I blink hard, doing my best to clear them away. “You don’t know me.”
Logan’s mouth twitches faintly, but his eyes don’t smile. They’re full of sadness. “Yeah. I do.”
I swallow. “You don’t get to?—”
“I’m not trying to make you do anything,” he cuts in gently. “I’m not asking you to say thank you.”
My pulse spikes because of the way his voice drops on that last word, like he knows exactly where my brain wants to go and he’s trying not to push it there.
He leans back slightly on the bed, careful with his knee, still giving me space even in his own room. “I just didn’t want you waking up dehydrated on a day you had to pretend you were fine.”
My throat burns.
I look away, because if I look at him too long, I’ll do something stupid.
Like cry.
Or step closer, maybe even hug him.
And that would be a terrible, terrible choice right now.
When I look back, Logan’s gaze is fixed on my face like he’s waiting for me to bolt.
I swallow hard. “You’re…annoying.”
Logan’s mouth curves faintly. “Happy birthday.”
My lips twitch despite myself.
It’s small, just a crack. Logan sees it, and something warm flashes in his eyes.
Then he sobers, voice quiet again. “You played amazing tonight.”
My chest tightens. “I almost missed that free throw.”
“You didn’t,” he says simply.
I swallow hard, then lift the bracelet slightly. “This is…thoughtful.”
Logan’s brows lift. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment.”
I glare. “Don’t make me regret it.”
His smile is small. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Silence settles, charged and thin.
My gaze flicks to his bare chest before I can stop it.
To the line of his collarbone. The faint bruise near his shoulder. The way his skin rises and falls with his breath.
I hate how my body responds to him.
Logan’s gaze drops to my mouth like it has a mind of its own too.
My pulse kicks. He doesn’t move; instead, he waits.
And him doing that feels like the most intimate thing he’s ever done.
