Page 11 of The Lost and the Found

With a clean hand towel soaked in warm water, I wiped up the blood. His back looked even more grotesque under the bathroom lighting.

When I was sure the wound was cleaned, I swiped some ointment on it and bandaged him, wrapping the white gauze around his waist. My skin flushed a little. I thought it was the worst time to be getting turned on by a man I hardly knew, but he was beautiful, and his body looked like what sins were made from.

From his broad shoulders to defined chest, he was everything I wasn’t. Muscular and big. And hairy, all on his chest with a small trail leading down to his dress pants. I salivated a little when I caught sight of the happy trail in the mirror moments before, right before I took in the six-pack the very attractive man was sporting, and then the V line on his hips.

From how we were standing, with his back to me, him facing the mirror, I was eye to bicep, and they were nice biceps indeed. Even when he wasn’t flexing. They must be three times the size of my own, and I couldn’t imagine a big man like him to be anything but fearless.

I was struck with a longing so bad, my chest ached. I wanted that. I wanted to be fearless. I didn’t want to be afraid anymore, but… I was afraid of everything. I was afraid of living here in this crappy apartment, I was afraid of the dark, and I was afraid of big men.

Which was why I was nicely surprised when Logan didn’t scare me much. No, in his presence, I felt safe and secure. The events that happened tonight were a true testament to that. He even wore the wound of his battle to protect me.

I looked down at the nearly covered wound and was happy to note no blood was seeping through. It meant the cut had stopped bleeding.

I sucked in a sharp breath when my knuckles brushed up against his abs for the fifth time, and I really hoped he didn’t think I was doing it on purpose, even if they were very nice.

I couldn’t quite meet his eyes afterward, so we stood there in my bathroom, not saying a word. I was staring down at our feet, noting just how much bigger his were compared to mine, while he stared down at me.

I was attracted to him.

He must know by now, as I was sure my face couldn’t hide it.

Then his hand reached under my chin and lifted it gently until I was looking up at him. He smiled a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you, Hayden. For cleaning me up and for being kind enough to invite me into your home.”

My eyes softened at his words. “It should be me thanking you. Not the other way around.”

He cupped my cheek. “I would gladly do it all over again.” Then he leaned forward slowly, almost as if he was afraid of scaring me, and pressed his lips against my forehead. I closed my eyes, suddenly overwhelmed. I wished he would never let go. His lips were soft and firm, and they sent waves of electricity all through my body.

One simple kiss.

If this was how I reacted to a kiss on the forehead, I wondered how it would be if he kissed me on my lips.

Somewhere in my mind, I told myself to move away. I was sending out all the wrong signals. He might think I was interested.

But wasn’t I? Oddly enough, I was both wary and fascinated with him in equal measure. He made me feel safe.

When I opened my eyes, I found his on me again, taking me in with an intense look on his face. I was struck, once again, by how familiar he looked to me. Could it be that I met him before, and that I had only forgotten?

Impossible. Logan wasn’t forgettable.

He grabbed a hold of my hand and walked us out of the bathroom. He found the shirt I had carried over to the couch and grabbed it, slipping it on without a word.

I was right. It fit him, but it was a tight fit, the fabric stretching out over his muscular chest and biceps in the best way possible.

The shirt was ratty and several years old, the gray color nearly faded away to white from having been in the wash so many times. It was my favorite. But on him, it didn’t match. He didn’t wear this shirt as well as his own, even if he did look good.

I just couldn’t quite wrap my head around him wearing anything other than expensive business shirts that made him look powerful, dominant, and professional in every way.

His eyes lingered on me for a few seconds longer before he walked to my front door. “Thanks again.” He spoke softly, his eyes tender.

I looked away. I didn’t know why his gentle eyes were getting to me. All I knew was I didn’t dislike them as much as I should.

“Again, it should be me thanking you. You’re hurt because of me.” He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, I opened the front door. The message was clear. I was being rude to him—I knew that—but I didn’t want him to say any more. My emotions were all over the place, something I wasn’t good at dealing with.

It was as good a time as any to acknowledge to myself that I probably had the emotional intelligence of a child. What did my mom used to say to me? Think before reacting, perhaps? Was that what I was trying to do?

I gave him a small smile and waved as he walked out. If he was offended about my behavior, he didn’t show it. If anything, he just seemed amused and intrigued.

I didn’t like that look very much. It looked like he was planning something. Something, I was sure, I could never keep up with. With another soft smile tilting up the corner of his lips, and his ruined shirts in hand, he walked out into the cold night.

I stared after him until he got downstairs, until I couldn’t see him anymore. Then I closed the door and leaned up against it, audibly sighing at how crazy the day turned out to be.

---