I groan and exit out of our texts. After that phone call, my mother has clearly gotten into my head. “Pull yourself together, Savannah!” Logan isn’t supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes, which means I need a distraction before my stress causes an ulcer.
Ididmake his meals this morning in the hopes of avoiding the fluttering sensation that fills my belly every time I think about Logan spending time in my apartment. If he has no reason to stay, I have no reason to hope he does.
So, to keep myself occupied, I go back to the Fur-Ever Homes website to read through some of the other issues people have had with their pets.
At ten o’clock on the dot, Logan knocks. I’m in the middle of reading a blog post about an adorable pot-bellied pig who needs a new home, so I shout for Logan to come in because I amriveted. Enough that I’ve almost forgotten how excited and nervous I am to see the man.
I’ve come across other posts about Princess the Pig on the shelter’s website, but this is the first time I’ve paid attention. According to the recap on the latest post, Princess’s last owner died, leaving the pig homeless, and Fur-Ever Homes has had a hard time finding someone who can take her. There have been some big names—NBA stars, MLB players, and even international soccer stars—trying to get her a home, but so far luck has not been on the pig’s side.
Probably because she has about a million issues. She’s making Beef look like a piece of cake by comparison.
From her diapers to needing daily insulin shots, she’s not exactly a casual pet. But the fact that she wears dresses and tiaras might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, even if it makes her a diva.
“Everything okay?” Logan asks after far longer than I would expect.
I look up, grinning despite myself when I see he’s taken up his usual spot on the couch with Beef sprawled out on his chest, sound asleep. As worried as I am for my cat, I can’t deny how much I like seeing the two of them together. Matching giants who have me wrapped around their large fingers. Or toes, in Beef’s case.
I know how Beef managed that—he’s adorable—but how in the world didLoganget under my skin so quickly? Okay, so it’snot that hard to figure out. Logan is the human equivalent of Beef Wellington, and I clearly have a type.
Something is wrong with me.
“Ever thought of adopting a potbelly pig?” I ask like it’s the most normal question in the world. After the way he’s been texting lately, I’m so curious to see how Logan will respond. He and Princess have a lot of things in common, at least when it comes to their demand for home-cooked meals.
His thick eyebrows dip low as he runs his fingers through Beef’s thick fur. “A what?”
“Pig. But, like, a really big one.” I hold my arms in a circle in front of me to demonstrate, though I have no idea how big Princess actually is.
“Uh, no.”
“That’s too bad. I’d bet this lovely lady would soften you right up.” I hold up my phone to show him a picture of Princess and her overlarge diaper.
He grunts, sounding very much like a pig himself. “You know I can’t see that from here, right?”
Rolling my eyes, I stand up straight and stretch my back from leaning for so long. Then I bring the phone over to Logan, holding it close to his face. A little too close, but he can’t complain about not being able to see now.
And yet his gaze remains fixed on me, not my phone, and it’s so intense that I feel like I’m starting to boil internally. “When was the last time you sat down, Savannah?”
I frown. “Huh?”
With a nod toward the clean dishes in my drying rack, he narrows his eyes slightly. “You already made my meals, and you’vebeen awake since at least five-thirty. Have you sat down at all in the last five hours?”
This is what I get for sending him a text first thing in the morning, unnecessarily reminding him about his pickup today. But asking me if I’ve sat down? He’s more observant than he looks, though that shouldn’t surprise me. When Moxie told me that Logan has been offering unsolicited advice in the form of poorly veiled insults to his teammates, I should have picked up on the way he pays attention to the people around him, for better or worse.
You hum when you cook.
Heat splashes across my face as his text runs through my mind, this time in his sexy Aussie accent, and I pull my phone back so I can put some distance between me and his gray-blue eyes.
Logan grabs my wrist, stopping my movement. “I want you to show me the pig, Savannah. But I also want you to sit.”
Laughing nervously, I look at the way he fills my small couch and then some, his feet hanging off the end. “Where?” I guess I could sit on the floor, but then I’d have to get back up again.
“Here.” He punctuates the word with a soft tug that pulls me onto his lap and knocks a gasp out of me. Still holding my wrist (and apparently unaware of the sudden heat burning through me), he pulls my phone close again to get a better look at Princess the Pig. “Genuine question,” he says as a frown scrunches his eyebrows together. “What about me says I would ever adopt apig?”
His eyes meet mine again, and all I can do is let out a shaky exhale because I’m sitting on his far-too-comfortable thighs andhe’s touching my arm and his texts are on repeat in my head in his deep voice. I rarely dated in South Carolina because the options in my social scene were the worst, and then I came to California for school and put all my focus into my dietetics degree and certifications. Building a business from the ground up hasn’t exactly lent itself to dating, so I genuinely don’t remember the last time I was interested in a guy.
I don’t know what to do here.
I shouldnotbe interested in Logan Callahan.
