His eyes rose to meet mine, full of a sentiment I couldn’t parse, except that it was heavier than I’d anticipated. The space between us became charged.
“You’re gorgeous,” Nora called, striding over with a pair of heels.
Logan stepped back. “What Nora said,” he answered gruffly.
“Try these.” Nora shoved the heels at me. “At first it’s going to feel like you’re walking on stilts, but just roll with it. Eventually your feet will numb, and then you’re in business. These suckers are so hot it’s worth it.”
I groaned but reached for the heels.
Thirty minutes and three shopping bags later, Logan, Nora, and I were strolling along the edge of the UT campus when she suddenly stopped to glare at her phone. “Y’all go on ahead. I need to yell at an event coordinator.”
Logan nudged his Wayfarers higher on his face. “If it’s that fucker from the Log Cabin Republicans who keeps insisting we buy piñatas with Grover Mane’s face on them, tell him to grow up. I’m a politician, not a troll.” He turned to me and crossed his arms. “Why are you laughing? Out with it.”
“You would be much more intimidating right now if you didn’t smell like lavender aftershave.”
He sniffed himself, then glared and gestured for me to keep walking. “After you.”
I fell into stride beside him. We’d reached the part of campus where you could see the UT Tower in full view, and it always gave me a jolt of nostalgia. “You’re actually quite soothing. The man equivalent of an English garden.”
He turned to me and laughed, face cracking into a dazzling smile, wider than I’d seen from him. He leaned over and caught my hand, lacing our fingers together. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been accused of being soothing.”
My heart took off.We’re in public, I reminded myself, nodding at the people we passed. This part of the Drag, close to the group of dorms known as the six-pack, the heart of campus, was always the most crowded. A prime spot to be seen, which was surely why Logan was holding my hand. Playing the part. But when he squeezed my hand and tugged me closer, all reason fled. I was simply a girl having a lovely afternoon with her boyfriend.
We were closing in on a crowd standing around a guy with a microphone. I couldn’t hear what he was saying or read their signs, but rallies were common here—students loved to hold them in front of the UT Tower for visual impact. Logan and I would have to skirt them.
Or not.
“Afternoon, folks,” Logan boomed, and I jumped. Instead of maneuvering around the group, he was beelining toward it. A few people on the outskirts turned at the sound of his voice, and I read their burnt orange T-shirts: Longhorns for Grover Mane. This was arallyfor Governor Mane. We were in enemy territory.
But Logan didn’t seem troubled. “Hi,” he said, extending his free hand to a tall man in a burnt orange Longhorn cap. “I’m Logan Arthur, running for governor against Grover Mane.” The man eyed Logan skeptically, but gave his hand a polite pump. Their interaction had more people turning, and I could see the guy with the microphone eye us. I wanted to melt into the street.
Logan cocked his head. “Mind if I ask what you like so much about Mane?”
The man in the cap made a scoffing sound. “He’s aLonghorn. You always support your fellow Horns.”
“That’s right,” someone else boomed. Around us, people were nodding and humming their agreement.
“Where’d you go to college?” asked the man. “Lemme guess: A&M.”
Logan waved a hand. “Never mind where I went.” He tugged me forward. “I want you to meet my girlfriend and campaign partner, Alexis Stone. She’s a librarian over at Barton Springs Elementary.”
“Hi,” I said, though what I wanted to say was:Where are you going with this?
The man tipped his cap to me.
“Hon, remind me.” Logan scratched his jaw. “Where’d you go to college?”
First of all:Hon?Second: Sothiswas why Logan had grabbed my hand. He must’ve known about the UT alumni rally for Mane, and thought it would be a great time to show me off. I plastered on a smile. “Right here,hon. UT class of 2018. Hook ’em, Horns.”
It was definitely the most deflated I’d ever sounded uttering those words, but no matter—the man in the ball cap had enough enthusiasm for both of us. He whooped and made little horns with his fingers. “That’s right, bay-by. Hook ’em!” It caught on like wildfire, as it always did, and the crowd echoed it until the man with the microphone finally resigned himself to the fact that he’d lost his audience.
“Well, there you go,” said Logan, who had now successfully commandeered the attention of the crowd. “We’ve got a Longhorn at the highest level in our campaign, too. And you know what, I think we have some ideas for Texas that might interest you...”
I zoned out as Logan dove into his policy platform. He was good at this—far better than he gave himself credit for. And even though he’d clearly dragged me here to bait the crowd into listening to him, I wasn’t mad. The whole point of our arrangement was to help each other. And I knew how badly he wanted to win—I’d heard it in the tenor of his voice, the fire in his eyes. He was right that people told you who they were in a million different ways. And when I looked at him, I saw his longing.
I was the one who kept confusing fact and fiction. And of course I was, because that was my shtick: trying to will relationships into being more than they were capable of. I’d done it with Chris when I’d taken him back after he cheated, convinced I could will us back to normal. And though I didn’t really want to think about it, I’d done the same with my dad, thinking if I just tried hard enough, I could make our family whole again. Emotionally speaking, I was stuck in aGroundhog Dayloop.
As if he knew I was thinking about him, Logan rubbed his thumb in a gentle circle over the back of my hand while he listened to the man in the hat talk about health care costs. A woman nearby looked down at our hands and smiled wistfully. I grimace-smiled back.
