Cami held up a bikini in the mirror that morning, head tilted, a grin already forming, as if she could see the future and found it entertaining.
“You’re wearing this one,” she’d said, shoving it into my hands.
“I’m absolutely not,” I’d argued, already feeling the heat crawl up my neck.
She’d just smiled. “You are. Trust me. You’ll drive Logan crazy. Payback for him being a brute.”
“I’m not trying to drive Logan anything,” I’d said, because I was still pretending I didn’t know what I was doing.
Cami’s eyes had sparkled with wicked sisterly delight. “Sure.”
And she’d been right.
It was simple: soft baby blue fabric tied at the back of my neck. The cut was modest, but intentionally fitted. The material clung gently, not unlike the water, as I climbed from the pool. I threw on cut-off jean shorts, a little shorter than practical but not scandalous. Effortless, Cami called it, although dangerous was probably more accurate.
Sean had noticed too, because Sean noticed everyone. He was the kind of man who flirted harmlessly with anyone who would allow it. He flashed his smile and tossed out a line that would have worked on someone else, but meant nothing to me. I teased him back lightly because it was safe. It didn’t touch my ribs or make my pulse jump.
But when Logan looked over, everything shifted. His jaw clenched slightly, a muscle jumping once like he was holding his temper in his teeth. Sean, mid-flirt, faltered as Logan’s shadow fell across us, conversation stuttering. His eyes went dark and unreadable; something sharpened there, cutting through the banter like a cold wind. Sean, who had never been afraid of anything a day in his life, shifted subtly before mumbling something about needing another drink.
And I felt it, that rush of unexpected thrill.
It was ridiculous: me, a grown woman with a career and a carefully managed life, getting a flutter from a man’s jealousy. But it wasn’t just jealousy; it was possession without ownership, his restraint losing ground. He pretended to be annoyed but kept drifting closer, pulled in by my orbit despite himself.
And I couldn’t deny how his attention sent a live-wire shiver through me, crackling along the edge of my composure. Logan’s jealousy didn’t feel like control. It felt like vulnerability. Like he was losing a fight he never meant to enter, and in that reflection, I saw myself too.
Because Logan’s presence was like gravity.
I took a sip of tea, honey-sweet and warm, and let myself breathe. The mug pressed into my palm like an anchor. Something to hold so my hands didn’t go wandering back through memory.
Days like this were rare for me. I didn’t let myself have too many because fun had a way of loosening your grip and making you forget all the reasons you were careful. All the reasons you stayed busy. All the reasons you chose your future over your feelings.
As I sat there listening to waves crash on the shore, I heard the slider creak softly behind me. By now, I recognized Logan’s footsteps—heavy and measured, each step deliberate. He always seemed to glance down, checking the ground each time before transferring his weight from one foot to the other. Even walking, for him, came with caution.
“She’s out. Only took two stories,” he said quietly.
I glanced over my shoulder to where Logan stood barefoot in the doorway. He’d changed out of his T-shirt. Now he wore a flannel shirt, sleeves pushed up, and jeans loose at his hips. His hair was damp, like he’d just washed up. Something about him in the evening made my chest tighten.
In daylight, he looked like a man built for responsibility. And at night, he looked like a man built for trouble.
I smiled, letting it be easy. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”
He huffed. “She’s not the only one.”
The words landed like a pebble dropped into still water, small, but the ripples spread fast.
As Logan stepped outside and shut the screen door softly behind him, the patio light painted the sharp lines of his face with gold. He didn’t come all the way over. He stopped near the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets like he needed something to do with them.
We stood there for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch between us. The kind of silence that held a conversation in it, one neither of us had started yet.
“You looked good today,” he said finally, voice low.
Heat surged through me, my body aching for this recognition all day. His eyes pinned me—crackling, charging the night with a raw, dizzying electricity that left me rattled. I teetered, torn between plunging straight into the current between us or fleeing before it scorched everything. My heart hammered wild and unrestrained, thrumming with want, trembling at the dangerous cost.
I forced my mouth to work. “Just today?”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “You know what I mean.”
I leaned against the railing, trying for casual and landing somewhere near reckless. “Careful, cowboy. That might’ve just been the beer talking.”
