Logan (5:04 PM):That was an unhinged number of texts in a row, I apologize
As quickly as a puff of air escapes my nose, I inhale another just as fast. It reminds me I can still breathe. I haven’t sunk yet.
Logan (5:07 PM):I’m thinking of ideas for how to increase my luck, too. I don’t want you to think it’s all on you. I really appreciate you and your help.
Logan (5:08 PM):That’s what I meant to text in the first place
Chapter 12
HAZEL
Logan’s still at the theater by the time I get off work and make my way uptown. I had to scroll back through old texts to find which theater he works at. There are so many of them on Broadway.
He’s sewing a rip in a curtain when I get there. I watch him for a few minutes from the back of the theater as he finishes up. He’s focused as he tries to thread a needle with his casted arm. Finally, he gets it, pulling the thread in and out of the fabric. Repairing what was broken.
He looks up at me as I step into the light. From all the way over here, I can see his smile. The one for me.
I walk down the aisle toward him, dazed. Drawn in.
“Standby line closed at three,” he says, his voice managing to reach me. “But you can enter the Broadway lottery for a later show.”
“No more lotteries,” I hear myself say. I step up onto the stage.
Logan puts his needle and thread away in a little box. “Right. I win once and think I’m invincible. You found me at a good time. Everyone’s on dinner break—”
I finish his sentence with my mouth on his. The force of my body pins him up against the wall behind the curtain. It’s all tongue, quick breaths, hands everywhere. I run my hands down his chest,feeling the topography of his muscles under my fingertips. Every touch is charged; static electricity from the buildup between us.
I slip two fingers into the waistband of his jeans and tug him toward me. The low grunt he makes sets off what feels like the world’s longest sparkler running from my chest all the way down to my toes. Our lips glide against each other in hurried want, our tongues going back and forth in a chaotic but satisfying rhythm. They’re greedy, our movements, as though we haven’t already won enough.
I don’t have to think. Don’t have to feel anything but what’s happening right now.
It’s exactly what I need.
“Bathroom,” I whisper against his neck. “Take me there.”
Logan freezes, his hands sliding down my arms. “You want to have… bathroom sex?”
I pull him back to me, kissing his lips, his cheeks. “Don’t stop.”
“Hazel, hold on,” he says with a forced laugh. “Are you okay?”
“I will be once you kiss me,” I say, annoyed.
He adjusts his hat as he dips his head. “What’s going on?”
I glance away. He’ll know something’s wrong if he takes one look at my eyes. “I just want to feel better,” I say weakly.
“We can’t do this here. Not like this,” he says gently. He looks over at the door, where probably an entire crew is eating their dinners.
“You’re rejecting me?” I ask, blinking. “Oh my god.” I take a few steps back. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Hazel, talk to me,” he says, reaching for my hand. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I yank it away. “I don’t want to talk! I just… I needed you, and you can’t even be here for me.” There’s a bite to my voice. It’s sharpand ugly and filled with the pain that I’m in. I don’t want it inside of me anymore.
My stomach feels like it’s folding in on itself as I recount the last couple of minutes. My face is on fire. This is beyond humiliating. It’s soul-crushing. How could I have done that? Logan means more to me than acting on some desperate desire.
The back of my eyes sting. I press my knuckles against them before I start to cry. “I should go,” I say, barely getting the words out.
