I scrub a hand down my face.
Fuck this.
I stand, grab my jacket and keys, and head out the door without overthinking it.
If he doesn’t want anything to do with me, he can say that to my face.
Because I’m not letting this end in silence.
I knockbefore I can talk myself out of it.
Once.
Twice.
The door swings open after a beat, and for a second, all I can focus on is the fact that Logan’s shirtless—skin flushed, chest rising and falling like he was mid-workoutor something worse. His dark hair is damp, curling a little at the ends. His sweatpants ride low on his hips.
He blinks at me like he wasn’t expecting anyone. Like I’m the last person he wanted to see.
“Shaw,” he says, voice flat. “This...isn’t really a good time.”
That’s when he shifts—just slightly—and I see past him.
A girl.
Sitting on his couch, half-turned toward the door. Laughing at something on her phone like she’s comfortable, like she belongs there. Blonde, tight tank top, bare legs curled up like she’s been there a while.
I go still.
A fuckinggirl.
My chest goes tight, but I manage a short nod.
“Right,” I mutter. “Guess that answers that.”
I turn before he can say anything else and start down the hall, fast. Fucking idiot. I knew this was a mistake. Iknewit.
The elevator light blinks slowly, taking its sweet time. I press the button again, harder. Nothing.
Behind me, I hear the sound of a door closing. Bare feet hitting the floor.
“Todd—wait.”
I don’t.
I can’t.
I push through the stairwell door instead and take the first step down before his voice hits me again, more insistent now.
“Jesus, would youstoprunning away for five fucking seconds?”
I spin, breath heaving. “Me?! You’re the one whoghostedme all week.”
“I didn’t ghost you,” he snaps, following me in. The stairwell door slams shut behind him. “I backed off.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.” He’s closing the distance, hands clenched at his sides. “I backed off because you looked at me like youregrettedit. No, that’s not right, you couldn’t even fucking look at me on Tuesday.”
