That’s what it feels like being in his arms.
Logan smacks his lips together, and I giggle. He narrows his eyes, coming more awake.
“What time is it?” he asks, his voice still thick with sleep.
“Seven-thirty.”
“Jesus.” He scrubs his hand over his face and pushes himself upright. I miss his warmth immediately, but enjoy the view. “I never sleep this late.”
“It’s not that late. Some parts of the year, the sun wouldn’t even be up yet.”
“Let me guess—your preferred wake-up time is ten-to-noon.”
“Rude. I get up at a respectable eight AM.”
His eyes go wide. “Eight? Seriously?”
“You just guessed it was ten. Why does eight surprise you?”
“I was joking about that. How am I going to have sex with you every morning before work if you don’t get up until eight?” He pauses, then scratches the back of his neck, contemplative. “How do you feel about somnophilia?”
I bark out a laugh and throw a pillow at him. He catches it and tosses it off the bed before tackling me, leaning his forearms on either side of my torso. He goes in for a kiss, but we’re still at that new stage where I don’t want to open my mouth all the way because I haven’t brushed my teeth.
He chuckles against my closed lips. “Brat.”
Then he peppers kisses down my cheek and neck.
“You know, you just implied we’d be doing this on the regular back in New York,” I say, trying to keep my heart from racing, my voice from sounding anything outside of casual.
“Mmhmm,” he hums against my skin. I stare up at the ceiling with a grin I can’t shake, just taking it in. I’m so happy I could burst.
Sadly, we’re not in New York. We’re here in Georgia, and today is my dad’s wedding day, and I have to go to breakfast.
Not have to—want to. I want to go. I eitherwantto fix things with him or I don’t, but I have to choose. He’s always been emotionally stunted, closed off in ways he can’t even recognize in himself. My mother knew it too. She loved him, but she hated what it did to me—the way he parceled himself out between me and my sister without ever realizing he was doing it. I overheard enough arguments growing up, pressing my ear to closed doors, to know he genuinely couldn’t see it—that the accusation baffled him. Offended him, even. But it’s my lived experience. If anyone is going to make him see it, to repair our relationship at the very least, it has to be me.
With the way my relationship with Pearl is going, Dad is really all I have left for family. I have to make it work.
“I’m supposed to meet Dad and Jo for breakfast at eight,” I tell him, as he trails kisses across my chest, slow and unhurried, like he’s perfectly content just to taste my skin. I give him a little nudge, even though the last thing I want is for him to stop doing what he’s doing.
He groans, then climbs out of bed and hooks a hand in mine, pulling me up with him.
“Alright, you win. I need to get a workout in, anyway. I’ll hit the gym and grab something to eat, and meet you back here after. We really need to get you a phone.” He says all this to my bare chest, eyes glued like a teen to a porno mag, so I reach over and smack his ear, then climb out of bed.
He smirks, unapologetic, eyes trailing me.
“What are the chances Henry grabbed my phone from the plane?”
Logan gives me a deadpan look. “I can’t tell if you’re serious.”
I huff a laugh and slip into the bathroom and start brushing my teeth. Through the brush I mumble, “I was too out of it to ask before we left town. He seemed to have his head on straight, maybe he thought to clear out the plane.”
Logan appears in the doorway, leaning on one shoulder, arms crossed, frowning at me. “I think the pilot had other things on his mind.”
I spit the toothpaste and rinse my mouth, then meet his eyes in the mirror. “Well, why didn’t you ask once we figured out I didn’t have it?”
“I’m pretty sure I had other things on my mind as well.”
“Now you’re just being difficult.” It’s hard to keep a straight face, giving him shit about something I know is nonsensical.
