I swallow hard, then look away, pretending to examine a shelf of hair ties like it’s fascinating.
—
Lunch is at a booth in a casual place near campus. Greasy fries, iced tea, and Jade talking with her hands like she’s directing traffic.
Blakely picks at her salad thoughtfully. “Have you…talked to him?”
I snort. “We talk.”
Jade arches a brow. “You mean you snarl at him, and he smiles like he’s winning.”
I glare at her. “He does not smile like he’s winning.”
Jade points her fry at me. “He does.”
Blakely’s gaze is gentle. “Do you want him to stop?”
My stomach drops.
The question is simple, and it shouldn’t be hard.
It is.
Because part of me wants to say yes, slam the door, lock the house, keep everything clean and controlled.
But another part—the part that felt his mouth on mine and didn’t run—wants to say no.
Wants to saystay.
Wants to saydon’t go anywhere.
“I want…” I start, then my voice catches.
Jade and Blakely both go quiet.
My throat burns. I force the words out anyway, because they deserve truth, and maybe I do too.
“I want him to be normal,” I admit. “Not…intense. Not sweet. Not careful. Just—Logan.”
Jade’s expression softens. “Maybe he is.”
Blakely nods. “Maybe you’re just noticing it differently now.”
I stare at the table, the wood grain blurring.
Because that’s the terrifying part.
What if our kiss didn’t changehim?
What if it only changedmeinstead?
—
When Jade is taking me back to the house later, it’s late afternoon, the sun already dropping low because winter steals daylight like it’s petty.
My stomach tightens as the familiar driveway comes into view.
The cozy, nice home that has always felt safe—until lately, when safety started feeling like a countdown.
