And as the brief tutorial progresses, Logan proves over and over again that he’s incredibly skilled at following instructions to the letter. It makes me wonder whether he could have playedanysport and been a champion. From our test sets during my assessment, I knew he was fit and understood how his body moved in a way that most people’s don’t, but it’s a little bit amazing to be this close when he’s learning a new physical skill.
“I can tell you’re in awe of me,” he says, leaning down, lips close to my ear. “You’ll get used to it.”
“This cocky confidence is something else,” I tease. “I’ve never seen this side of you.”
“I only show my best sides to certain people.”
“Thisis your best side?”
“You don’t find confidence sexy?”
His expression tells me he already knows I do, that most people do. “You miss pronounced ‘cocky.’”
“I know my strengths. I’m not hiding those for anyone.”
“Are you as self-aware about your weaknesses?”
His jaw tightens, and he gives a sharp nod. “Are you?”
“My problem’s been the opposite lately.” The alcohol must be starting to hit because I continue without checking myself. “Can’t remember the last time I felt good or certain about anything.” A flush creeps up my neck, and I remind myself to zip my lips. Up to this point, I’ve been trying to sell him a different version of myself.
“You’re smart and funny and the hottest fucking woman at this party. No contest.”
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”
“Good. Because I don’t give them unless I mean them.” He spins me around, and he’s leading me with ease through the steps.
We dance in silence for a moment, and then Logan says, “Have you always felt that way?”
“No.” I don’t elaborate.
I thought I was immune to manipulation. Already vaccinated against the sorts of behaviors meant to infect a person. Growing up, my mother was a master at making me feel like I was simultaneously too much and not quite enough. So I thought I knew what manipulation looked like, understood how it felt, and I still somehow ended up under someone’s spell who used their power to diminish mine. When I think about it, I feel like the dumbest person alive.
“I need a drink.” I step outside his embrace and head toward the stairs. As I climb them, something makes me glance up, and Dalton is staring at me from the railing above. Our gazes lock, and he raises his glass in a cheers motion.
A shiver runs down my spine, and the back of my head, which had been feeling better, throbs once, as though in remembrance.
Chapter Nine
Logan
After Sawyer left me on the dance floor, I mingled with my teammates for a little while before I found myself lingering in her general area. Staying at any party this long isn’t my normal behavior. But Sawyer has been pounding the drinks like getting drunk is her actual job, and leaving her at the mercy of anyone doesn’t sit right with me. Maybe there are good people on this island, but it only takes one bad apple.
When she comes out of the bathroom close to midnight, I’m exhausted, but keeping close. As I start to approach her, the slick politician who talked to me the other day steps into my line of vision, clearly also headed toward Sawyer.
Something inside of me tightens at the idea of him being anywhere near her.
“Doc,” I call before he can get to her.
Her gaze is glassy when she meets mine, and she steps toward me, her hands landing on my biceps to keep her steady.
“I’ll get her home,” slimy politician says beside me.
“No,” Sawyer says, shaking her head. She doesn’t even look in his direction. “You.” She taps me in the chest with her index finger.
“You don’t even know this guy,” slimy politician says, his tone frustrated and slightly angry.
“But I know you,” she says, tearing her gaze from mine to meet his.
