I groan and grab the remote. “Shut up and watch your stupid baseball movie.”
But I can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
Jackson might’ve called just in time.
But I’m starting to worry even time might not save me from this one.
The credits roll, and Logan stretches out on the couch, his arm grazing mine just slightly. Casual. Dangerous.
“What’d you think?” he asks.
“I think I…better go to bed! Big day tomorrow.”
“Big day of…being unemployed?”
I narrow my eyes. “Look, unemployment isstressful. I’m in a reinvention era, okay? I’ve got to figure out my life.”
He nods, teasing grin softening. “Okay. Well…it was good talking tonight. Seriously. I liked it.”
That catches me off guard. I’m so used to him being cocky or flirty—it throws me a little.
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
I pad toward the stairs, wine glass still in hand, until I hear his voice behind me.
“And hey, Cass?”
I glance back.
“I hope you get what you want. Every last thing. You deserve it.”
My chest tightens.
“I do?”
He nods, earnest and steady. “Yeah. Of course you do.”
I toss. I turn. I flip my pillow over. I count ceiling tiles. I try every sleep hack known to woman.
But nothing works.
Not whenheis just downstairs, probably shirtless, definitely smug, and somehow…sweet?
Ugh.
Eventually, somewhere around 3 a.m., I finally doze off.
And that’s when it happens.
The dream.
In it, I’m in the kitchen. Logan’s behind me, hands on my hips, mouth on my neck, voice low and ragged in my ear. He’s whispering things I should absolutely not want to hear. Things that make my thighs clench and my breath hitch. I turn to face him, and he lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing, pushing my sundress up with his knee?—
I bolt upright in bed.
“Absolutely not,” I whisper into the darkness, heart pounding. “No. Nope. I’m not doing this.”
I toss the blankets off and creep down the stairs, desperate for cold water, or maybe just some distance from my own overactive imagination.
