Page 13 of The Breakaway

I stood there until I started to shiver. Logan didn’t come after me. I’d told him to stay, but when I turned and saw him laughing with a few of his teammates, it stung. It was unfair to expect himto read my mind, but how much translation did it really take? He was leaving. Of course I wasn’t okay.

I stiffened when Rob turned to fill his cup, and he looked up. His eyes dropped to my bare shoulders, a frown turning down the corners of his mouth. I was about to flip him off when Crystal cut off my view of him.

“There you are.” She opened the glass door and stepped out onto the patio with me. “Shit, how long have you been out here?”

I rubbed my arms. “Too long, I think?”

"Uh-huh." Her eyes searched mine, a divot forming between her brows. "Did something happen? With Logan, or?—"

“No, I’m just—I don’t know. Thinking about Tuesday, I guess.”

Crystal grinned, walking closer and throwing her arm over my shoulder. “Parties aren’t for thinking, silly.”

I scoffed. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“No, I do know you, which is why I’m here to drag you back in there. You need to make at least three more bad decisions before we can go home.”

I laughed, allowing her to pull me toward the doors.

Logan turned, his eyes lighting up. "Hell yeah. That's my girl!" He took a swig of jungle juice, then pushed through his teammates and planted a kiss on my mouth, prying my lips open and sharing his drink.

“Logan!” I pulled back, wiping my lips with the back of my hand as it dribbled down my chin.

He threw his head back and howled.

The rest of the night passed in a strobe-lit blur of shots and shimmies, culminating in a giggling, stumbling trek back to Logan's truck. Maddie was our designated driver, and before we even pulled away from the curb, Logan’s hand was already up my skirt. Which didn’t take much effort considering it was only ten centimeters long.

When we got back, I hugged my friends, then we trudged inside and tumbled into bed in a tangle of limbs and boozy breath. For all his handsiness on the drive, Logan was out within seconds, his fireman coat in a crumpled heap on the floor. I forced myself out of bed to brush my teeth, then stripped off my costume and sank into oblivion before my head hit the pillow.

Morning arrived like a sledgehammer to the skull. I groaned and burrowed deeper under the covers, but the mattress lurched as Logan bounded out of bed with disgusting verve.

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey," he trilled, ripping open the curtains. Eye-searing sunlight knifed into my retinas and I whimpered.

"I will murder you," I croaked. "With a spatula. Slowly."

Logan just laughed, tugging the duvet off my limp carcass. "You'll change your tune once you taste my world-famous breakfast. Up and at 'em, sunshine!"

I hauled myself vertical with a pitiful moan, head throbbing like a rotten melon. Logan was already whistling his way into the kitchen. How was he so damn chipper? And since when did he make breakfast?

I pressed my palm to my forehead and threw on sweats and a hoodie, then washed my face and moisturized. My clock said ten. At least I’d gotten a decent amount of sleep.

By the time I slouched into the kitchen, Logan was sitting with a plate full of . . . blueberry pancakes?

"Umm, did you swap souls with someone last night?” It was Hallows Eve. I’d heard of stranger things.

Logan flashed a mysterious smile. "It's my secret special-occasion recipe. Blueberry sour cream pancakes with lemon zest. Prepare to have your mind blown."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You’ve literally never mentioned special-occasion pancakes. Or recipes in general."And hadn’t he only been out there for fifteen minutes?

“Because I was saving it for a special occasion.” He pulled out a stool and patted it. I walked over and sat like a good girl even though the scene in front of me wasn’t computing. Rob used the kitchen regularly, but Logan? I’d only seen him use the microwave. One time he’d heated up leftover wings in the oven because Rob told him to.

Logan kissed my cheek. "I've been saving this for a day when you really need some comfort food. Figured a killer hangover qualified." He grabbed a plate and fork from the counter and put two pancakes on it, then passed it to me.

Damn him for being so thoughtful. My eyes prickled traitorously as I drowned my pancakes in syrup. "You're too good to me, you know that?"

"Nah, babe. You're too good for me.” He winked, digging into his own short stack.

We devoured brunch, nursing cups of strong black coffee and making dumb jokes. For a few cozy hours, I could almost pretend the world outside didn't exist. No nagging worries about the future, no shadow of Rob lurking at the edges. Just me and my blue-eyed boy in our bubble of maple syrup and morning light.

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