Page 20 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

I know Logan. I know he’s annoyed. Jealous. Angry. And when he gets this way, he doesn’t listen. He needs space to cool down, or he’ll never register a single word I say. But it doesn’t stop me from grabbing his arm again.

“Seriously, Logan. I didn’t know it was his shirt!”

With a glare, he spits, “So, what? It magically slid onto your naked body? What the hell, Ash? You serious?” His nostrils flare, and he takes a slow breath. “Shit. I’m sorry. I can’t talk right now. I’m not in the right headspace.”

I glance over my shoulder toward the kitchen and drop my voice low. “Can we please talk about this in private? Maybe in your room or something?”

He shakes his head again. “I gotta get to work.”

“I thought you didn’t work today?”

“Yeah? Well, now, I do. I’m covering the morning shift for Kendall. I was gonna drive you home, but now I’m frustrated, and I don't wanna say something I’ll regret. I need to cool down. Can you call an Uber?”

“Logan,” I grit out, desperate to explain myself. “It was in your room. I grabbed it from the pile of laundry on your bed.”

“Babe––”

“It must’ve gotten mixed in with your stuff by mistake or something, but whatever you’re insinuating is bullshit.”

His nostrils flare, but he tries to keep his voice calm as he argues, “I’m not insinuating––”

“Then, you’re not allowed to be mad at me.”

“You’re in my roommate’s shirt,” he snaps. “What else am I supposed to think, Ashlyn?”

“You know me, remember?” I plead. “What? You think I’m going to fall into someone’s bed when I’ve been nothing but faithful to you since freshman year? Are you seriously going to believe––”

His phone dings with another incoming text message, cutting me off.

Jaw tight, he shrugs out of my hold and pulls out his phone, scanning the message. He tucks it back into his pocket and mutters, “We’ll talk later. I gotta get to work. Your clothes are still in my room, in case you feel like changing.”

“Logan,” I try again, but he opens the front door and says, “I’ll call you later.”

Then, he closes it in my face.

What. The. Hell?

Fuming, I march back into the kitchen where a still amused Colt is leaning against the stupid counter, continuing to sip his morning cup of coffee like everything’s fan-freaking-tastic. It only pisses me off more.

I storm closer and shove him in the chest, but he barely budges an inch.

“What the hell is your problem?” I seethe.

He scans me up and down, making me somehow feel naked, when I know I’m still fully covered in his T-shirt.

His. Freaking. T-shirt.

I grit my teeth and fold my arms, two seconds from smacking the smirk off his face.

Once he’s finished examining the way I look in his clothes, he returns, “I don’t have a problem.”

“Why didn’t you tell me I was wearing your T-shirt? You could’ve told me last night or hell, maybe this morning,” I spit.

His amusement dissipates as he sets the cup of coffee on the counter behind him. “It wasn’t my job to tell you you’re wearing my shirt. It was your boyfriend’s.”

I laugh, though there isn’t any humor in it. “He did notice I was wearing your shirt. Why do you think I’m in the doghouse right now? You and I don’t even know each other. Why would you––”

“I meant earlier,” he growls, pushing himself away from the counter. He leans over me, his breath fanning across my cheeks as his upper lip curls in disgust. “He should’ve noticed before you walked out of his room. Before you came down the stairs. Before he recognized another guy was noticing you, and he didn’t like it. So tell me this, Sunshine. Why didn’t he notice you were wearing my shirt before you left his room?”

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