A smile plays at the corner of his mouth—not the camera-ready grin from album covers, but something more genuine. “You’re on.” He bends slightly, grabbing the fabric of his jeans above his knees and hiking it up just enough to reveal his ankles.
Two socks. Black, but completely different patterns. One has tiny guitars; the other has tacos wearing sunglasses.
Ahh, the sweet taste of victory—nothing quite like it.
His eyes flick to mine. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I hold out my hand with a grin. “Pay up, buster.”
He laughs under his breath and fumbles for cash but comes up empty. “Raincheck?”
The small victory feels disproportionately satisfying, so I let him off the hook. “Now, you owe me.”
“Pretty impressive.” His voice gushes with admiration.
“Not really,” I say. “I just noticed when you crossed your legs earlier.”
His lips part, and he looks positively beyond himself. Possibly insulted. Definitely stunned. It’s glorious.
A warm rush of confidence floods my system. Making a global pop star speechless? I should add that to my resume.
“I wouldn’t peg you for a swindler, Maisie Lang. If I remember right, you were a goody two-shoes when we were younger.” He looks at me with impressed eyes.
Gosh, he’s so handsome in person. How did that scrawny kid turn into this godly creature? I better get away from him before I say or do something embarrassing again.
“I guess I’m not the same girl you once knew, either. Anyway, a bet’s a bet. Oh, and can you please keep it down so I can finish grading papers?”
I turn and walk away, still in disbelief that Logan Humphries is hiding out next door, half expecting to wake up any moment and realize it was but a dream.
“Hey!” he calls after me, jogging across the lawn to keep up. “Do you wanna hang out sometime? Catch up?”
My steps falter. Did Logan Humphries just ask me out? The boy who once loudly proclaimed I had cooties? The man whose dating life makes tabloid headlines?
“Absolutely not.” The words fly out automatically.
“Why not?” He sounds genuinely surprised, like rejection is a foreign concept to him. It’s hilarious.
I reach my front door and swing it open before turning to face him. “Because you’re not my type. And judging by the fact thatyou threw a puddle of mud at my dress in third grade, I’m not yours, either.”
His expression twists in thought, and he scratches the back of his head. “I did that?”
I’m not sure if the confusion in his voice is a smoke screen or real. “Ruined my favorite dress. Had polka dots and everything. I loved that dress.”
I’m halfway through the door, mentally composing the thank-you speech I’ll deliver to myself later for surviving this ridiculous encounter, when I pause and add, “Oh, and don’t even get me started on the glue incident.”
Logan’s cocky grin drops away completely. “Sorry about all that. I was kind of a jerk back then, huh?”
“That’s a bit of an understatement,” I say, but there’s a tiny seed of satisfaction blooming in my chest. The apology is unexpected. And somehow, it hits more deeply than it should, like I didn’t even realize I’ve waited to hear it.
He looks at me differently now—like he’s on the edge of saying something profound. “I’m not that guy anymore,” he says.
I exhale through my nose. Does he really mean that? Or is this just another performance? One thing I’m absolutely sure of: where he goes, chaos follows. “I know you, Logan Humphries. Trouble follows you around like a lost puppy. And I want no part in it.”
I step inside, gripping the doorknob. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone you’re living next door.”
As I close the door, his foot slips into the jamb to block it. “Forget catching up. I have a proposition.”
Chapter 8
