Something in his expression shifts, sharp edges softening. He leans closer, a drop of water sliding down his temple. “Parnell, if you think for one second I’m letting you freeze your ass off in the spare room when you could be in my bed—warm, fed, in my arms—you’ve lost your damn mind.”
Heat licks through me, but the protest still stumbles out. “I just don’t want to overstep, don’t wanna be… too much.”
“Too much?” He frowns, shaking his head. “Who the fuck has told you this shit, Lu?”
I shrug, looking down. “I dunno, people.”
“Asshole people. You’re exactly enough for the people who know how to love you.”
My eyes find his, and I raise an eyebrow. “Wow, that’s deep, Pookie.”
He tugs me forward until my damp hair sticks to his soaked chest, mouth brushing my temple, refusing to let me deflect. “You’re not overstepping. You’re not too much. You’re exactly where I want you.”
My throat tightens. I want to believe him. God, I do. But the words that have been sitting heavy as a stone in my stomach spill out before I can stop them.
“And what about Eli?”
His whole body goes rigid. I feel it in the set of his chest under my palms, the way his jaw ticks once.
“Lulu…”
“I mean it,” I whisper, pulling back to look at him. “It’s one thing for me to crash in your bed when no one knows. But if he ever finds out…” My laugh cracks, brittle. “He’ll be so pissed, he’ll never forgive us.”
For a long beat, he just looks at me. Then his hand cups the back of my neck, solid and warm. “I’ll deal with Eli when that happens.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can,” he cuts in, blunt but certain.
The words thud through me, heavy and dangerous, but also dizzying.
“You’ll change your mind,” I murmur, though it sounds weak even to my own ears.
His thumb strokes my jaw, voice unwavering.
“No, I won’t.”
The last of my resistance dissolves, and I’m left feeling nothing but warm and weightless in his arms.
Chapter twenty
You’re about as subtle as Walton at a wine bar
Logan
The first thing I notice is the weight.
Not the heavy kind, the good kind. Warm and soft, and a curl of limbs tangled up with mine.
I blink into the pale strip of sunlight sliding through the blinds and look down. Lulu’s sprawled across my chest, her cheek pressed over my heart. One of my old hockey T-shirts hangs loose on her, a shoulder slipping free, the hem barely covering the tops of her thighs.
My shirt. My bed. My girl.
I should move, should untangle before I wake her. It’s still so early. But my arm stays locked around her waist, greedy and unwilling to let her go.
She stirs, lashes fluttering, mumbling into my chest. “I should go for a run…”
A low noise rumbles in my throat, and I tug her closer. “The fuck you are.”
