Page 94 of Hypothetical Heart
“You brought a tool belt?”
“Yes, and I’m certain you didn’t.” He’s right.
“What would I ever need a tool belt for?” I raise my eyebrows, and he laughs.
“You’re right. You just make me do everything anyway.”
When Logan comes back, a tool belt is slung over his shoulder. His T-shirt is also clinging to every muscle of his back and biceps. He looks so good, it takes everything in me not to drool all over the clothes I’m attempting to hang up.
“Need a mop?” He grins, reading my mind.
I clear my throat, shaking my head as I turn back toward my closet, and for the next few hours, Logan builds my dresser while I attempt to put my room together the best I can. After a while, I move on to organizing the kitchen, and Logan walks out of my room with his tool belt.
“Done?” I ask over my shoulder while I wash my new silverware set.
He nods, “What clothes are going in these drawers? I’ll start folding them and putting them away.” “You don’t have to do that. I’ll do it later,” I reply quickly. We both enter my bedroom so Logan can showcase his new project. “It looks great!”
Without me even noticing, Logan drags out the boxes I tucked in the bottom of my closet, setting them on top of thedresser. I don’t even have a chance to try and stop him before he’s ripping the top off of the cardboard box full of my bras and underwear. Just my luck.
“Jesus,” he chokes out, his cheeks turning red.
I don’t even know what to do in this situation. My best friend, who I just so happen to be in love with, is staring at a box full of my underwear, and all he can say isJesus. I’m frozen still, so unaware of how I’m feeling, and praying he will simply shut the box and never speak of this again.
“Wow, um, I—“ he stutters, unable to rip his gaze away from the box’s contents.
I unlock my feet from the cement block they were seemingly stuck in. “It’s just underwear, Logan, what’s the big deal?” I ask, trying to play it cool.
This is not cool. So not cool.
“Just underwear?” He looks from me back to the box and then toward me again.
I finally get the chance to peer inside the box, and of course, the only underwear visible from an aerial view are my skimpiest thongs and everything lace. Perfect.
“Would you stop looking?” I groan, trying to pull his hand away and shut the box.
“Sorry, sorry.” I watch his throat bob as he gulps, taking a step back.
I pick the box up off the dresser, throwing it back on the floor and sliding it back into my closet. “That’s why I said I’d fold my clothes myself.”
“Well, it’s not that big of a deal,” he says, making sure I’m not too embarrassed.
“Then why are you acting like you just saw your first-ever porno?” I snort, trying to keep my laughs at bay.
In all honesty, if you take away the initial embarrassment,the face Logan made while he was looking in that box was pretty damn funny.
“Winnie, I just saw your pink, lacy underwear.”
“So?” I’m feigning offense. “What did you expect me to wear? Granny panties?”
“I’d prefer not to talk about the type of underwear I imagine you wearing,” he sighs, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. “And please, never say the word panties ever again.”
I make apfffsound, desperately holding onto the little composure I have left. “Logan! You just saw all of my panties!” I finally burst out laughing, which makes him do the same.
I land on my bed when I crumple over, and he lays back. We spent the next—I don’t even know how long—laughing until there are tears streaming down both of our faces.
And when I rest my elbows on my bed, propping my head up, Logan’s on his back right next to me.
“I’m sorry, I’m trying not to make this awkward.” He’s still giggling.
