Page 31 of Attractive Forces
Despite my flippant words, my legs feel wobbly. I stagger to the couch and put my head in my hands. I don’t want to see what’s in Logan’s eyes right now. He’s the son of a pastor, someone who helps uphold the moral standards in a community. I’m the son of a convicted felon.
I feel the couch cushions shift as Logan lowers himself gently next to me.
When I’m finally brave enough to look at him, his blue-green eyes reflect nothing but concern.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks softly.
Not really. But I owe Logan the truth.
It’s hard to explain how my dad was my hero growing up. I mean, I’ve always gotten along okay with Mum, but Dad…he was the heart of our family.
Because he worked for himself, he could structure his work how he wanted. He was always there after school to play catch with Aaron, Annaliese, and me. Always there to help with homework.
Until he was arrested. Which came completely by surprise and blew my life apart. Our family suddenly became gossip fodder for the whole suburb.
I stammer some of this out to Logan.
While I’m talking, his hand comes to rest on my thigh. The weight of it reassures me as it rests there innocently, the warmth soaking through my jeans.
I don’t know if he even realizes he’s touching me. I don’t want to draw his attention to it, and I try to tamp down my body’s reaction to his touch and focus on my story.
“That’s shit,” he says when I finish. “But you know none of it is your fault, right? It doesn’t reflect on you.”
The tightness in my chest eases at the sincerity in his voice.
Logan ends up staying until Mum comes home. We hang out on the couch, watch some terrible afternoon TV, and just talk about random stuff.
I don’t know if Logan realizes how much his quiet acceptance means to me.
And it just makes me like him even more.
* * *
The next dayLogan’s back over at our house for chemistry tutoring.
“I feel I should get frequent flier miles,” he says today as he steps across the doorstep.
“I’m not sure what rewards I can offer in return for your frequent flier miles,” I reply.
A blush paints itself up his cheeks.
Shit. Did that come across as creepy? Even worse, did it sound flirty? Double shit.
When we get up to my room, I make sure I’m strictly business. I keep a decent gap between our chairs, and I channel my inner chemistry nerd with an intensity that would make Marie and Pierre Curie proud. It’s raining, so we don’t even take a break for basketball, just plow through organic chemistry, mastering alkanes, alkenes, and alkynes.
“Phew, I think I’ve sprained my brain with that,” Logan says as we finish.
“But you’re going to ace your organic chemistry quiz,” I say.
Logan twirls his pen in his fingers, and I try not to notice his hands.
“So, I was wondering…” Logan ducks his head in a way that makes me pay attention. “You want to grab some dinner?”
The idea of escaping this house and the toxic hostility between Mum and Aaron has me immediately reaching for my jacket. “Sounds great.”
We head to Angelo’s, the pizza bar on Main Street. It has these deep leather booths and old-school checkered tablecloths. Logan’s hair is damp from the brief run into the restaurant from his car. As he shrugs off his jacket, I try not to notice his broad shoulders.
“I love the smell of pizza. I swear it’s my favorite smell in the world,” Logan says as we pick up the menus.
