Page 43 of Logan
I turn in his arms and kiss him, slow and deep, tasting a mix of memory and right now. His grip tightens on my hips, pulling me flush against him until the world narrows to the sound of our breathing and the heat pooling low in my stomach.
The kiss sharpens, possession threading through it, raw and unfiltered. When he finally pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his gaze locked with mine like he’s telling me something without words.
“I remember every second of that night,” he says, his voice gone hoarse. “You had on that black hoodie with the frayed sleeves. Your lip gloss tasted like cherry. And I couldn’t stop thinking about getting you on that blanket. But I knew if I pushed, if I made the wrong move, I’d scare you off. Couldn’t risk losing my shot with you.”
“And now?” I ask, my fingertips tracing slow lines down his chest. “Still thinking about it?”
“Every damn day.” His tone is low, certain, and he walks me backward until the blanket catches my heels.
I sink down, tugging him with me, the forgotten sandwiches and Coke sitting off to the side. The years between then and now dissolve under the weight of his mouth on my skin, his hands reacquainting themselves with me like he’s mapping sacred ground.
The air hums with the sound of cicadas, the faint splash of water at the pond’s edge, the whisper of leaves shifting overhead. But all I hear is the way he says my name, rough and almost reverent, like it’s still the only one he wants to know.
I lay back, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close but leaving that sliver of space between us that makes every brush of contact electric. His heat seeps into me, his weight grounding me against the cool earth.
He looks down at me like I’m the only thing in the world that makes sense and maybe I am, for him. God knows he is for me.
His lips find my collarbone, moving slowly, deliberately, like he’s committing every inch of me to memory all over again. Then he stops, his weight shifting just enough to balance on one forearm while his free hand brushes the hair back from my face.
“I know I screw up a lot,” he says, voice low but steady, though there’s something in his eyes that feels heavier than the words alone. “With the club. With time. With us.”
The confession catches me off guard, not because it isn’t true, but because Logan rarely lays his heart bare like this unless something’s weighing him down. My mind flickers briefly to the box of chocolates outside my apartment, the way his jaw tightened when he found them. I force myself to push that thought aside. Tonight is about us.
His thumb traces the curve of my cheekbone, his gaze steady. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that first date. How simple itwas. Just you and me and a Coke we had to share ‘cause I was broke as hell.”
“You spilled it all over your jeans,” I remind him with a grin. “Tried to blame it on me.”
His laugh rumbles low in his chest. “Because I was trying to impress you. Couldn’t let the hottest girl in school know I was nervous as hell.”
I shake my head, still smiling. “I was definitely not the hottest girl in school.”
His hand curls around the back of my neck, his eyes serious. “You were. You just didn’t see it. Which made you even hotter.”
He kisses me then, a slow press of lips that carries more emotion than heat, though there’s plenty of that too.
This is the side of Logan no one else gets. The one I missed every single day we spent apart.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “You still tryin’ to impress me?”
“Every damn day,” he whispers.
He leans down, kissing me again, slower this time, like he’s trying to memorize the exact way I taste beneath the moonlight. His lips linger, and when he finally pulls back, the tip of his nose grazes mine before his forehead settles against me. His breath is warm and uneven, fanning across my skin.
“I want more for us, Mac. I want…” His words stall, caught in his throat. I feel the subtle tightening of his jaw beneath my fingertips as if he’s holding back more than just words. Then he swallows hard, forcing them out. “I want to build something real. You and me. A home. A family. A life that’s ours.”
The sincerity in his tone lands heavy in my chest, pressing against something that’s been guarded for too long. My heart squeezes painfully, not from doubt, but from the raw weight of wanting to believe him. “You mean that?” My voice sounds smaller than I intend, like I’m afraid of what happens if he says yes.
He nods, his voice husky with conviction. “I’m not just the kid you met by the pond anymore. I’ve seen things. Done things. But the one thing I’ve never fucked up, was choosing to love you.”
Something shifts then. The ache between us changes. It’s no longer just about heat or hunger. It’s heavier, more dangerous. It’s hope, sharp, and almost terrifying in its intensity.
I slide my hand behind his neck, my fingers tangling in the short hair there, pulling him down until our foreheads touch again. “Then start showing me, Logan. Not just tonight. Not just with a picnic and sweet words. I don’t need perfect. I just need you, all in.”
“I’m all in,” he says without hesitation, the words fierce and raw. “You want me to show up different, I will. Just don’t walk away before I get the chance to be better than I’ve been.”
There’s a beat, silent but loaded, filled with all the things we couldn’t bring ourselves to say when we were younger, too proud, too scared, too convinced the other would run if we peeled back the layers. Now, the air between us hums with the unspoken truth that we’ve both been carrying pieces of each other for years.
“I never walked away. Never gave up on what I thought we had,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I waited.”
