Page 63 of Frozen Hearts
However, if that was the case, then I don’t understand the end result. Shouldn’t he be rubbing it in my face or telling the entire student body rather than pretending I don’t exist?
After his being absent all week, I’ve spotted Logan a few times on campus. Always from a distance, and always surrounded by his usual horde of adoring fans—mostly girls.
What hurt the most though, was when I saw him staring down at some girl with that same dazzling smile he used to give me. After that, I hid in the bathroom for half an hour, trying to convince myself I was pissed rather than hurt. It was a lie, of course. It felt like he reached into my chest and ripped my heart out.
I knew it would hurt when Logan was done with me, but I hadn’t expected it to be quite so unbearable. The only way to mask the pain is with my anger—something I have plenty of. It’s become a permanent state of mind, and I pull that rage to the forefront as I step into my Statistics class on Friday afternoon, preparing to see him up close for the first time since our date.
Even with my armor wrapped tightly around me, my feet stick to the floor the second I spot him.Goddamn.In my head, I’d tried to diminish his attractiveness, but even from here, I’m rendered mute as I openly stare.So much hotter than my imagination allowed me to recall.
He’s sitting near the back of the hall, surrounded by his usual groupies. Of course, Whitney is cozied up beside him, and spotting me, she smirks before placing her hand on his arm and nuzzling closer. Murderous rage pumps through my veins, vibrating along my nerves as I picture myself stomping over there and ripping her goddamn arm off.
Tearing my eyes away from her, I scan Logan’s face, searching for any signs that he’s been as tormented these past few weeks as I have.
Does he sleep at night? Can he swallow down more than a mouthful of food at a time? Can he focus on his schoolwork? Because I sure as fuck can’t do any of that. I’m a robot, simply going through the motions.
One of the groupies says something that has the rest of them laughing, and Logan graces them with his winning plastic smile before his eyes clash with mine.
Gaze guarded, I can’t get a read on him. It’s the most shuttered I’ve seen his expression since I started tutoring him. His fake smile cracks momentarily, his stare searing into mine and rooting me in place for what feels like an eternity. Caught in a riptide, I’m unable to pull away. All I can do is stare back, searching for answers to the unasked questions I know he can read in my eyes.
When he finally wrenches his gaze away, I swear he’s somehow managed to lasso my soul and tug it from my chest. My entire body jerks forward with the momentum, and I gasp, blinking as I stare around the lecture hall, seeing it for the first time since I walked in.
Conversations continue around me, life going on as usual. Everyone wholly oblivious to the gravitational pull that was holding Logan and me hostage while a chaotic storm of emotions battered my defenses.
If I thought his absence was bad, it’s nothing to the devastation I feel at seeing him. At having him dismiss me as though I meant nothing. And still somehow managing to steal pieces of me.
Professor Caldwell clears his throat, and I hurry into an empty seat on the opposite side of the room. Thankfully, Logan isn’t in my line of sight, so I can just pretend he doesn’t exist.
Except, for the next hour, I can feel the raw energy he naturally emits pulsing around the room. It brushes against my skin like expensive silk and pokes against the back of my neck with the prickling of sharp needles.
The professor’s voice is nothing more than background noise to my discomfort, and I don’t take in a single word. It’s unfair how easily Logan takes up space in my world. How effortlessly he has stomped his way into my life and irrevocably messed it all up.
During the whole lecture, my anger slowly boils until it's a scalding pot on the verge of bubbling over. Then, when the professor dismisses us, I’m the first out of my seat.
Stuffing the notepad I didn’t even bother to open back into my bag, I push past dawdling students, twisting my head back and forth as I press onto my toes in an attempt to spot Logan in the crowded room.
I need to confront him. To find out what happened; what changed. Whether he had a change of feelings or this was some game, I just need to know. So I can throw my hands up and sayokay,orhe’s a dick, and move the fuck on.
‘Cause to me, what we had felt pretty significant. It was in the early days, yeah, but the potential was there, hanging so heavy in the air between us that I could practically taste it on my tongue.
Spotting him barreling toward the door ahead of me, I shoulder past students, ignoring their scowls as I chase after him.
“Hey!” I yell as I reach the door. “Logan!”
He ignores me, whether because he knows it’s me or because he’s so used to randomers calling his name.
Once I’ve made it through the bottleneck at the door, I move to the edge of the hallway, slipping along the wall as I chase after his tall frame.
“Logan!” I try again, closing the distance between us.
I again receive no response, but his shoulders stiffen, so I’m pretty sure he knows I’m shouting after him.
“Logan.” This time I growl out his name as my outstretched fingers wrap around his bicep. Tugging on his arm, I suck in a gasp when he turns to face me with an expression carved from stone. His ordinarily light and mischievous eyes are darkened in anger. Two rich mahogany pools.
“What?” That one word is a harsh snap that hits me with the force of a sharp whip. It’s all I can do to gape at him open-mouthed before I regain my composure.
“Don’twhatme!” I seethe. Glaring right back at him, I tug more forcefully on his arm as I drag him through the nearest doorway into an empty classroom. Of course, it would be effortless for him to remove himself from my grip and storm off, but for some reason he allows me to drag him into the room.
As soon as the door closes behind us, he pulls away, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive posture that has me scrunching my eyebrows. “What do you want?”
