Page 31 of Fraternizing with the Enemy
“Good at jokes, huh?” Ashton scoffed. “Kind of like your performance on the field?”
Logan casually raised an eyebrow. “You should worry about your own performance. Not like any of you were picked quarterback for your team, right?”
“Pretty boy’s got a mouth on him,” Kyle muttered none too quietly, and his hand suddenly landed on my hip. His fingers curled in, as if staking his claim in front of his enemies.
I should’ve pushed him off. Normally, I would’ve, but I was too stunned to move, too busy watching the way Logan’s eyes—finally shifting from their pointed avoidance—fixed on that hand. Just the hand. His breath hitched, his shoulders squaring, every inch of him braced like he was swallowing down something fierce.
And then, finally, Logan’s perfect blue eyes slid to mine.
Everything in me jolted with the brief connection, because no matter how fiercely my head wanted to deny it, there was no missing those eyes. It was him. Even if he looked nothing like the boy I thought I knew.
Noah knocked his knuckles on the counter, tearing Logan’s gaze away from mine only a millisecond after it connected. He gave his head a small shake.Don’t, the gesture screamed. At the same time, Connor said, “Knock it off,” to our table. “I mean it.”
Unlike Ashton, who looked ready to launch up from the table and spar it out, Logan backed down immediately. “We’ll see who’s the better team on game day in a few weeks,” Logan said, letting out a breath. “We face you for your homecoming, don’t we? May the best team win.”
“Listen to him, being all goody-goody just because there’s people around,” Ashton muttered, only seeming to grow more agitated when Logan turned back to the counter.
“That’s the kid from last year, too, isn’t it?” Kyle asked. Against my pleated skirt, my fingers curled into a fist. “The one behind the counter.”
“Yeah, that’s him.” Ashton shot Connor a dirty look, which the latter boy ignored. “What a lucky day for us to sit here and do… nothing.”
Again, Connor paid him zero attention.
Logan straightened and cut toward the doors, weaving through the line like he couldn’t get out fast enough. For a split second, I braced for him to glance back—because no way could he justnotlook at me.
But he didn’t. He slipped through the exit with the rush of chilled air, leaving me behind like I was nothing more than a Brentwood Bobcat he couldn’t bother to give the time of day. Like the boy who’d been holding my hand on Monday hadn’t just walked off the field mid-play.
“He’s running with his tailbetween his legs because he knows we’re better,” Ashton went on. “But, c’mon. What a dweeb.”
“Total dweeb,” Kyle agreed.
All at once, I found myself shrugging off Kyle’s grimy hand and shoving to my feet. My chest burned, as if at some point along the way, I’d stopped breathing.
“What are you doing?” Jade asked, her head swiveling up.
She knew. Jade and Riley were the only two at this table who knew the truth of who Logan really was, and they’d sat there, silent through it all. Jade didn’t seem as shocked as she should’ve been, but I could barely think straight. “It’s cold in here,” I said, but the words were choppy. “I’m going to get my jacket.”
You know I have to go after him, I thought to her.I—I have to.
Riley sat forward, Jade’s phone still in her hands and angled up at me. “Are you sure you’re not?—”
Jade tilted her head sideways, and all at once, Riley fell silent. Her dark eyes traced mine, flat and probing.Don’t tell me to sit down, I willed to her.Let me go after him.Then, like a switch flipped, her lips curved. “Hurry back,” she said. “You still have to vote for the list.”
She truly was the world’s best best friend.
I nodded, dazed. “Right.”
And then I did the one thing I would’ve sworn to never do—I chased after a Bulldog.
I knew Logan hadn’t turned right when he stepped onto the sidewalk, because we would’ve seen him pass by the window at our booth, so I went left. I nearly stumbled over my own feet, pulse misfiring in my chest.
The sun was in my eyes as I raced down the sidewalk, my cheer sneakers digging into the pavement, tightand uncomfortable. People swirled around me, a blur of legs and bags and chatter, and I couldn’t find him—couldn’t see his jacket anywhere. For a second, I could almost convince myself the past few minutes hadn’t happened, that Logan hadn’t actually been in Expresso’s at all.
I barreled toward the crosswalk without thinking, not even checking the light, heart hammering so hard I could barely breathe.
Then two strong hands gripped my upper arms and yanked me back. My feet skidded on the concrete, my back slamming into something solid, just as a car roared past, horn blaring and wind whipping my hair. I slumped a little in the grip, and I realized it wasn’t only my pulse that’d skyrocketed. The frantic, pulsing rhythm I felt in my back belonged to the chest I was pressed against.
When I turned, I came face to face with a Bulldog patch breast pocket.
