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I laughed. “You’re high.”
He snickered, nodding. “I’m high.”
I smiled. “It’s a forty-five-minute walk from your place to mine, Logan. You shouldn’t have come that far. And you’re shivering. Get inside.” I grabbed his dripping wet hoodie by the sleeve, and yanked him down the hall to the bathroom connected to my bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I sat him down on the closed toilet seat. “Take off your hoodie and shirt,” I ordered.
He smirked mischievously. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink first?”
“Logan Francis Silverstone,” I groaned. “Don’t be weird.”
“Alyssa Marie Walters. I’m always weird. That’s why you like me.”
He wasn’t wrong.
He took off his hoodie and shirt, tossing them into the bathtub. My eyes danced across his chest for a second, and I tried my best to ignore the butterflies in my stomach as I wrapped three towels around his body. “What the heck were you thinking?”
His caramel eyes were gentle, and he leaned in closer to me, locking his stare with mine. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I ran my fingers through his hair, which was so cold and soft. He studied my every move. I grabbed a small towel, kneeled in front of him and shook my head as I started drying his hair. “You should’ve stayed home.”
“Your eyes are red.”
I snickered slightly. “So are yours.” Thunder rumbled outside, and I jumped out of my skin. Logan placed a comforting hand against my arm, and a small hiccup escaped my lips. I stared at his fingers lying against me, and his stare fell to the same place. Clearing my throat, I stepped away from him. “Do we eat pie now?”
“We eat pie now.”
We headed to the kitchen, quietly, hoping to not wake my mom, but I was almost certain she wouldn’t wake up due to the amount of sleeping pills she took each night. Logan jumped on the countertop, shirtless with soaked jeans, holding his pie.
“Plates?” I offered.
“Just a fork,” he replied.
Grabbing a fork, I jumped on the countertop beside him. He took the fork, scooped up a large piece of pie, and held it out toward me. I willingly took a bite, closed my eyes, and fell in love.
Gosh.
He was the best cook. I wasn’t certain of it, but I doubted many people could pull off a goat cheese and honey pie. Logan not only pulled it off, he gave life to it. It was creamy, fresh, totally delish.
I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, waiting for another bite, which he gave me. “Mmm,” I lightly sighed.
“Are you moaning over my pie?”
“I’m definitely moaning over your pie.”
“Open your mouth. I want to hear you do it again.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re being weird again.” He smiled. I loved that smile. So much of his life involved frowns, that whenever he smiled, I learned to cherish that moment. He scooped up a piece of the pie and hovered it by my lips. He started making plane noises, moving the spoon as if it were flying through the air. I tried my best not to laugh, but I did. Then I opened my mouth, and the plane landed. “Mmm,” I moaned.
“You are such a good moaner.”
“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that,” I mocked him.
He narrowed his eyes. “You’d have zero dollars and zero cents,” he mocked back.
“You’re a jerk.”
“Just to be clear, if there are any guys calling you a good moaner other than me, jokingly, I’ll kill them.”
He always said he’d kill any boy who looked my way, and a big part of why my relationships never worked out probably had something to do with that fact—they were all deathly afraid of Logan Francis Silverstone. I didn’t get the fear, though. To me, he was just a big teddy bear.
