That shouldn’t make me feel as special as it does.
I chew on the inside of my cheek for a bit, considering the option of glossing over things with Logan. But I have nothing to lose.
“My father was abusive,” I tell him plainly. “He hated my art. He hit me. Told me I was a shitty son, and he wished I played sports. Football, actually, most of all.”
Logan’s face suddenly goes dark, like a cloud passed over us. “Chase,” he says softly.
“I’m fine. Really,” I tell him as I look over at the fire. “He died many years ago now, and I’m clearly my own person. But, uh, yeah. My mom doesn’t know about how he treated me. She thought we were different, and she knew we didn’t always get along, but that’s it.”
“You’re keeping this from your family?” he asks.
“My brother knows, and some of the kids in my high school knew, because they saw it happen a couple of times when Dad dropped me off. Other than that…”
I trail off and when I finally look over at Logan again he practically looks like he’s about to cry, which makes me a little uncomfortable.
I don’t want to make people sad. It’s why I don’t talk about things like this.
“I’m so sorry,” Logan says finally, sliding over on the couch to grip me in a tight hug.
My chest feels strange, and I hate the sensation.
Usually when Logan touches me it’spurelygood, but right now I feel something different.
“Quit feeling sorry for me,” I say quickly, heat rising in my skin. “I don’t want you to see me as someone to feel sorry for. Because I’m fucking not. I love my life. I’m proud of what I do, and who I am. I was born a fucked-up mess, but I’m sure as hell making the best of it.”
“You are not a fucked-up mess. Well, maybe in a fun way, butcome on, Chase.”
I move on the couch, gripping him and nudging him over so that I can move onto the long portion of the couch. I put my feet up and wrap my arms around his body, yanking him over so that he’s lying on me in the way I like best.
His back rests on my chest.
His head is just below mine, in a spot where I can bury my nose in his hair.
“I like you like this,” I murmur just above his ear as I wrap one arm around his torso. “I like holding a big, strong, fucking muscled-up man in my arms as he’s draped across me.”
“Like I’m a weighted blanket?”
“Yes.”
We’re silent for a while, listening to pieces of firewood gently snapping in the air. I let my hand roam over his body,stroking over his chest, and he eventually puts his palm on my thigh.
“No wonder you said you’d never watch a show likeYard Line,” Logan says. “Did you hate it when you saw me in that football uniform?”
I snort. “I was fine. Just because I had an abusive dad doesn’t mean I’m going to crumble from seeing anything related to football. Honestly, I thought you looked hot.”
“You sure?”
I slide my hand upward, resting it near his collarbone. “Maybe I liked the idea of conquering a football player. Flying in the face of every guy who bullied me, and the guy I could never be. Having a man in a football uniform get on his knees for me is a very different thing.”
Logan laughs softly and soon I’m laughing too. It’s like a small miracle. He turns his head backward, looking up at me as he rests on my chest.
I lean over and capture his lips in a kiss.
Fuck, I can just do this, now.
Shouldn’t bombard him with it as much as I have been doing, probably, but…
I can kiss him.
