Hanna smiled. “I think that’s great, Lo. But why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because I think I hit rock bottom, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”
She finished her water. “You come to me—the resident disaster—to soothe your ego?”
“No, Hanna, that’s not—” Logan reached for her hand and she leaned away. “I miss you.”
She scoffed. “You don’t miss me. You miss who you were with me. And those are two drastically different things.”
“No,” Logan said, shaking his head. “I miss you, Hanna. I miss you all the time. I miss my best friend.”
He squeezed her hand.
“I miss these hands…”
She pulled back, the haze in his eyes crystallizing into something else. Something angry.
“Oh,” he breathed.
“Oh, what?”
Logan’s lips twisted around his name. “Milo. You guys are still fucking then?”
Hanna stood, her face red as she tamped down the desire to slap him.
“Of course, the only possible reason I could resist the man who broke my heart would be if I was under another one, right? Couldn’t be that I have a litany of reasons to never even speak to you again, let alone be with you.”
He sighed. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“Aren’t you tired of this? We’re adults, Logan!”
“Hanna—”
“I gotta go,” she sighed. She exited quickly, a familiar ache opening in her chest. Her lungs felt like they were collapsing from the bottom up. She pulled out her phone, tapping his name before the hyperventilation took over.
“Hanna?”
“Hey,” she managed, trying to sound okay.
It was all he needed to hear.
“I’m sending you my room number.” Milo’s voice faded from the phone. “You gotta find somewhere else to be, Brandon.”
Milo pulled the door open, still in his gray sweatpants, a crime against her quickly unraveling brain.
She pushed through him, throwing herself onto the red leather couch at the front of his suite. He closed the door and snagged a bottle of water from the minibar, cracking it open and handing it to her.
“I don’t need twelve-dollar water,” she laughed.
He sat on the coffee table across from her, their knees touching. His eyes slid over her, assessing. Always assessing.
“What do you need?”
She swallowed the feeling that gnawed at her, but her chest didn't listen. Shuddering, she fought to hold onto a breath.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re upset. Mom stuff? Logan stuff?”
