I roll my eyes. “You’ve been pushing the fake husband thing way too hard.”
“Is it fake if the chemistry’s real?”
I toss a pillow at him. He catches it effortlessly, like it’s a foul ball lobbed straight into his glove.
“I’ll watch your little sad romance at some point,” he says, smirking. “If we can watchBull Durhamtonight.”
I blink. “Wait—you want to watch a baseball rom-com?”
“It’s not a rom-com. It’s a baseball classic. A film. An American institution.”
“Right. With Susan Sarandon seducing pitchers.”
“Exactly,” he says, pointing at me. “She’s hot. It’s educational. Not to mention inspirational.”
“Fine,” I say. “But next time, it’sNotting Hill.OrWhile You Were Sleeping.I get full rights to the popcorn and emotional manipulation.”
He grins like he’s just won the World Series. “Deal.”
I hit play, trying not to focus on the fact that we are nowofficially watching a movie together.On a couch. In pajamas. With wine.
As the opening credits roll, Logan shifts and stretches one arm along the back of the couch.
Not touching me. Not yet.
But close enough that I can feel the warmth of him radiating like a campfire.
I focus hard on the screen. On Kevin Costner. Onnotthe way Logan’s thigh keeps brushing mine whenever he laughs.
This is fine.
Totally fine.
Just a movie.
Just a roommate.
Just…a really, really hot roommate with stupidly nice forearms and a voice that makes wine feel stronger than it is.
And when I glance sideways at him, just for a second, he’s already looking at me.
He doesn’t look away.
Neither do I.
Bull Durhamplays on.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I already know what movie we’re watching next.
Even if I pretend I don’t.
I’m dangerously close to forgetting that Logan is my roommate and not, say, my extremely flirty, extremely shirtless boyfriend.
His arm is still draped behind me. Not quite touching me, but if I leaned back even a little…
Nope. Bad idea. Bad brain.
I reach for my wine instead.
