“Wipe that grin off your face,” I say, even though my own lips twitch upward. “It’s just a peck on the cheek.”
He taps the side of his face twice. “Lay it on me.”
Hand propped on the edge of my seat, I lean in, almost making contact with Logan’s right cheek when he turns at the last possible moment, and our lips touch.
At first, I’m too stunned to move, but then I give in to him. The press of his mouth against mine engulfs my small lips entirely in a kiss so intimate you’d think we were lovers reunited after decades of separation.
The kids erupt in a chorus of groaning “Eww!” but I barely hear it. Because at this moment, I stop pretending. I let myself kiss him wholeheartedly, and I taste the chocolate on his lips.
I feel the warmth in his palm as it slides around the back of my neck, and it hits me, all at once—how long it’s been since I’ve felt something like this. Since someone touched me like I mattered most. Since someone made my heart stutter and my stomach flip like a carnival ride.
When he finally pulls back, my cheeks blaze, my breaths uneven. I glance down, trying to calm the emotional hurricane inside me.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was never supposed to feel this real. Hadn’t we specifically written it into our ridiculous contract?
He brushes my hand gently with his thumb as I sit there, surrounded by the sounds of applause and whistles. I realize this is much worse than the moment we shred in the hot spring.
Despite my better judgement, the contract we created, and Mom warning me against it, I cannot deny the truth any longer.
I’m in love with Logan.
Chapter 18
Istill feel the softness of his lips against mine, warm and intoxicating, like sinking into a dream I never want to wake from.
“Come on,” Logan murmurs, his fingers sliding between mine as he guides me off stage.
His touch sends electricity zipping up my arm, which settles in my chest. Not butterflies—this is bigger, wilder, more explosive.
We step down the wooden steps of the platform, my legs wobbling like Jell-O, and I crash into Logan at the bottom step. I feel drunk on his nearness.
“You okay there?” he asks, steadying me with a gentle hand at my elbow.
No, I am not okay. I am the opposite of okay.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though the word is a lie with good posture. I straighten on my own and force my voice into something steady. “That was . . . quite a show you put on up there.”
Logan’s mouth quirks. “You didn’t think I had those baseball skills, did you?”
“I meant the kiss.” I keep my eyes forward. The festival suddenly seems too bright, too crowded, and I can feel people watching us as we weave through the booths.
“Oh.” He steps closer, just enough that his breath brushes my ear when he speaks. “That wasn’t a show.”
“It was risky,” I whisper back. “You could’ve been found out.”
“I know.” His tone stays light, but there’s something underneath it, something that doesn’t budge. “I just couldn’t let you kiss anyone else.”
“It would’ve been just a peck,” I say. “On the cheek.”
He looks at me then, the humor falling away from his features. “It didn’t sit right with me,” he says, quiet and absolute.
Is he just teasing or does he feel even a sliver of my growing affection for him?
Before I can ask, however, I notice a cluster of my students huddled near a popcorn stand, pointing and giggling. Their eyes are wide with delight, little hands pressed to mouths that can’t quite contain their excitement. Logan’s disguise doesn’t fool them; they’ve seen it before.
Grinning despite myself, I press my index finger to my lips in the universal sign for “shh.” They respond with exaggerated nods, zipping their lips and throwing away the imaginary key.
“Secret agent first-graders,” Logan chuckles. “Your little spies are adorable.”
