Page 41 of Attractive Forces
Or him having to fumble in my pocket to find my key and stealthily drag-carry me inside and up the stairs to my bedroom.
Thank god Mum is working an early shift tomorrow and would have been in bed ages ago. Because she definitely doesn’t need to deal with another one of her sons screwing up.
When we get to my room, Logan deposits me on my bed.
He stands there, backlit from the hallway, looking unsure of himself. He’s shucked off his suit jacket and is a statue in his dress shirt and tie, looking impossibly handsome.
I’m overcome with the need to tell him.
He told Jennifer I was his friend. That seems like a good place to start.
“I don’t want to be just friends,” I say. But my tongue feels too big for my mouth, and some of the words don’t actually make it out.
Logan’s eyebrows pull together. “You don’t want to be my friend?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean, I’ve never felt like this, but it feels like…normal to me, but I don’t know if you think it’s abnormal or not…”
I can tell Logan can’t understand the gibberish I’m spewing right now.
“We might want to save the philosophical discussions for the morning,” he says.
“Yeah, okay.” I slump down on my pillow.
“I’ll get you a glass of water,” he says.
And that’s the last thing I remember.
* * *
When I wake up,it appears some giant squid has entered my room in the night, curled its tentacles around my head, and is squeezing hard.
Light has never been my enemy before. But it definitely is now.
I slowly crack open my eyelids, trying to give my brain time to get used to a small amount of light before I add some more. It doesn’t seem to help.
My mouth feels like I’ve ingested a whole bag of dry ice. I swallow desperately, trying to reintroduce the concept of moisture, but it’s an epic fail. I finally open my eyes enough that they’re able to focus.
That’s when I discover I’m not alone.
Logan is sitting at my desk. He’s wearing his dress shirt and suit pants that are now both crumpled. He scribbles something down on a piece of paper, then checks the textbook.
Chemistry? It looks like he’s practicing chemistry equations.
As I stare at him, I have a vague memory of stumbling to the bathroom in the night and tripping over him asleep on my floor.
At the time, I was so out of it that I didn’t think to question it. But now, the full truth dawns on me like a truly surprising but beautiful sunrise.
Logan spent the night on my floor. He ditched his ball date to make sure I got home safely.
A lump forms in my throat.
He’s a great guy. He’s a good friend.
I’m stupid to read any more into it, right?
“Hey,” I croak.
Logan whips his head around.
