Page 13 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

ASHLYN

With a light yawn, I cover my mouth and roll toward the alarm clock on Logan’s nightstand. The red digital numbers make me squint in the otherwise pitch-black room as I register what time it is. Three in the morning. Despite what I’d told Mia, I’d wanted to spend the night in my own bed. But after making love with Logan, she’d already bolted, and he was too tired to drive me home. He’s been so busy with practice and classes, I couldn’t blame him.

It’s still weird sometimes. Being here. Picturing what our future would look like. How we’d promised each other forever our freshman year and are actually bringing it to fruition, despite his hockey star status and my less-than-popular one.

Sometimes it still blows me away that he picked me. Me. Out of everyone. All the girls at LAU. All the puck bunnies who attend his games. It’s surreal. Unbelievable. But sometimes, it makes me feel like I’m paralyzed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The moment when Logan decides he’s done dating the girl next door and wants to trade her in for the Victoria’s Secret model.

And he can.

He’s destined for greatness.

The problem is…he knows it.

He’s changed since we first met. I’m not naive enough to deny it. Not necessarily for the worse, but…different. More confident, I guess. Still Prince Charming whenever I’m around. Busier, though. Especially lately. I feel like we’ve hardly seen each other. Hopefully, things will calm down when the hockey season’s over, but I’m not holding my breath. Between practice, games, school, and his job, his life has been crazy. And so has mine.

Which is why it’s good I stayed over.

If only I could get some sleep.

With a sigh, I slip from beneath Logan’s covers and climb out of bed.

I need sleep.

But I can’t make my brain turn off.

Rubbing at my not-so-tired eyes, I grab a T-shirt from the pile of clean laundry at the foot of his bed, slip it on, and pad downstairs into the kitchen.

The house is finally quiet. Everyone either passed out in their rooms or on the couches, or they finally stumbled home after a long night of partying.

I chew on my lower lip, scanning the cluttered kitchen like it’s another planet.

I don’t know why I still feel like a stranger in the Taylor House. It doesn’t matter if Logan's lived here for six months. It doesn’t matter that I've been here a handful of times. Right now? In the middle of the night? When it’s quiet and almost peaceful? It feels different. Like I’m trespassing. Like I don’t belong here.

Puffing out my cheeks, I open the stainless steel fridge and search for a drink of some kind when a soft creak from the hall makes me jump in surprise.

My spine is a steel rod, but I turn toward the entrance to the kitchen and find a very shirtless, very handsome guy staring at me in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants.

It’s him.

The new roommate.

Colt.

The light from the still open fridge bounces off his features, casting shadows along his strong jaw and quirked brow as he watches me. He looks like he’s as amused as earlier tonight, though I can’t put my finger on why.

I gulp and offer him a tight smile. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t think anyone would be awake. The guys are usually pretty deep sleepers, so…I, uh,”––I hook my thumb over my shoulder toward the still open fridge––“I was, uh, thirsty, and…”

He stays quiet and crosses his arms, making his biceps bulge while clearly enjoying watching me squirm.

And boy, am I squirming.

I’ve never had this response to a person before. Especially not a physical one. Like every inch of me is hyper-aware of the man a few feet away from me. Like I can feel him. His gaze. What his skin would feel like beneath my fingers if I dared to touch him. He could let out a breath, and I’d somehow feel it too.

It’s unnerving.

And so not appropriate.

Blindly, I reach into the fridge and grab the first handle my fingers touch, pulling out a jug of orange juice.

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