“I didn’t think of that,” he said. “Your mom might be really mad. Damn.”
I sighed in relief, letting the phone drop on the cushion between us again.
“Might? She’d make you sleep on the couch, Dad. This teeny, tiny couch, with nothing but your free tote bag to keep you warm.”
And I won’t be able to sneak out at night to see Logan.
I glanced at the front door guiltily, as if it were going to come to life and rat me out for sneaking up to the roof last night. But so far, my secret was safe, with only me, Logan and my cat aware that I’d left the apartment.
I’d managed to sneak back in quietly, my dad’s snores a victory cheer as I stealthily made my way through the rooms to my bedroom, where Mercer greeted me by sitting on my pillow and meowing at me knowingly.
Dad had resumed channel surfing when the building buzzer sounded, loudly reverberating throughout the apartment. I jumped off the couch and hurried to the intercom next to the front door.
“Did your mother order some— Oh.” Dad’s quizzical expression morphed into one of irritation when Logan’s voice boomed through the apartment on the static-filled speaker.
“Be nice,” I cautioned Dad. Normally I would complain about the earsplitting intercom system, but hearing Logan—unharmed and alive—calmed my lingering fears that he wouldn’t show up today.
Clearly my father didn’t share my opinion.
“He’s too loud,” Dad grumbled as I pressed the button on the ancient intercom, buzzing Logan upstairs.
“Dad, I’m pretty sure he didn’t invent the technology behind this intercom. Everyone sounds loud on it. You could probably hear a mosquito fart on this thing.”
He ignored my comment, switching subjects. “Aren’t you going to put on clothes?”
I looked down at my gray T-shirt and black yoga pants. It was appropriate clothing for someone staying home from school with sickness.
“I’m in clothes. Pretty boring clothes, actually.” I took a deep breath, trying to be grateful that my dad was acting stereotypically overprotective over something normal like clothing and not my mental state.
“Dad, I look like I’m going to the grocery store. I’ve actually worn this to the grocery store.”
Logan rapped on the door as my father grumbled, “I still think you should put on a sweatshirt. And a sweater.”
I ignored my Dad and opened the door to see Logan standing in the small hallway, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Hi,” I greeted him almost timidly, resting my head against the door.
“Hi, yourself,” he replied just as shyly, an endearing smile on his face. The brim of his baseball cap was sticking out of his coat pocket, his hair adorably mussed and his cheeks flushed from the walk over. Dark locks hung in his eyes, which sparkled in spite of the swipe of shadows underneath.
Had he looked this tired last night? It had been too dim on the rooftop to notice, but in the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway, exhaustion and stress were evident on Logan’s face.
But we’d overcome an emotional hurdle last night, and the effects of that were also evident, because we just stood there, staring at each other with starry-eyed grins.
“I brought you hot chocolate,” Logan said, holding out a cup. “It’s really good this time, I promise. You didn’t drink yours last—”
“Weekend, right. Last weekend. Thanks, that’s so nice of you,” I interrupted loudly, before mouthing, “My dad is here, remember?”
Logan squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.
“Sorry,” he mouthed, opening one eye with a pained expression on his face.
I leaned against the door and pushed it open with my back.
“Come on in. Dad, Logan brought me hot chocolate. Isn’t that nice?” I added pointedly, peeling back the plastic lid to take a sip, delighting in the rich taste.
“Did he bring your schoolbooks, too? Or is this just a social call while you’re still sick?” Dad asked, crossing the room and folding his arms to scrutinize Logan as he stood awkwardly next to me.
I gawked at my father as Logan slid his overstuffed backpack off his shoulders and lost his grip on the strap, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thunk.
“Yes—um, yes, I have her books, Mr. Kelly, sir,” Logan sputtered, clearly unnerved by my dad. I stared in surprise. Demonslayer Logan would have bounced the heavy backpack on his foot like a hacky sack before slicing it open with his sword, all the books magically falling onto the coffee table open to the correct pages. It’s a good thing Aiden never attacked around my father, because he seemed to make Logan more skittish than my cat around a vacuum cleaner.
“Well, I guess you kids will set up at the table, right?” Dad asked before sitting back on the couch, resuming his rapid-fire channel flipping.
“Dad, I have a lot of work to catch up on, and there’s not enough room on that table for all our books.” I gestured to the small round table in the corner of the living room. “We’ll study in my room.”
“Paige Dawn Kelly...” Dad warned me, dragging my name out.
“Daddy Richard Kelly...” I repeated in a deep voice, imitating his tone.
“If your dad says we should stay here...” Logan began, and I shot him a surprised look.
“Dad, you’re watching TV and it’s really loud,” I pointed out, grabbing Logan’s elbow and ushering him out of the room as quickly as I could.
“We’ll keep the door open,” I called as I led the way to my bedroom.
“Paige?” Dad called.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll check to make sure the door stays open.”
“Of course, Dad.” I sighed, a little annoyed. What did he think was going to happen in my bedroom while he was home, anyway? The last thing I needed was for my father to catch me in a compromising position with Logan. Forget the demon army—I’d be spending senior year in a military school.
“Why do you get so flustered around my dad?” I asked in a hushed voice as Logan followed me down the short hall to my bedroom.
“I don’t know! I just get nervous,” he hissed in reply, his brown eyes wide and adorably panicked. “He acts like he hates me! And apparently, today I’m extra hateable.”
I rested my hand against his cheek and gave him a warm smile. “Okay, so you protect me from demons, and I’ll protect you from my dad,” I said sweetly. “And if he scares you, just remember that my dad is wearing a free shirt for a frozen fish company, and he’s allergic to shellfish. This is the big scary man you’re dealing with.”
“I’m not trying to cook him a nice shrimp dinner. I’m trying to be respectful, so he doesn’t forbid you to be my girlfriend,” he mumbled, and I felt that twinge in my heart again, for the insecure, wounded side of Logan he hid so well.
I darted a quick look to the living room and swiftly kissed Logan on the cheek.
“Don’t be afraid of my dad,” I whispered, grabbing his hand. “Now, come look at your girlfriend’s bedroom.”
His answering smile was blinding, and he followed me as I strode confidently into my room, internally doing backflips over being “officially” boyfriend/girlfriend. I couldn’t wait to tell Dottie, my eternally romantic friend. She’d probably say we were “going steady” and offer us a bunch of old-fashioned romantic advice. I wondered if she would ask Logan if he was going to give me his varsity jacket or pin me. More like I’m going to pin him. To the wall. And make out with his face.
I plopped on my bed, but my bravado faded as he hovered in the doorway before stepping in, slowly setting his backpack on the floor. I hadn’t had anyone who wasn’t a family member in my bedroom since my first sophomore year, when my then best friend Hannah accused me of faking insanity for attention before she stormed out, telling all our friends I was crazy.