Logan said he and her were over, but this doesn’t look like over to me. It looks like a carefully choreographed surprise reunion, with me playing the clueless third wheel.
Would she have brought an overnight bag if she didn’t expect to stay?
“Sorry about this,” Logan’s voice reaches from behind me.
I turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why is she here?”—I point to the boat accusingly—“because it looks like you invited her.”
“I didn’t know she was coming,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with that boyish gesture, like he doesn’t want to deal with it. Right now, it just irritates me further. “Apparently the record label’s been tracking my purchases.”
“And so has she.” I hug myself tighter, as if physical tension might prevent me from losing my cool. “You need to tell her to leave.”
“She won’t listen to me.” His tone carries resignation. “Victoria does as she pleases.”
“Yeah. Her plan is pretty clear. Get rid of me.”
The realization is like ice in my veins. I’m not just the third wheel—I’m the obstacle.
Logan closes the distance between us and cups my face in both hands. His thumbs graze my cheeks with a tenderness that makes it hard to maintain my being mad at him. “Maisie, I broughtyouhere. I want to be withyou. Not her.”
I want to believe him. Lord knows I do. But something deep in my chest warns me there’s more to this story than what he’s letting slip. “So much for the whole ‘just us’ weekend, don’t you think?”
His hands fall from my cheeks, and he sighs in defeat. “You’re right. But since we’re already here, maybe we can still make the most of it.”
Doubt it.
“You see that shed?” He points to a weathered wooden structure to the right of the dock. “There’s a jet ski there. Wanna try it?”
Anything to escape the wench on a steady approach toward us.
I weave my arm though Logan’s, and we begin toward the shed. “I’ve never been on one.”
“Then this’ll be fun.” He smiles, and the dimple that appears in his left cheek threatens to dismantle all my defenses. I want to see more of that boyish, hopeful expression on his face.
Then the devil herself bursts between us, all bouncy blonde hair and coral-tinted lip gloss. “Come on,” Victoria says, flicking her straight hair over one shoulder, smacking me right in the face with it. “Let’s do something fun.”
Just a little push. Yes, that’s all it would take—a light shove to throw her off the dock and into the water. The vision is so vivid I can calculate the trajectory angles. But what if she can’t swim? Better not risk an attempted murder charge—my mugshot would be terrible.
Logan moves ahead and starts prepping the jet ski, while I slip off my sandals and place them carefully on the dock.
“I’d put on a bathing suit if I were you,” I say to Victoria, eyeing her from head to toe. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that expensive dress.”
Her expression sours like milk left in summer heat as she shuffles back to the house. Good riddance, if only temporary.
Logan fires up the jet ski and gestures for me to sit in front, but the second I settle in, my nerves take over, buzzing like angry hornets under my skin.
“I’m gonna fall off this thing,” I say, suddenly afraid of the churning water beneath us.
“I’ve got you.” Logan slides in behind me and puts his hand on the handlebar.
My heart stutters like a faulty engine. Not because of the impending ride, but because of the way his body cocoons me in. I can feel his chest warming my back as we speed off, water spraying in diamond arcs to either side.
“Here, take over,” he says.
Wind tears through my hair as I scream, half exhilaration, half terror, and Logan laughs, his mouth close to my ear in a way that makes my insides bubble with joy.
With each turn we disturb the calm surface of the water, and it feels like the jet-ski is a paint brush and the lake a canvas for me to smear number eights along its length.
Out of nowhere, Victoria flies past us in her speed boat, creating waves so violent they crash against our jet ski like a battering ram.
