He’s too close, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him, see the faint smudge of fake blood at the edge of his jaw, and it pisses me off how much I still notice. How much I always fucking notice.
I drag in a breath and shove a hand through my hair. “Drop it, Logan.”
“Why did you pull me away from him, Nathan?” he asks, and he’s so close I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin.
“God damn it.” My voice comes out low, sharp. “What do you want from me?”
He holds my gaze. “The truth,” he says. “Stop bullshitting me for once in your life and tell me what the fuck that was.”
“Fuck.” I squeeze my eyes closed. “I didn’t like seeing him with his hands all over you, alright?” I exhale through my nose, jaw tight. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
The second the words leave my mouth, I hate myself for saying them, because I’m handing him every thought I’ve spent the longest time trying to shove into a box and bury.
The silence is deafening. Sure, the music’s loud, and there’s people fucking everywhere, talking and yelling, cheering. But he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a sound, just parts his lips in shock, keeping his eyes on me.
I run a hand down my face and shake my head. “Fuck. Forget I said anything.”
I turn to leave, needing space, air, but before I can move, his hand catches my wrist. “You think you can just drop a bomb like that and walk away?”
“Logan—”
“No,” he cuts in, stepping closer. “You don’t get to throw that out there and pretend it didn’t mean something like what happened in the locker room.”
I wrench my hand free. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“Why not?”
My head snaps toward him. “Why not?” I repeat, my voice sharp. “Because you’re confusing as fuck, Logan.”
He blinks, caught off guard. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. With your stupid flirting and the way you… look at me.”
His brow lifts slowly. “How do I look at you?”
He’s watching me too closely now, like he can see straight through the shit I’ve been telling myself. Like he knows how hard I’ve been trying not to want this.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I snap, groaning as I let my head fall back against the wall. “I don’t—this isn’t who I am. You’re messing with my head.”
My eyes find his again. His drop briefly to my mouth before flicking back up. He doesn’t move closer, but it feels like he does, because suddenly my pulse is going haywire.
“Yeah,” he says with a huff. “Join the club.”
Neither of us moves. Logan’s eyes stay locked on mine, like he’s waiting for me to say something I’m not brave enough to give him. I try to look away, but I can’t seem to move.
He shifts, taking a single step closer, and the space between us closes so fast my pulse trips over itself.
Then the bathroom door swings open behind us, and a drunk guy stumbles out, muttering to himself as he bumps the wall. The sound breaks whatever the hell was happening between us.
Logan’s the first to move. He steps back, runs a hand through his hair and exhales hard.
I know it’s a cowardly move, but I take that as my cue to turn away and leave. I push off the wall, weave through the crowd, and don’t stop until I reach my bedroom door.
Because if I stay down here, something’s going to happen.
And I’m not ready for that.
15