Page 50 of Life After You

Mac meets my eyes again over the rim of her glass.

And just like that, I know—

This thing between us?

We’re just getting started.

The house is quiet. Or at least, as quiet as it can be with a bunch of rockstars passed out inside. Dean handed out room keys earlier, and one by one, the guys peeled off—Sam mumbling about macros, tequila, and protein shakes in a half-asleep daze,Chace slinging an arm around a girl I’m pretty sure had been with Trey most of the night. Trey, still buzzing, disappeared with another girl, someone I think I’ve seen around before. Either way, they were too wrapped up in each other to notice much else.

Honestly, the boarding house feels more like a frat.

But Logan stayed.

And so did I.

Now, we’re out on the porch, the air thick with the scent of ozone and earth, the unfallen downpour holding its breath.

It’s late—later than I should be awake, but my body isn’t tired. Not even close.

I push my foot lightly against the wooden floorboards, making the porch swing sway beneath us.

The motion is lazy, slow.

So is the way Logan’s watching me.

I canfeelhis gaze. It burns like the heat rolling off his skin, like the whiskey still sitting in the back of my throat. He’s close enough that his knee brushes mine, close enough that if I wanted to, I could just…

I exhale, gripping the edge of the seat.

Nope.

Bad idea.

Danger.

His arm is draped over the back of the swing, his fingers close enough to ghost against my shoulder. He looks like he belongs here, like he’s always belonged here—like the world bends to him without him even trying. And fuck, maybe it does. That outfit, clinging to him like a second skin, should be illegal. My pulse damn near flatlined when I spotted him in the club, my drink almost slipping from my fingers.

I want to sneer at the girls vying for his attention, roll my eyes at the way they drape themselves over him, all fake laughter andwandering hands. But I can’t. Because I was one of them, for fuck’s sake.

He has the kind of presence that swallows a room whole, the kind that could shake an entire stadium to its foundations. But then—just when you think he’s untouchable—he looks at you. Just a flick of those electric blue eyes, a moment, a heartbeat… and suddenly, it’s only for you.

And that? That feels dangerous.

"How long are you going to keep pretending this isn’t killing you?"

His voice is low, rough, like gravel and smoke, and it guts me.

I swallow hard. "What?"

His lips curve, but there’s no humor there—just something dark, something knowing. He shifts, just enough for his knuckles to graze my thigh. Barely there. A whisper of contact that still manages to set my skin on fire.

I stop breathing.

The game we’ve been playing all night? It just hit overtime.

"This," he says, tipping his head toward me. "Us. You act like you don’t feel it."

Act like I don’t feel it, Logan?

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