Logan. Video call.
My pulse trips as I swipe before I can think better of it.
He fills the screen, hair damp, T-shirt rumpled, slouched against some generic hotel headboard.
His eyes, though, are level and dark.
“You didn’t answer my text.”
I blink innocently, setting the brush aside. “What text?”
“Don’t play dumb, Parnell. The one where you joked about sleepovers.” His voice drops, low and dangerous. “That better have been a fucking joke.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I can’t resist needling him. “What if it wasn’t?”
“Then I’d get on the first flight home and personally kill every asshole within a five-mile radius.” His expression doesn’t even waver, which only makes me laugh harder.
“Relax, Caveman. I’m not entertaining anyone except your dog.” I flip the camera to show Dusty scarfing down the last of his kibble, then back to me. “See? Totally innocent.”
His jaw eases, just barely. “Good.” There’s a pause, then his voice turns softer. “Still. Don’t joke about that shit.”
The way he says it, so raw and unfiltered, makes my chest squeeze. I curl onto his couch, tugging a throw pillow into my lap. “Noted. You’re scary when you get all protective.”
“Good,” he mutters again, then lets his eyes roam over my face, cataloguing every detail. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” He leans forward, the camera tilting with him. “What’s going on?”
I hesitate, teeth sinking into my lip, but his gaze doesn’t budge, and suddenly, it’s harder to hold it in than to let it out. “It’s just… Career Day. My principal is breathing down my neck about it, and Eli can’t make it, and now it feels like I’ve screwed everything before it even starts.”
Logan exhales, a sound rough and grounding all at once. “Lulu. You’re not screwing anything. You could make Career Day out of paper clips and glitter, and it’d still be better than half the crap they sit through.”
A laugh bubbles out, shaky but real. “Paper clips and glitter. Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m serious.” His voice goes quieter. “You’re good at this. Better than anyone gives you credit for. Don’t let some stuck-up principal make you doubt it.”
Something loosens inside me. My shoulders slump back into the cushions, the knot in my chest easing under his determined stare. And because it’s him, because he always seems to know when to push, his tone shifts.
“Now,” he says, low and deliberate, “I want you to do something for me.”
“Logan—”
“Go to my room.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Take your phone and go into my room.” His mouth curves, not a smile exactly, hungrier than that. “I want to see you on my bed.”
My breath tangles in my throat. The line crackles between us, heavy with more than just distance.
“Unless that’s not in your damn jar. You tell me, Lu—this one on your wishlist or not?”
Heat rushes to my face, but my chest squeezes too, because he’s not joking. He’s giving me the out.
“It might’ve been a scribble at the bottom,” I admit, trying for breezy, but my voice trembles anyway.
His eyes darken, voice dropping another octave. “Then let’s make it official. Lesson Three. Video call. Get your pretty ass into my room.”
