Page 80 of Fraternizing with the Enemy
You’re beautiful either way.
He’d said it so easily, simply, as if he hadn’t thought about it. That it was his truth, plain and uncomplicated.
You’re beautiful either way.
The moment between us changed then, a charge jumping from my skin to his. Logan’s hands on my upper cheeks went from steadying to fire-hot, and goosebumps licked down my spine as if we were about to be struck by lightning. But it was just raining, no thunder, no storm, save for the one stirring in Logan’s eyes. They flicked back and forth between mine, searching for something.
A raindrop slipped down the side of my nose andcaught on my upper lip. Logan’s eyes followed it and then stopped. The light blue darkened further.
Kiss me, I thought desperately, dizzy with the fierce want of it. I instinctively leaned forward onto the balls of my feet, bringing us a fraction of an inch closer.Kiss me.
The decision was clear in Logan’s eyes, and even clearer in the way his hold almost imperceptibly tightened. The world moved in slow-mo—even the rain seemed to have paused as Logan leaned forward. His body heat intensified the closer he inched, but it wasn’t enough. I needed him closer. I needed him to pull me closer. He needed?—
Logan jolted back as if shocked, fingers spasming before he suddenly released me entirely. He yanked his hands back. “Sorry,” he gasped out, something slamming down over his expression. “Sorry. I’m—sorry.”
“For what?” I blinked, water caught in my lashes.Don’t be sorry—just kiss me. “I wanted?—”
Logan caught hold of my hand and all but hauled me back to his car, ushering me into the passenger seat. He had the door shut behind me before I could even register what was happening, still caught up in the whirlwind that was our almost kiss.
Because thatwaswhat that was, right? I hadn’t just been imagining that almost hungry look in his eyes, hadn’t imagined his hands pulling me closer, hadn’t imagined him leaning in. Right?
It seemed to take Logan a long time to round the back of the car, but his door finally popped open, and, dripping water, he fell into the driver’s seat. He quickly flipped the AC off, twisted the dial to heat, and blessed warmth began to pump from the vents. For a long, long moment, that was the only sound—the air pumping out.
“There,” he said suddenly, voice odd. He sat stiff in his seat. “That used up just enough time. We’ll get there right at seven.”
My teeth chattered ever so slightly, but more from the leftover adrenaline of our near kiss than the cold. “Getwhere?”
Logan seemed hesitant to look at me, and I should’ve taken that as my first bad sign. Or, really, my first bad sign should’ve been when he’d said I could back out. Logan knew me, probably better than anyone as of late. He knew what would make me comfortable and uncomfortable. He knew what I’d want to do and what I wouldn’t want to do. The fact that he’d given me an out at the beginning really should’ve been my first clue that his idea was nothing short of insane. Even worse than dancing in the rain.
And my fears were confirmed when, as he reluctantly lifted his gaze, he gave a sheepish smile. “Jefferson,” Logan said, voice soft, as if he, too, knew it was a bad idea. “For a football game.”
“This—this is more than exposure therapy,” I said for what felt like the millionth time. I gripped the handle installed above the door as if we were about to plummet off the road to our deaths instead of two minutes from pulling into the Jefferson High parking lot. “You realize that, right? This—this isn’t therapy. This is whatever theoppositeof therapy is.”
“Isn’t the whole point of exposure therapy to confront things you’re afraid of?”
“Not by throwing me in thedeep end!” I looked down at where my Brentwood varsity jacket lay crumbled on the floor, and the sight of it almost made me feel nauseous. “If someone sees me?—”
“Who’d see you?” Logan asked calmly—ever and always calm. “No one from Brentwood would be there, and no offense, I doubt anyone would recognize a Brentwood cheerleader.” And then, after a beat, he mumbled, “Probably.”
“Probably!” I gaped at him. “You don’t even know!”
Logan took his hand off the steering wheel, reaching over—and then placed it on the gearshift in the middle of us. “We won’t go to the stands, anyway. We’ll stand atthe fence, away from everybody. There, but not there at the same time.”
“Do you hear yourself? We’ll definitely bethere. I’ll be attending aBulldog football game?—”
Before I had a chance to spiral further, Logan’s hand practically jumped from the gearshift to where my fingers curled into a tight fist in my lap. Without hesitation, he worked his thumb in my grip, prying my nails out of my palms. The warmth of his skin against the coolness of mine almost seemed to have the opposite affect—it was likehewas the water to my fire.
I relaxed ever so slightly, a soothing feeling overpowering the frantic exclamation points.
And then I snapped back to reality. “Oh,nowyou hold my hand!” I scoffed in a high tone, yanking my hand back. “When I’m in the middle of freaking out, you thinkooh, I’ll just hold her hand, and she’ll melt under my touch, is that it?”
Logan pressed his lips together tightly, but it did nothing to hide his smile. “Madison?—”
“It’d be like—it’d be like—me asking you to sing on stage in front of everyone!” And eventhatdidn’t feel like the right example. “It’d be like?—”
I cut myself off. Through my distress, Logan made his way to the Jefferson High parking lot, and he turned off the main road into it. Almost immediately, my panic began to ebb. The lot was less than a quarter full, despite the game starting in five minutes. “Are you sure you have the day right?”
Logan actually laughed aloud. “It’s the seventh and eighth grades playing,” he told me as he easily found a parking space. “They play at the high school field. Hardly anyone goes to thesegames, except the parents.”
