Page 32 of Life After You

“Oh, my god, Logan! Are you okay?” She’s kneeling next to me in an instant, her hand warm on my shoulder. Her touch sends a spark through me, even as I groan in pain.

“You know,” I mutter, rolling onto my back, “You really shouldn’t sneak up on a man breaking into a house. It’s dangerous.”

She bursts into laughter, her face lighting up in that way that makes everything else fade to the background. The sun catches her dark waves, turning some strands gold. She’s beautiful—so damn beautiful it hurts to look at her sometimes.

“For you, maybe!” she teases, her laughter still bubbling out of her.

“Apparently,” I grumble, dragging myself to my feet. “So, angel, what’s the plan? Or did you just want to catch me by surprise so you could have your wicked way with me in the flower bed?” Her cheeks flush deep red. “I came to tell you the windows are locked from the inside.”

I blink. “So that whole exercise was pointless, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Next time warn me in advance. I know I’ve got a cute ass, but I’d rather not damage it.” She snorts, shaking her head, and we head back to the front of the house, settling on the porch swing. I brush leaves and dirt off my jeans while she stares out at the street, quiet for a moment.

“So…” I say after a moment, “What’s so special about Portland? Why’d you have to come here?”

She tilts her head back, a wistful smile curling her lips. “Darts.”

It takes me a second but then it clicks. “Darts,” I repeat, grinning.

It was her and Braden’s thing. When they couldn’t agree on a destination, they’d throw a dart at a map. No arguments. No takebacks. It’s how our band picked our first venue, too. I never questioned it back then. Still don’t.

“Thought you remembered, and that’s how you found me,” she muses, studying me. I let out a laugh. “Sorry, Chica. I’m a little more modern than that!”

“How so?”

“Well, you had a map. I have GPS.” She narrows her eyes, holding up her phone. “You used the ‘Find Me’ app from Braden’s phone, didn’t you?”

I smirk, nodding. Her lips twitch, caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement. “You’re such a cheater.”

“Efficient.” I correct, leaning back and letting my arm rest behind her on the swing. For a moment, we just sit there, the past and present swirling between us. It’s quiet, but it feels like everything is shifting back into place.

“What?” I ask, noticing the way Mac’s looking at me. Her expression is unreadable, a mix of amusement and something deeper. She doesn’t answer, just shifts in her seat to face me fully. Her legs slide between mine, her knees brushing against me. The closeness sends a jolt of awareness through me.

“You’ve got something on your face.” she says softly, leaning forward.

I furrow my brow. “What? Dirt? A bug? Tell me!”

She smirks, shaking her head, but she doesn’t elaborate. Instead, her hand reaches out, her fingers brushing my forehead. “Hold still.” she murmurs.

Her touch is light but deliberate, her fingertips skimming over my brow as she moves some hair aside. Then her hand trails down my left cheekbone, slow and careful, like she’s memorizing the contours of my face.

“You had some dirt…and a flower petal.” she says, her voice faltering as she rake’s her fingers through my hair, her palm grazing the back of my neck.

The breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes in a shallow exhale. Her touch feels too good, too natural, and when she starts to pull away, I catch her wrist.

“Wait,” I say softly.

Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting as her breath catches.

I should stop.

Braden’s voice—the one that’s haunted me for years—echoes in the back of my mind. Promise me, Logan. Promise me you’ll never touch her. Never cross that line.

I swore I wouldn’t. I swore on my fucking life.

But I can’t stop. Not now.

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