Page 5 of Because of Logan

Just four years ago, I was one of those college students.

Her blue eyes meet mine, and something stirs inside me, and it’s not only my dick. He’s been paying attention for a while now. I’m not a creep. I don’t ogle girls, and I’m very much in control of myself and how I act. My reaction to this girl surprises me. It brings up a part of me I thought dead long ago. I don’t like it, and yet I’m fascinated by the sudden impulse to let my guard down, to bend the rules a little, to be more lenient than I otherwise would be.

This is a college town, after all. Young, beautiful girls who think they can get away with breaking a traffic law because of the way they look are everywhere. I’ve never given any of them a break because they flashed a smile or cleavage at me. And I had my share of invitations for more. Turned them all down. Politely, of course. They still got a ticket. Maybe I’m an asshole for following the rules so strictly. But a pretty face and a pair of tits are not the thing I’m going to sell out my integrity for. And yet, I find myself treading that very line right now. Something about this girl calls to me, and it’s not just her body. There’s kindness and honesty in her eyes. She’s not trying to manipulate me. It’s easy to see how very uncomfortable she is. She wears her distress like a second skin and it tugs at me.

I tamper down my inconvenient lust with my next exhalation.

“What’s your name?”

“Skye.”

“Do you have a jacket, Skye?”

I like the sound of her name on my lips.

She shakes her head.

“Hold on.”

I go back to my car and return with my jacket. She looks at me with big, pale blue eyes, confusion and anticipation on her delicate face.

I place the jacket over her shoulders, and before I can help myself, I pull her hair from under it. It’s silky soft. My fingertips brush her neck and she shivers on contact. I freeze. Her pouty, full lips call to me.What the fuck am I doing?

I take a big step back and away from her and look down, trying to get a hold of myself. I don’t know what it is about this girl that affects me so.

She’s nothing like the women I usually go for. It’s been a while. I just need to get laid.Yeah, lie to yourself. That’s always helpful.I’m starting to get pissed off at myself for my less than professional behavior.

She grabs the sides of my uniform jacket and closes it around herself, turns around to walk the line, stops, and looks at me.

“Thank you.”

It’s just two simple words I’ve heard and said a thousand times, but for whatever reason, that something inside me no longer stirs.

It churns.

I watch her walk the line in her pink bunny slippers and back again until she’s standing a couple feet away. I take a step closer to her. The car door opens, saving me from whatever stupid thing I was about to do.I’m acting like a teen boy and not the twenty-five-year-old man I am.

The other girl steps out. She half walks, half stumbles to the front of the car and leans on it until her gaze steadies on me.

Normally, this is where I’d tell her to get back in the car and stay there. But I don’t. Everything about this stop is off the books, and it bristles at my sense of order and love of rules, and yet I can’t make myself do what I know I’m supposed to.

It’s like I’m under some kind of spell. Except, I don’t believe in magic. Never did.

“Officer, she's not drunk. My sister never drinks. I am, though.”

She giggles as she lifts a hand, pointing at the sky. Even drunk, she looks perfect, with long legs in skinny jeans, a tight sweater that shows off her large tits, and high-heel boots adding a few inches to her already tall frame. She’s slim and curvy in all the right spots. She’s exactly the kind of woman I go for. Gorgeous, confident, unapologetic. But when I look at her, I feel nothing. My brain recognizes what my eyes see, a beautiful woman, and yet I have no interest, no attraction.

Maybe a few hours in the can will sober her up. But as soon as I think it, I dismiss the idea, imagining what kind of distress it would cause her sister.

The blond pixie steps into my line of vision, between me and her sister.

“I’m so sorry, Officer. My sister was at a party and she needed a ride. I was already in bed—I didn't expect to have to leave my car. I just ran out to get her,” the petite blonde explains.

Skye.I remind myself of her name.

The brunette points a finger at me and then at her sister.

“My sister doesn't like parties. She likes books.”

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