Page 75 of The Things That Hold Us

Something feels different between us.

Something feels like it's shifted. We’ve spent so much time together these last few days, and as much as I want to keep telling myself he’s a friend, I know in my heart it's so much more than that.

Yes, he’s a friend.

But friends don't wonder what the others' lips would feel like on theirs.

Or what their hands would feel like running up my thighs.

Running through my hair.

Our eyes meet, and my face feels like it’s on fire. I hope he can't tell.

“Logan..” I say, but my voice is barely above a whisper.

He stands, and holds his hand out, willing me to take it.

I stare at his hand a minute, then back up at him.

Slowly, oh so slowly, I set my hand in his, ignoring the sensation it sends through me as he pulls me up.

Leading me into the middle of the gazebo, his hands landing on my waist as he pulls me into him.

I reach my arms up, but they don't quite reach around his neck.

But that's ok. It doesn't matter.

We start to sway to the music, still unsure where it's coming from.

I take a deep breath, and as I let it out, he leans his forehead into mine.

My eyes close instinctively.

I can feel his breath on my lips.

On my cheeks.

He squeezes my sides, as if to restrain himself.

To hold any shred of control he has left.

Goosebumps flood my entire body, and I let out a shaky breath.

“Charlie.” he whispers against my lips, and I lean into it.

Our lips barely brush together, and he squeezes harder.

“Charlie.” he says again, my name a plea on his lips.

My chest rises and falls rapidly, and as I let out a breath, I whisper, “Logan.”

He pulls me closer, even though there's no room between us.

I can feel his heartbeat against mine, racing just as fast.

“Charlie, I can't.” he whispers into my lips.

“You can't what?” I ask him.

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