress. I lean forward, shifting my weight onto the bed carefully, because his eyes are shut, like he fell asleep scrolling through his phone. It’s the only light source in the entire room, but it gives me a chance to study him.
His chest rises and falls subtly with each soft breath he takes. My heart thuds as my eyes wander his face. I’m so familiar with the strength of his jawline, the fullness of his lower lip, and the way his wavy hair sweeps down into his eyes.Oh, Logan.I close my eyes for a moment, hating that I worried him, even if he’d worried me, too. I crawl forward and move his phone out of the way. It’s a twin bed, so there isn’t much of a choice as to where I’m going to lie with his muscular body already hogging up most of the space, but I lower myself onto my side with my back to his front. I let my eyelids flutter shut when he doesn’t say anything. A sigh stutters uncomfortably from my lips. I don’t want him to be mad at me. And if Levi felt the need tomention it, Logan was definitely upset. And I feel awful about that.
As my brainclaws its way to wakefulness, it twists and curls in an attempt to make sense of why something seems… off. I take in the wall of heat at my back and the distinct feeling of something draped over my torso that pins me down. I’m dreaming. That’s all. Warm pressure slides over the skin of my stomach. It moves upward, brushing the undersides of my breasts, then back down. Up. Down. The light caresses feel so good, and oh god, this is one of those dreams I’ll remember. The kind where every detail of what happens inside the sleeping realm will be burned into my mind for me to come back to again and again. I drift, enjoying the sensations building low in my abdomen. It’s an ever-increasing pressure. A tight coil. A deep ache.
I moan, the sound raw and needy to my ears, and strain toward oblivion, reveling in the insistent beat between my legs. Warmth floods south, my body seeking more friction as a shuddered breath feathers over my lips. Mindlessly, I chase the pleasure humming through mysystem while balancing on the edge of something unknown. Something fucking glorious.
Tension snaps, forcing my hips to jerk, then roll in a rhythm so powerful there’s no stopping it. It feels so good, I’m helpless as the riot of delicious feeling begins to unfurl deep inside me. The resulting moan that spills from my lips is long and low. This is the best I’ve ever felt in my life, and when the pleasure finally ebbs, it’s all I can do to take in air. The resulting lethargy is unmatched, and I lie unmoving, as if all the energy has been drained from my body.
Several seconds later, a grunted breath makes me snap from the cloud I’m floating on to full wakefulness.What the hell?Tamping down sudden panic, I hold myself very still and wet my parched lips before slowly opening my eyes. There’s white-washed brick only inches from my face, and when I glance down, the first thing that registers is the bunched-up T-shirt exposing my breasts. My nipples are hard little points of arousal, poking off my chest.
I suck in a breath as my eyes drift lower, and several things come to light all at once. My sleep shorts are embarrassingly damp with arousal. A veiny, masculine hand rests between my thighs, cupping my pussy. And I’m positive, judging by the dark, beaded bracelet I spy around the wrist of said hand that the body behind me belongs toLogan. My crush… but also my gay best friend. The pounding in my head grows faster and more insistent as the full weight of what just happened hits me like a sledgehammer. Oh. My. God. It wasn’t a dream. “Lo?” I mumble cautiously, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
From behind me, Logan grunts again and stiffens. “Fuuuck,” he groans, his grip tight on me. I don’t dare breathe because one final realization has slapped me in the face.Oh. No. That hard ridge at my back is his erection. Or was… He just— Oh my god, no.There’s a warm wetness seeping through my sleep shorts that could only be one thing.My face grows hot as blood rushes to it, distress rising within me.
“Rya? What are you doing in my bed?” Logan’s morning voice is raspy. Neither of us moves for a moment. But the longer this stalemate goes on, the more I’m convinced I can’t handle this.
“I—” Covering my face with one hand, I push myself to a sitting position, then peek over my shoulder. The heat in my face is unbearable.
Logan stares at me, his lips parted and his chest rising and falling unnaturally quickly. “Rya— Fuck. I didn’t mean—” He draws in a breath to say something else, but I shake my head furiously.
“No. Don’t.” Does he know what I— What he—? Ohmy fucking god. I scramble for the end of the bed, moving fast. One foot hits the desk, the other the chair, and then I’m on the floor, fucking bolting for the door.
“Wait! Rya!”
But I don’t wait. I can’t. Things between us won’t ever be the same again.
15
RYA
Hours later,the only word to describe my current state of being isdenial. It’s a place I wish I didn’t have to live. But at the moment, I don’t want to think about this morning’s events at all, which is super fun because several times during my statistics class, and at least five times during sociology, my brain had practically forced it on me. I’d kept losing track of the lectures, slipping away inside my head to relive the riot of emotions I’d felt upon waking up in Logan’s arms, not to mention the crystal-clear memories of the way my dreaming mind had allowed my sleeping body to throb for him. My face grows warm as I recall how hard he’d been, and then… the warm, sticky wetness that’d been the result of him jizzing on my backside. I don’t want to contemplate what he’s thinking about the disastrous turn our relationship took this morning.Nope.
It’s a good thing the first part of our ballet classes is always a warm-up at the barre, and the movements are so ingrained in me at this point, my body responds to commands with hardly any effort. Slow tendus, demi pliés, and gentle upper body bends prepare me for the strenuous workout to come. Dégagés help improve leg and foot precision and speed. Other skills enhance flexibility and control. All of it’s necessary, one building on another.
Truth be told, I enjoy the routine of a good warm-up. The repetition is soothing to me. Then, the more difficult skills, the muscle control required, the choreography, the music… all of it is the best distraction. Something’s bothering me? I get my butt to the dance studio. It’s been my retreat all my life; a safe place when the outside world is crashing down around me.
This would be one of those times. I painstakingly tuck everything into the recesses of my mind as we move on from the barre to our first stab at some choreography we’ll have to master by the end of the semester.
Try as I might, though, I can’t help but see in my mind’s eye the appalled look on Logan’s face right before I ran out of his room. I’ve been sick about it all day, humiliated and regretful and a million other emotions I don’tdare study too carefully or I’ll burst into tears. He’s been texting me, but I haven’t had the heart to read them, much less respond. Not only that, but we never did get a chance to talk last night. He doesn’t know I spent the evening with Jaxon or that his stepbro asked me on an official date. My head pounds with confusion as to how to handle any of it. The entire situation requires a delicate balance, much like a dancer in pointe shoes.
I blink as Millie Mooreland, our ballet instructor, claps her hands. “Gorgeous, Hazel. Nice work.” My gaze shifts to my roommate as she continues to turn circles at the center of the room. Hazel smiles widely, her bun still perfectly in place as the final chords of the music come to a close.
Me, I lift my hand to my hair, finding stray pieces flying away from my scalp. Hastily, I smooth them back in as Millie gestures that the next group, which I’m a part of, should take our places at the center of the room. The music begins again, and I force myself to concentrate on the new sequence of movements. Expression, glissade, pas de chat, pas de bourrée, développée pas de bourrée, glissade, saut de chat, en pointe, développée, changement de pieds sur les points, tendu, piqué manege, châiné turns, and finally, fouetté turns—what feels like a million of them. “Extension! Watch your arm positioning, please, ladies and gentlemen!”
Ballet is nothing if not polite. Structured. Elegant. I focus on the fouetté turns, spotting like a maniac to make sure I don’t go careening off to the side into another dancer. I only relax when the music fades out.
