He broke the kiss first, only to leave a trail of smaller kisses along my jaw, setting my skin on fire, until his mouth met my ear.
“Wow,” he exhaled, and I could only nod in agreement, my breathing far too unsteady to attempt talking.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I borrowed a pen from you,” Logan whispered shakily, clasping his hands at the small of my back. I felt my cheeks warm, and I ducked my head down, resting my forehead against his chest. Logan tucked his fingers underneath my chin again and forced me to look up.
“By the way, your pens suck,” he said, his grave tone betrayed by the teasing sparkle in his eye. “Girliest things I’ve ever seen.”
“Using my pink pens isn’t going to make you grow a vagina, you know,” I retorted, and Logan laughed.
“There she is.” He chuckled, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. “That’s what I’m talking about. You’re a little intimidating, by the way.”
“Me?” I stepped back as I let my hands slide down his chest, coming to rest at his hips. Yeah, you’ve got the torso of an action figure and I’m the intimidating one? I gripped fistfuls of cotton to keep myself from tracing the lines barely hinted at underneath his shirt.
“You.” He paused, giving me a sad smile. “I really hoped you weren’t the target. I’d heard that you talked to imaginary people, but you hide it really well. I didn’t know it was you until a few weeks ago.”
“Dottie and I hang out in the girls’ bathroom,” I explained, toying with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “That’s usually where I get busted talking to her.”
“So that’s the problem. I don’t spend my free time in the girls’ bathroom.” Logan grinned.
“I wouldn’t call that a problem,” I corrected him, raising an eyebrow. “I’d call that a valid life choice.”
“Well, you only slipped up once, in the library. And don’t worry, it was very subtle. You pretended to scratch your cheek, but you were really giving Dottie the finger because she was trying to make you flirt with me,” Logan recalled, his cheeks turning pink again. “That’s when I knew you really could hear her and talk to her.”
He smiled wryly at the memory.
“Of course, I took that as a sign that you were highly offended by her suggestion that you flirt with me.”
“It’s totally offensive,” I told him, my eyes wide with mock sincerity. “I mean, I really want you to kiss me again, but flirt with you? Offensive, obviously.”
Logan grinned, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as he gave me a soft kiss. But when he pulled back, he somberly asked me, “Am I forgiven?”
“Yes. Just don’t disappear like that again,” I ordered, narrowing my eyes and pursing my lips in what I hoped looked like a stern expression.
“I promise. Just stop making that weird face,” he teased.
“That’s my scary face,” I pouted. “It’s supposed to be terrifying.”
“No, your scary face is when you’re crying,” Logan said seriously, all hint of teasing gone. “Because it terrifies me that I made you cry.”
“I scare you?”
“Not in the way you think,” he said. “I just don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m terrified I’m going to screw this up. Hell, I already screwed up.”
Logan was a study in dichotomy: fierce and brutal, an efficient killer saddled with so much self-doubt. I wanted to help him. I wanted to know him. And I was desperately afraid of wounding him. I stepped back, but Logan stepped with me, keeping his arms around me.
“Is this thing between us too intense?” I asked, proud that I kept my voice even in spite of my fear that he’d answer “yes.” Logan cocked his head as he regarded me, looking confused.
“This is going fast. Maybe too fast.”
“I’ve known you for three months. I’ve liked you for three months,” Logan replied, sounding confused. “This could have gone a little faster for me, just saying.”
“Well, I’m just saying, maybe this is too much.” I began babbling, barely stopping to take a breath because if I paused, I wouldn’t say what I thought needed to be said. “And maybe I care too much and I don’t want to scare you and we’ve been all over the place with our emotions tonight and maybe this is what Rego meant about me being a distraction—”
Logan pressed his lips against mine, effectively silencing me. Unlike our first kiss, which built into a toe-curling, passionate embrace, Logan was tender, almost reverential in the way his lips moved softly against mine as he gripped fistfuls of my hoodie at the waist. He broke away only to gently brush his lips against my forehead, both eyelids, the tip of my nose and both cheeks before returning to place another soft kiss against my mouth.
I’d read about intense, emotional kisses in sweeping epic romance novels and seen enough movies where the music built to a crescendo as the star-crossed lovers found answers in each other’s kiss, usually with the moon as an audience, as it was tonight.
This kiss shamed those kisses, making them dry pecks on the cheek in comparison. And this time, I was the one who pulled away, my heart pounding and my body quivering.
“Does that answer your question?” he asked breathlessly.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak actual words at the moment.
“I want this, Paige. I want you in my life. I want this to work, whatever that means.” Logan clasped his hands at the small of my back and squeezed me for emphasis. “And maybe that’s selfish, because there’s so much about me, and this world, that you don’t know. And I want to tell you.”
“So, tell me,” I urged.
“I will. But this is all new to me, too. I’m trying to figure out how to make this work. It’s complicated on my end. Just...be patient with me, please?” he pleaded, his face open and trusting.
“I’ll try,” I promised. His answering smile was so endearing, I had to stand up on my toes to place a quick kiss against his lips.
“See you tomorrow? You promise you won’t disappear again?”
Regret flickered across his face briefly before giving me a warm, reassuring smile.
“I’ll be there,” he promised, and leaned in for one more kiss.
Chapter 10
DEMON FIGHTING WAS absolute hell on my manicure, I realized, filing down my rough nails as I sat on the couch with my father the next day, choosing cuticle care over rereading the next chapter in my history textbook. It was one of the few books that had been in my backpack on Monday, so I’d read it already. Besides, my father was distracting me, furiously flipping television channels, which were all covering the plummeting stock market. Finally, he landed on an infomercial.
“Hmm, if you order in the next thirty minutes, you get a tote bag that you can keep, even if you return everything,” he muttered, reaching for the cordless phone as it rested on the cushion between us. I grabbed the phone quickly and held it out of his reach.
“No, Dad. Please! No more stuff with logos on it.” I feigned sobbing, switching hands before my dad could get a solid grip on the phone. “Most girls dream of ponies. I dream of owning things you can’t read.”
“But it’s a nice bag,” he said. “Nice and roomy. You could use it for school.”
“Dad, I am so not using a bag with the words Deluxe Fat Burner 5000 on the side!”
“But—”
“Neither will Mom,” I insisted. “And she’ll think it’s a hint, and then you’ll be in every kind of trouble that ever existed.” I held the phone aloft, and Dad returned to his end of the couch with a resigned sigh.