Close Proximity
I should’ve been used to Logan’s house by now. I’d been here more times than I could count, back when we were just friends and things weren’t so complicated. His room hadn’t changed much: same messy pile of clothes in the corner, same posters of bands he swore I’d “get into one day,” and the same bed I used to sit on while we studied—or, more often, while he convinced me to do his homework for him.
But today was different. Logan sprawled across the bed while I sat cross-legged at his desk, typing up notes for our project and doing my best to ignore him.
“You’re seriously gonna sit all the way over there?” Logan asked, his voice laced with mock offense.
“Yes,” I said firmly, not looking up from my laptop. “Because I’m actually trying to work.”
“You’re no fun,” he teased, but I could hear the smirk in his voice. A few minutes later, I felt him behind me. He leaned over my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck as he peered at the screen.
“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to a section of my notes. “You think I’m saying that during the presentation?”
“You are if you want to pass,” I shot back, trying to focus on the words in front of me and not the way his arm brushed mine.
Logan hummed, his hand sliding to rest casually on my thigh. My heart skipped a beat, my fingers freezing on the keyboard.
“Logan,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Focus.”
“I am focusing,” he murmured, his voice low and maddeningly calm. “Just not on the project.”
I turned to glare at him, only to find his face inches from mine, his eyes darker than usual. My breath hitched, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just him. Then he smirked, and the spell broke.
“Relax, Em,” he said, moving away. “You’re so easy to mess with.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, trying to steady my racing heart. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here we are,” he said, flopping back onto the bed with a grin.
I turned back to my laptop, determined to ignore him, but it wasn’t long before he pulled me back in—this time, quite literally. One moment, I was typing; the next, I was in his lap, his hands steady on my waist.
“Logan!” I yelped, half-laughing, half-panicking as he grinned up at me.
“See?” he said, his grip firm but gentle. “This is way more fun than studying.”
Before I could respond, he kissed me. It wasn’t playful this time—it was deep and unrelenting, and my body betrayed me by leaning into it. His hands slid under my shirt, his thumbs brushing against my skin in a way that made my head spin. For a few blissful seconds, I let myself get lost in him.
But then reality crashed back, and I scrambled off his lap, my face burning. “We can’t do this,” I said, my voice shaky.
Logan stayed where he was, his lips slightly swollen and his expression unreadable. “You keep saying that,” he said quietly, “but you don’t really believe it.”
I didn’t know how to respond. So I grabbed my laptop, mumbled an excuse, and fled, leaving him sitting there, his words echoing in my head.
