She’s mine.
CHAPTER 15
Present Day
Logan
1. Don’t look at her Instagram.
2. Don’t text her.
3. If you run into her, be polite but distant.
4. Don’t under any circumstances agree to see her in person.
5. DO NOT HAVE SEX WITH HER.
“Talk me out of driving to Leilani’s right now.”
Keira exhales heavily, sending a rush of feedback through the phone speaker. “What did she do?”
“I’m not really sure if she’s done anything yet, but I’m suspicious. I ran into her on campus today. She was with Dean.”
There’s no need to say more than that. Keira knows everything about my justified hatred of Brenna’s older brother.
“Do you think that was a coincidence?”
“It does seem suspicious, but he does…‘get her.’” My teeth clench over the words.
“Right,” Keira says. “And I’m sure she had a perfectly reasonable excuse to bring him to campus today. And how strange that they just happened to run into you.”
“Yeah, I don’t really think it was a coincidence either, but I can’t just let it go.”
She’s silent for several seconds, and I can feel her disappointment through the phone. “Logan…” Her tone is pleading. “This is why you made your list.”
“I know.”
“And I told you she would go after you with everything she’s got.”
“I know.”
She sighs again. “I can tell there’s no convincing you. I hear it in your voice.”
“You’re right,” I admit right away. “And I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry to me. The list was about you.”
I don’t respond right away, because she and I both know that’s not true. Maybe the nobler intentions of the list were about me and my boundaries, but we both also knew that it was about what happened that night and our mutual guilt. The list was meant to soothe it.
After hanging up with Keira, I walk into the kitchen and grab my keys from the counter.
As I walk to my car, I stifle the guilt gnawing my conscience by reminding myself that it’s just going to be a conversation. I’m just going to make it clear that neither of us is single right now—despite our separation—and then I’ll leave.
By the time I pull up to the Blue House, I still have no idea what to say to Lani. I hear my pulse pounding like a tribal drum as I walk up the stairs to her porch. I knock once before walking into the house.
I immediately head in the direction of her room—where she’s spent most of her time since she started taking Ativan—but I’m startled when my eye catches a petite figure leaning against the kitchen counter, cradling a mug to her chest.
“You got here fast,” she says.