Page 10 of Here We Go Again
“Like what?”
“Like I’m Colin Craven fromThe Secret Garden.”
She huffs. “I never readThe Secret Garden. I don’t fuck with hetero books.”
“No, you just fuck with every queer woman in a thirty-mile radius.”
“Ouch.” She clutches her chest in mock-hurt, even as the words actually leave a sting.
“I heard about what happened with Rhiannon, too.”
“Wait. Isthather name?”
“There’s a video, you know.” Joe grabs his ancient Android phone off the bedstand and hands it to her. “At least ten teachers sent it to me….”
“Fucking Sanderson, that masochistic dick.” Logan opens the video, but the quality is terrible on Joe’s phone, and quite frankly, she doesn’t need to relive it.
“So, you heard her call me an apathetic asshole who doesn’t care about anyone or anything?” she asks, fiddling with the buckle on her overalls.
Joe fixes those insightful eyes on her. “I think we both know you care far too much about everything.”
She shifts uncomfortably, feeling too seen. The plastic chair groans beneath her.
“I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” Joe says, mercifully changing the topic.
“Neither did I.”
“Oh, Logan.” Joe heaves a sigh, which quickly turns into a cough. “Not again.”
“What do you meanagain?”
Joe reaches for the handkerchief in the pocket of the wool cardigan he’s wearing over his hospital gown. Through it all, he’s never compromised on his professorial fashion sense. “I mean, this isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself in a relationship without realizing it. The same thing happened with what’s-her-name? The barista in Portland?”
“Ari. But that wasn’t my fault!”
“It’s never your fault.”
“She U-Hauled! We were in a casual,openrelationship, and then she was shopping for trips for two to Tulum for spring break!”
“And then there was that tattoo artist who didn’t renew their lease because they thought you were moving in together.”
“An innocent miscommunication.”
“And the fifth-grade teacher—”
“Okay, that’s enough examples. I see what you’re doing. Focusing on my love life instead of dealing with whatever new health thing you’ve got going on.” She waves her hand in a circle in front of his face. “I invented that kind of emotional avoidance.”
Joe coughs twice into his handkerchief. “Face it, Logan. You’re a fuckboy.”
“Tegan and fucking Sara, who taught you the termfuckboy?”
“I’m not that old,” he manages before dissolving into a full-on hacking fit. She reaches for the water bottle on the bed tray and extends the bendy straw toward his mouth. “Oh, stop!” He swats at her. “I can still drink water without assistance.”
“You never settled down with one person, and no one called you afuckboy.”
A grimace of pain appears in the corner of Joe’s mouth, the new wrinkles in his forehead deepening. “Maybe I want to prevent you from making my mistakes.” He pulls out his handkerchief and blows his nose. “Which brings me back to Rosemary…”
There isn’t an eyeroll big enough for that sloppy segue, but Logan tries anyway. “Why would weeverneed to talk about Rosemary Hale?”
