Page 10 of Everything Has Changed
Holy hell, that man was effortlessly hot.
I return to my glass of wine, emptying the contents as if I’m in a beer chugging competition. A feeble attempt to subdue the sight of how handsome my childhood crush looks after all this time. Not to mention how my body still lights up in his vicinity. Only now, I can actually pinpoint these adult feelings. Feelings that have me hoping I fully charged my vibrator recently.
4
Logan
My feet hit the ground in a comfortable rhythm. Some things never change, like the need I built within myself to run when I needed to clear my head or remove myself from situations for a moment in time. Something I unfortunately had to do more often than not living in the house I was raised in.
Sleep eluded me all night. It didn’t help that the lack of street noises made it a little too quiet. I was used to hearing cars at all hours or people meandering down the street as they bar hopped beneath my apartment. Instead, I could hear nothing aside from the analog clock on display in the living room, which I promptly removed its batteries from when I found it in me to get out of bed.
There was also the matter of my new neighbor. My body tossed and turned as images of tiny sleep shorts, freckled cheeks, and moss green eyes danced in my mind.
I wasn’t an idiot. I couldn’t deny that Gwen had grown into a woman so gorgeous she took my breath away. And that feisty attitude I enjoyed sparring with as kids seems to have blossomed into something more that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but I was ready to figure it out. If only that meant her sharp tongue was directed my way again.
I dozed off for a little while until a noise had me squinting at my phone to see it was five-thirty in the morning. It didn’t take long to recognize the noise was the trickle of water running next door that meant Gwen was showering. It took everything in me not to reach down and palm my quickly hardening dick at the thought of her activity. Instead of being the fucking creeper I refused to be, I pushed out of bed and made my way to the kitchen on the opposite side of the apartment. Far away from any noises I might catch from her side of the building.
I was a grown-ass man, not a teenage hormonal boy. It had been a while since I got into bed—or any other surface—with a woman, which had to be why I was acting like an excited dog and Gwen was the shiny new toy in my face.
When I heard the soft snick of her door shutting as she exited her apartment, I gave myself five minutes before I slid into my sneakers and left myself. A run in the fresh mountain air would do me some good. If only because it would keep me from doing something I shouldn’t at the thought of my old friend turned new neighbor. Because there was no way I could look her in the eyes later if I did.
Jogging the streets of my hometown reminds me both why I left and why I missed being here. In the concrete jungle full of skyscrapers, with people having their heads permanently tilted down at their electronic devices, it’s a striking contrast to what life in a small town is like.
City people more often than not flat out ignore everyone around them as they walk down the sidewalks, their feet pushing them to their next destination like there was a race. Willow Grove is a different story. Everyone knows everyone and, if they don’t, you are going to be introduced and told a quick life story of whoever is around you at the moment.
It’s not long before the sun has risen over the mountaintops completely, illuminating the town square. I slow my steps to catch my breath as I turn down Main Street. Small nods are exchanged with familiar faces of shop owners as they open their doors and set signs out to entice people inside.
Willow Grove was always known to have a vibrant tourist life. The seasons each held their own draw that brought people from all around to enjoy our little town. And right now was my favorite time of the year. The weeping willows that surround the area, including Emerald Lake, turn vibrant oranges and reds in the fall. The ethereal sight was something to behold at least once in your life.
“Well, if it isn’t Logan Spencer in the flesh.”
I halt my steps at a familiar voice as someone steps out in front of me. A hot cup of what I assume to be coffee in one hand, Jackson Prescott holds the glass door open for a little girl to skip out onto the sidewalk.
My old friend smirks at me. “I heard the rumors, but wasn’t sure what to believe around here.”
“Believe it. Surprised Matthew didn’t tell you since I’m renting from his building.”
An eyebrow raises at me. “Who do you think I heard the rumor from? Can’t believe everything that guy says. He gossips worse than my grandmother,” he harrumphs.
“Daddy, you shouldn’t talk about Uncle Matty and Grams that way.” The little girl standing between us looks up at him with a scowl—a look that is ripped directly out of her father’s playbook. Her wild blond curls look like they have seen better days, framing her face and even obstructing her eyes as she fruitlessly pushes back the strands, only for them to fall back down again.
Jackson ruffles the top of her head. “I was just pickin’, Bug. Say hello to Logan.” He playfully palms her head and tilts it my way. I’m sucker punched in the gut with big green eyes that I know she got from her father, but are almost identical to another pair that haunted my dreams last night.
“Hi, Mr. Logan,” her tiny voice travels up to me.
I kneel down to her level as she pushes her hand out between us. I take her little one in my much larger grip loosely, allowing her to give it a little shake before pulling back.
I give a dramatic gasp, my eyes widening comically for effect. “You can’t be Princess Rowan.”
She grins and nods her head.
“That’s impossible. The last time I met her she was this big.” I angle my hand a couple of inches off the ground.
She giggles and pulls out the skirts of her purple dress in a curtsy. “That’s me!” she shouts gleefully.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting to be in the presence of royalty today,” I say, gesturing down to my sweaty tee and running shorts.
Rowan shrugs. “It’s okay, I forgive you.” She leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “This time.”
