But at least this hug is a helluva lot smarter than kissing him, which is what I really want to do. And not the kind of bullshit kissing we’ve been doing. I want the kind from the balcony last week.
The kind where, for just a second, it feels real.
I shove the thought aside almost as quickly as it enters my mind—knowing there’s no corner of the universe that I could ever act on it—and attempt to focus on how grateful I am instead.
“Thank you, Logan,” I whisper against his hair. The words feel and sound completely inadequate, knowing without him, this would have never been possible.
They must be enough, though, because Logan relaxes a little against me, melting into my embrace. His arms slide around my waist, hugging me back with his cheek pressed to my chest and giving a little squeeze. It’s funny how the press of his body against mine grounds me, but at the same time, I feel like I could float away from unfiltered happiness. It must be what everyone means by floating on cloud nine.
I just hope he can’t hear the way my heartbeat stumbles behind my ribs.
“Don’t mention it,” he says, the words slightly muffled by my hoodie. “You did most of the work; I just made it easier to understand.”
I’d beg to differ, but right now, I’m too overjoyed to fight him on it. Too relieved to know I’m in the clear—at least until all the cramming for midterms rolls around next semester. But that’s a problem for future Camden.
Present Camden would rather worry about memorizing the way Logan feels in my arms.
“Well, still. Thank you.”
Every fiber of my being hates the idea of releasing him, but I know I’ve already pushed my luck by hugging him without his permission. So I fight the urge to hold on longer and, instead, let go, allowing him to take a step back.
“Uh, and I’m sorry about the—”
He waves me off before I can even finish the thought. “It’s fine, seriously. You could’ve tackled me to the bed and I wouldn’thave cared. I’m just glad you passed.”
There’s not a doubt in my mind he means it. About the class, the hug, all of it. And while it’s stupid as hell, it gives me some hope that we’ve truly become friends after all.
Even iffriendsisn’t exactly what I want to be.
As if I’d spoken the thought aloud, the moment shifts, comfort turning into an awkward sort of tension. It fills the room in an instant, billowing all around us as we stand here, staring at each other with still such minimal space between our bodies. And in that space, the air crackles with electricity, like a charge has been set and ready to detonate—one I’m a half-second from setting off, consequences be damned.
Especially when his gaze drops to my mouth.
You feel it too, don’t you?
I’m about to ask him just that—bring life to the question I’ve had since the banquet—but then Logan takes another step back and claps his hands together, effectively defusing the situation.
“I think you should celebrate a job well done!” he declares, though the words come out a little loud and unnaturally.
My brows collide at the center. “Uh, yeah. I guess so.”
“Well, I’m sure some of the guys from the team will be going out, right? Or has everyone left for the break already?”
I have no idea. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind to ask any of them; I was too busy mentally prepping for this to be the end of days. Not that it really matters because they’re not the ones I’d want to celebrate with anyway. Logan is. He’s the one who got me through this, after all.
And, yeah, maybe I’m just not ready to say goodbye to him for an entire month either.
“If I celebrate with anyone, it should be you. Let me take you to dinner tonight. To thank you,” I say, laying my offer on the table.
I just hope it came out sounding more like an invitation andless like a plea of desperation.
“Yeah, we can have dinner to celebrate,” he concedes with a slow nod. “But how about to thank me, you come to New York instead?”
My stomach does little cartwheels, not expecting this turn of events. Mostly because there’d been zero mention of it since my initial offer, but also because of how poorly our rendezvous with his family went last week.
But it’s still not even a moment’s hesitation before I’m saying yes.
“Yeah. Okay,” I reply, unable to hide my smile. “Can I ask what changed your mind?”
