“If something happened to me you wouldn’t be unprotected,” he said softly, rubbing my arm in an awkward attempt to be soothing. “You know that, right? Rego would make sure you had a protector. You’re too important.”
I rolled my biscuit eyeballs in reply. “Are you actually trying to be dense? I wasn’t crying because I was worried about myself. I was crying because I was afraid you were dead!” Merely saying the word prompted the tears in my eyes to overflow, and I brushed them away, frustrated and embarrassed with my emotional display. I turned away from him and stared at the ground instead, focusing on the frayed ends of my graying laces.
“I don’t understand.” He sounded confused, but I couldn’t face him at that moment.
“You said you’d come here. When I didn’t hear from you, I had a thousand scenarios running through my head, replaying over and over again like they were stuck on repeat.” I grimaced as I recalled my vivid fears, wrapping my arms around my torso.
“Maybe you were hurt, lying somewhere in pain and needing help. Maybe you were attacked on your way to see me, because Aiden got to you. Maybe you showed up at your house and surprised Cerus again, and—” I paused, taking a deep breath to steady my trembling voice “—maybe he shot you.”
I shut my eyes, trying to clear the gruesome visions that had plagued my mind for the past two days.
“Or maybe you took Ajax’s advice and you decided to leave.”
“Paige, I wouldn’t do that to you. I swear,” he said, stuffing his hands in his back pockets.
“Well, you did, for almost three days.” He paled, looking guilty. “I know things are...kind of awkward...between us right now,” I stammered, “but you’re still my friend. Even though it’s not the same for you, I wanted to know that you were okay.”
I buried my face in my hands, embarrassed and exhausted and deflated, all the fight gone out of me as I quietly cried over everything: Logan’s disappearance, my constant but necessary lies to my parents, the stress of the past few days—hell, the past few years. Logan quickly crossed the few feet of distance between us, folding his arms around my shoulders and pulling me close. This time, I didn’t fight back. I didn’t return his hug, but I let my head rest against his chest, my face still buried in my palms as everything I said echoed in my head.
“You think I wasn’t around the past few days because I don’t care?” Logan asked, and I shrugged in his embrace. “Paige, this has nothing to do with how I feel about you,” he said firmly.
“It’s fine, you don’t have to say that—”
“I’m serious.” Logan dropped his grip on me to cup my face in his hands. “It has to do with me.”
“Oh, please, don’t say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’” I scoffed, wriggling away from him, his hands dropping against his sides. “I’d rather you tell me that it is, in fact, me. Say, ‘Paige, you suck.’ But don’t give me some trite, overused pity line.”
“I swear it’s not that. I’m just not explaining myself well.” Logan’s eyes bored into mine. “I live with Rego, but he’s really more my boss. I haven’t—I’m not—this is really hard to admit,” he struggled, sighing heavily. “I barely remember what it’s like to be accountable to someone for the simple reason that they care.
“I’m not saying that so you feel bad for me. I’m saying it because it’s true. It’s been true for a long time,” Logan confessed. His face was open and honest, his words simply a statement of fact. “So, that’s why I didn’t think about reaching out. It has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
“So...how do you feel?” I asked, daring to hope that his answer wouldn’t crush me.
Logan stared at the ground as he collected his thoughts. “You, Paige Dawn Kelly, are a wrecking ball to my routine, colorless life,” he said, finally meeting my eyes, “and I couldn’t be happier or more terrified about it.”
He took a step toward me, lightly resting his hand against my tearstained cheek.
“I’ve only been watching you since I got here and admiring the hell out of you for what—three months? I justified it because I thought you were the target, but I was just lying to myself. I admired you because no matter what people say about you, you keep your head high. And you make me laugh with the most random statements ever.” He paused, grinning at some memory, and the look on his face made me grin, too.
“I really like making you smile.” Logan stroked my cheek with his thumb, and I smiled even wider. “And I’m really, really freaking out about saying all this right now,” he added.
“Well, it’s about damn time you did,” I whispered, and he wound his other arm around me, pulling me closer.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. This is all new territory for me,” he admitted nervously, and I threaded my fingers through his as he cradled my cheek. “I’m not supposed to want this with you. I wasn’t even supposed to talk to you. But I can’t pretend I don’t feel this way anymore, can you? You feel it, too, right? Paige?” Logan prompted, almost desperately, when I didn’t reply immediately.
“I do. You know I do.” I nodded, and he exhaled in relief, resting his forehead against mine. We just stood there for a moment, letting the weight of what we were declaring sink in.
“Why do you think I never bitched about you borrowing all my pens?” I asked innocently.
“Really? So...for that long, huh?” Logan pulled back with a proud smile on his face.
“Shut up.” I poked him in the chest. “I denied it to Dottie and to myself, but...yeah. What can I say, the sight of you with a glittery pen is really hot.”
Logan pretended to brush some dirt off his shoulder, and I whacked him lightly on his arm. He grabbed my hand and held it between us, resting our interlocking fingers against his chest.
“I have to say one more thing,” Logan said, suddenly serious again. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know I should have said something first, be a gentleman and all that. At least, that’s what all the books and movies say, right?” he added with a self-conscious shrug.
“Well, the books and movies say you would have kissed me by now.”
Logan stilled, and I internally berated myself for my complete lack of a filter, until an impish smile flashed across his face. Logan bent his head down to mine, lightly brushing his lips over my cheekbone, and my skin tingled at his gentle touch.
“C’mon, I wanted to ask you first,” he whispered in my ear. “At least let me get something right.” He pulled back, gazing at me with serious eyes—and I felt my breathing speed up.
“Can I kiss you, Paige?” Logan asked, the corner of his mouth lifted into a boyish, almost shy smile.
My hands slid up his chest, my fingers locking around his neck to keep them from trembling. I shut my eyes and nodded, his body shifting under my hands as he pulled me flush against his chest. And then I felt him: his gentle, warm lips touching mine, timidly at first. I unclasped my hands and let my fingers slide into the dark locks of hair at the nape of his neck. He whispered my name softly and when he pressed his lips against mine again, his kiss was much less shy. Logan’s hands knotted in my hair, before gently sliding down my back, his mouth soft and urgent.
I used to worry if I’d remember how to kiss a boy. It had been a while, and I was afraid I’d be an uncoordinated mess of clashing teeth and dry lips and flappy tongue, who’d forget how to breathe and probably slobber, sending the boy running off in horror as he wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve.
The way he was clutching me close, Logan clearly wasn’t running anywhere. After a slightly clumsy start, we found a perfect rhythm that ignited a slow burn, a sweet kiss that gradually built into a heart-pounding embrace that I felt in my chest and stomach and down to my toes, which curled in my shoes as he kissed me deeply.