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No answer, but he winks at me as he stands. Grabbing his wallet from his back pocket, he tosses too many bills on the table.
“I don’t need you to pay for my food. I mean, it’s a lot.”
“But here I am, paying for it anyway.” I’m about to argue when he cuts in. “It’s the least I can do.”
“For what? I’m the one who ran out of your class.”
“For making my day interesting.”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus. I made his day interesting. I need to eat Kim’s brownies more often.
I hiccup.
Maybe not.
He drinks the last of his coffee, and I watch, oddly satisfied by how his throat moves when he swallows.
He tips his head. “Coming, pretty girl?”
Careful, Logan, I’m swooning.
He still hasn’t told me what we’re doing, but everything in me is screaming to just do it.
“You’re not going to tie me down and tattoo me, are you?”
His mouth falls open, but quickly snaps shut. “Fucking hell, no, I’m not tying you down.”
What a shame.
“My brothers will be there. Not everyone will be strangers.”
My eyes flit back and forth from the street to Logan, but I’m already standing and slipping on my denim jacket.
“Your family, huh? That’s the second time I’ve met them. This is moving a little quickly. You could at least take me on a date first.”
Another dark chuckle and a shiver races down my spine. “I just paid for your pancakes, consider yourself romanced.”
“You’re a terrible date, Logan. I expect wonderful things for our second.”
He’s still laughing when he reaches out and pulls my hair free from where it’s trapped in my coat. I freeze, waiting for him to realize what he did, but nothing. Zilch. He simply steps away. “Are you coming?”
I don’t know if it’s the weed, the opportunity to take more photos, or the want to stay with him a little while longer—especially when I get to see him work, but a smile creeps in, and I nod like an enthusiastic toddler. “Why not.”
I leave tomorrow and I haven’t had anything resembling fun in a very long time.
He holds the door open when we step outside before passing me and going to the motorcycle parked out front. He unhooks a helmet from the side and turns back to me expectantly.
“No fucking way.” My feet stick to the path, fear racing through my veins. “Sorry, Logan. You’ll have to find another photographer. No can do. Nope. I am not getting on that thing.”
Feeling my fear intensify, I instinctively grab the shoulder straps of my backpack, as if they can anchor me to the ground.
“It’s perfectly safe,” he says like he can hear my thoughts.
“I don’t think so. It’s a death trap.”
He opens his arms wide. “I’m still here.”
Yes, you are, you glorious, insane creature.
