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"Closure," I heard him whisper.
9
Amanda
"The elevator’s broken, we're gonna have to hoof it five floors." He smirked at me. "Are you going to be okay, or do you want me to carry you?"
"Ha ha," I said, pulling the sleeves of my sweater past my fingers. "I'll have you know I've started working out." I raised my eyebrows at him.
"Aaah." He had a knowing look on his face.
"What?"
"Nothing." He shook his head slightly and motioned for me to go ahead of him on the stairs.
I took five steps up before I turned to him. "What do—" My words cut off when I noticed his gaze lift to mine. His eyes were wide, as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be. Then it hit me. I glared at him. "Were you just looking at my ass?"
He chuckled, low at first, and then it turned in to an all out laugh. "I'm sorry," he managed to get out. "I'm still a guy, and you—you're still smokin' hot." I don't know what emotion showed on my face, but his smile disappeared. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I won't say stuff like that again." He swallowed and took two steps forward, until we were on the same step. "See, I won't perv. Promise."
We made the rest of the way to the fifth floor in silence. The building was old, not what I'd expect Logan to live in, not with the money I knew he had. We stopped in the middle of the hallway when we saw the same couple from outside making out in front of a door, the guy was trying to get his key in the hole while he pressed the girl into it. Logan laughed under his breath and walked over to the couple. I stayed close behind him. "Yo, Eli." Logan tried to get his attention. They didn't break apart; they didn't even notice he was there. He put his hands on the guy's shoulders and moved him across the hall. "Wrong door, guys," he told them, before moving back to where the couple had just been. He pulled keys out of his pocket, unlocked and pushed the door open, and then motioned for me to enter.
I did.
The apartment was simple, to say the least. A kitchen on the left, living/bedroom and that was basically it. He had a sofa bed, and his bags and boxes were still unpacked. "This is . . . nice," I told him.
He laughed. "This will do," he replied.
I turned in a circle, taking it in. "So, it's like a studio apartment?" I motioned towards his sofa bed.
His eyes narrowed, as if confused. "Oh, no. There are two bedrooms down the hall." He pointed to a hallway I hadn't seen yet.
I shifted on my feet. "So, you have housemates?" It was my turn to be confused.
"No." He opened the fridge and stared at the contents.
"So, you sleep on the floor of the living room because . . ." I waited for him to finish my sentence.
He closed the fridge door, turned, and leaned against it, and then exhaled loudly. "Because I have this thing with needing to be able to see and hear the front door," he confessed.
Our eyes locked, focused on each other, as if doing so for long enough would help me understand what he meant. Or maybe it might make it easier to explain why we were both here together, but not together.
Finally, I looked away, not being able to handle the intensity in his gaze. My eyes roamed around the little space he'd created for himself. Even with the boxes and bags everywhere, it was still neat. Everything had its place. There were piles of clothes in the corner of the room, but they too were folded and stacked perfectly. Apart from those items, the apartment was empty. There were no personal touches, no decorations, no lamps, no pictures; nothing.
"I like what you've done with the place," I teased.
He reached up into a cupboard and pulled out a packet of something.
Gummy bears.
He placed a bowl on the counter and started taking all the red ones out. "Funny," he retorted, not looking up from his task. "Actually, my ex-girlfriend was into all that interior design stuff, she had an eye—" he cut himself off, but then raised his head and stared off into the distance. His eyes narrowed. "Huh," he said to himself. "I've never called you that before—an ex-girlfriend, I mean. It just seems wrong. You're just so much more than that, you know?" He turned to face me. "We were more than that, right? Or was that just me?"
My breath hitched. The walls closed in. I couldn't be here with him. Not when he said stuff like that. Not when he didn't know how badly it affected me. "I think I should leave," I told him. I panicked. I didn't know what else to say.
"No," he said quickly, stepping in front of me and blocking my way. "No, please. Stay. I'm sorry. I won't say stupid shit anymore, please. Just . . . just stay. We don't even have to talk about us. We can talk about anything, or nothing. We don't even have to talk at all." He looked at his hand and shook it again, then blew out a heavy breath.
I've seen a lot of sides to Logan before, but I've never seen this. I've never seen this type of vulnerability in him. This need for approval or just . . . need.
"Please," he said again, his voice breaking.
And I knew it then—how much trouble I was in. Because Logan— he still had that power over me. "Okay," I told him. "I just need some air."
His smile was instant. "I've got the perfect place." He grabbed his keys and took my hand, leading me out the door and up a different staircase.
