The Mistake

“I wanted to run something by you. Turns out Dean and Tuck are going to a concert in Boston Saturday night and they decided to make a weekend out of it, getting a hotel room for a couple nights and all that. And Garrett is staying with Hannah until Sunday, so…”

He pauses, and I can practically envision the blush on his cheeks. One thing I never expected? Logan blushes when he’s nervous, and it’s frickin’ adorable.

“I thought maybe you’d want to spend the weekend with me.”

Excitement ripples through me. Nerves, too, but not a crazy amount. We’ve been an “official” couple for almost three weeks, and not once has Logan pushed me to have sex. He hasn’t even brought it up, actually, which I find both perplexing and reassuring.

And he’s quick to offer that reassurance again, adding, “No expectations, by the way. I’m not inviting you to, like, a three-day fuck fest or anything.”

I snort. My boyfriend, ever the wordsmith.

“I’ll even throw out all the condoms in the house, if you want. You know, to eliminate temptation.”

I choke down a laugh. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

His voice thickens. “I just want to fall asleep with you. And wake up with you. And go down on you, if you’re in the mood for a John Logan orgasm.”

The laugh flies out, and he gives an answering one that slides into my ear and makes me light-headed.

“I would love to stay over this weekend,” I say firmly. “Oh. But I just remembered. I’m supposed to have dinner with my dad on Sunday night. Would you be able to drop me off at his house around six?”

“No problem.” There’s a beat. “You’re not going to tell him where you spent the weekend, are you?”

I blanch. “God. Of course not. I don’t want to give him a heart attack. He still tries to tie my shoelaces for me sometimes.”

Logan chuckles. “I’m hitting up the grocery store tomorrow. Is there anything special you want me to pick up? Snacks? Ice cream?

“Oooh, yes. Ice cream. Mint chocolate chip.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“No, but I’ll text you if I think of something.” My heart races faster than it should, considering we’re just talking about a weekend visit. It’s not like we’re eloping, for God’s sake. Yet my entire body is crackling with anticipation, because three uninterrupted days with Logan sounds like absolute heaven.

“So I’ll swing by and grab you after your last class tomorrow? You’re done around five, right?”

“Yep.”

“’Kay. I’ll text when I’m on my way. Later, gorgeous.”

“Logan?” I blurt out before he can hang up.

“Yeah?”

I take a deep breath. “Don’t throw out the condoms.”





29




Grace


It’s Friday night. Logan and I are tangled up together on his living room couch, about to watch a horror movie he chose off the film channel on his TV. When we got back from dinner at the fish and chips place in Hastings, I figured we’d go upstairs and rip each other’s clothes off. You know, so I could give him my flower, as my mother would say. Instead, he surprised me by suggesting a movie.

I suspect he’s trying not to seem overeager, but the heated glances he keeps casting my way tell me he wants it as much as I do. Still, I’m not against taking it slow. Letting the tension build, the anticipation simmer.

“I can’t believe this is what you chose,” I complain as the opening credits flash on the screen.

“You told me I could pick,” he protests.

“Yeah, because I thought you’d pick something good.” I glare at the television. “I can already tell this is going to make me angry.”

“Wait, angry?” He shoots me a baffled look. “I thought you were bitching because you didn’t want to be scared.”

“Scared? Why would I be scared?”

Laughter bubbles out of his throat. “Because it’s a scary movie. A ghost is killing people in gruesome ways, Grace.”

I roll my eyes. “Horror movies don’t scare me. They piss me off because the characters are always so frickin’ stupid. They make the worst decisions possible, and we’re supposed to feel sorry for them when they die? No way.”

“Maybe these characters will be smart, levelheaded adults who do everything right but still get killed,” he points out.

“There’s a ghost in the house and they choose to stay there. The levelheaded response? Leave.”

He tugs on a strand of my hair, his tone taking on a chastising note. “Just you wait—there’s going to be a good reason for why they can’t leave the house. I’ll bet you five bucks.”

“You’re on.”