“You really don’t even know the name?Yard Line?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. Haven’t heard of it.”
Logan’s face breaks out in a wide smile. And it feels like the first glimpse of sunshine I’ve had after this unending, confusing, far-too-long day.
He doesn’t hate that I’m here.
Telling him that I haven’t heard of his show seems to delight him.
“Do you want to come in?” Logan asks. “Tell me if I’m being too forward. I know last night wasn’t exactly something you’ve done before.”
“Damn,” I say softly.“It’s okay to just say you’re obsessed with me, Logan.”
Hi, I’m Chase, and I deflect with humor.
He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re the worst.”
“Are you blushing?”
“Hell if I know,” he says. “I don’t know what I’m doing when I’m around you.”
“And I’m kidding, by the way. I wouldn’t mind if you were obsessed, because I was the one who was disappointed I didn’t see you in the bar.”
“It was too crowded. I walked by, took one glance in, and booked it.”
Something shimmers in my chest. “You stopped by?”
He sighs. “And I wasn’t going to tell you that, either. I’m saying too much to you. Every time I see you, I keep doing that?—”
“Logan, Ireallylike it.”
I step in through the small opening next to him, because I’m worried that I’d chicken out if I waited any longer. He opens the door a little wider, stepping to one side to let me in, and when I feel the warmth of his palm on the small of my back, I know I’m completely screwed.
CHAPTER 7
LOGAN
Chase strides in, sets his bookbag down on the table, and plops down on the couch like he’s already made himself at home, and something about seeing him enter my hotel that comfortably makes me feel like I’m more at home here, too.
He leafs through a couple of my scripts, now that he knows the truth.
I like seeing him do it.
It’s like a weight lifts from me, like I’m shedding a cloak, letting him see my life.
Eventually he gets up and grabs the bottle of silver tequila from the bar. He pours himself a shot, tossing it back.
“Okay. Turn on another documentary, because I already know you want to,” he says.
When he comes back to the couch, instead of sitting away from me, he practically drapes his body on top of mine on the long part of the couch. His back presses up against my chest and he lays one of his legs over mine. He leans back against the pillow so his head is beside mine, too.
“Trying to smother me?”
“Is that what it feels like? You’re being smothered?”
I shift underneath him, moving so my arm isn’t pinned under his back. “No. I’m fine with it.”
“What did you do today?” he asks, and as he takes a sip of tequila I watch the way his Adam’s apple moves as he swallows.
