“Good.”
“Was it Skyler from the Christmas Formal?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Then her eyes narrowed, and she took off her shades to look straight into my eyes. “Was it Logan?”
I’m not a good liar. I blinked. I looked away. I shrugged. But in the end, I looked back at her and nodded. She hugged me then and asked me if we were safe. Of course, I told her honestly. Then, she asked me if I’d do it again. Of course, I said again. Her eyes narrowed even more then, and she looked away this time. But then, she looked back.
“Good. Good that it was good, and good that it was Logan. He’s a good boy,” she finished.
I slam the diary shut and practically throw it into my purse. This had been a terrible idea. Logan and I always did prefer to keep things just between the two of us. And trapped in here with him…it feels very comfortable.
But that’s not the way things are anymore.
“That’s the end.” I stand up too quickly for my shaking legs and have to grab onto a prison bar for balance.
92
Logan
* * *
“Macey.” I stand up and face her.
That entry revved me up. Physically and emotionally. I work to tamp down my intensity as Macey shifts so I can see her face. Her eyes are bright and alive like always, but her expression is…different.
“You know, I think this is the first time ever I have no damn clue what you’re thinking,” I say softly.
“You always say you know me better than you know yourself,” she teases me. “And that you don’t always like that fact, but it’s true.”
“Well, right now, I’m kind of flying blind.”
“Bullcrap,” she says. “Try harder, Wild.”
I smirk as I lean back against the cell. “Being surrounded by bars is kind of perfect for us. We always did like to shut out the world, didn’t we?”
She points at me. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. See? You still know me.”
An ache fills my throat. “I guess I do.”
She shoots me a second glance, and then hesitates before she steps closer to me like she’s made a decision. “And I still know you like the back of my hand.”
I blink in surprise. “What am I thinking right now?”
“You’re scared,” she says, cutting right to the heart of the matter. “About getting married.”
“How come I’m scared?” I feel like I’m daring her to call out the truth, but I can’t stop.
“For the same reason you were always so good at reading me. You never wanted to look at yourself as closely as you look at me. It scares the fuck out of you. So does the idea of being in a real relationship where you’ll be more vulnerable than you’ve ever had to be in your life.”
My face heats, but she’s off-base as much as she’s on. I can’t tell her that, though.
“Yes, I’ve always been afraid to be in a real relationship,” I say carefully. “Just like you have been.”
“What am I scared of?” she asks in a tone that tells me she actually wants to know. She wants something from me right now. And I do my best to give it to her.
