Page 16 of Strictly Yours

I look around and finally take in the place. Holy. Crap.

It’sstunning.

Glass walls. A full skyline view. A grand piano in the corner, because apparently my tone-deaf sister now plays piano? There are bookshelves taller than my childhood home and an old modernized La Cornue Range oven larger than my car in the kitchen.

I’m exhausted, but I have to see the rest of this place. It takes a while.

There are four bedrooms.Fourbathrooms.

“What the hell?” I mutter as I stick my head into another luxurious walk-in shower with a giant rain showerhead mounted from the ceiling and all sorts of jets and nozzles for the perfect steam.

Now, I know why rich people never leave their houses. If Logan’s place is half as nice as this, I understand him more and feel bad for shaming him about never seeing the city. Why would you when you can steam in this thing until you turn into a human prune?

“This is insane,” I whisper as I wander into a guest bedroom that has enough room for a king-sized bed, a bunch of furniture,andhas a bathroom and walk-in closet on top of it. “I thought New York apartments were supposed to be the size of a shoebox.”

This one’s a department store.

But even with all the jaw-dropping finishes and the tub in the ensuite bathroom big enough to host a pool party, my mind is somewhere else.

It’s on Logan.

I lean against the doorframe of the guest room and smile to myself. That night… It wasperfect.

The pizza. The way he laughed—unrestrained and real. The way his eyes warmed every time I said something weird and he pretended not to like it. The weight of his gaze when I wasn't looking. The intensity when I was.

And how he didn’t even hesitate to follow me into that elevator like I was a new form of gravity he couldn’t quite figure out.

I like him.

And not just the “he’s hot and older and could ruin me in one night” kind of like. Even though... yes, I’ll take a heavy helping ofthattoo.

I meanlike-like.

I’m crushing hard on Mr. Cranky Pants. Although, now I’m thinking a more fitting name for him would be Mr. I Want To Get In Your Pants.

I wander around, taking my clothes out of my suitcase and getting settled in, and the whole time, my mind is on him.

I’ve never felt this way about a man before. Hell, I’ve never had this effect on a man before.

Usually, it’s not long before they tell me to go away or pretend to get a call on their phone.

But Logan… He wascaptivatedby me. He wasintriguedby me. And it feltgood.

He’s twenty years older than me.

But maybe that’s what I need.

Someone grounded. Someone solid. Someone who knows who he is and what he wants.

I’ve spent so much time floating through life, chasing ideas and vibes and feelings. Maybe it’d be nice to have someone who makes the ground feel less like lava and more solid.

Maybe Greg was right. Maybe I amflighty.

And maybe Logan can be my anchor.

I groan and flop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as Munchies jumps up beside me and curls into my armpit with no shame.

“Oh man,” I whisper as I think about the end of the night.

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