Between Friends and Lovers
I had spent the last two days doing everything possible to avoid Logan. If I wasn’t ducking down hallways or pretending I didn’t hear him calling my name, I was drowning myself in distractions. Anything to avoid facing the memory of that kiss—or the way it had unraveled me.
But Logan wasn’t the kind of guy to let things go.
“Emma,” his text had said that night, short and to the point. “Need help with English. Come over.”
I should have said no. Should have ignored it, even. But part of me wanted to see him, wanted to find out if I was imagining the way his eyes lingered on me in class, or if the kiss at the party had meant as much to him as it had to me.
When I knocked on his door, I told myself this was purely about homework. Just helping a friend.
But the look Logan gave me when he opened the door said otherwise.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. He leaned against the frame, his dark eyes scanning me in a way that made my skin feel too tight. “You came.”
“Yeah, well…” I cleared my throat, stepping inside to avoid the weight of his gaze. “I didn’t want you to fail.”
He smirked, closing the door behind me. “You’re such a good friend, Em.”
***
Logan’s room was exactly what I expected: messy, comfortable, and full of his energy. A guitar leaned against the wall, a stack of schoolbooks sat neglected on his desk, and his bed—the place my eyes kept betraying me by drifting toward—was unmade.
Logan gestured toward his desk. “Alright, English genius. Save me.”
I sat down, flipping open the notebook he handed me, but I could feel him behind me, too close, his presence as overwhelming as ever. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was watching me, and it was impossible to focus.
“Logan, can you not hover?” I muttered, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt.
“Am I making you nervous?” he asked, his tone laced with amusement.
I turned to glare at him, but he was grinning, his face infuriatingly smug.
“Fine,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll give you some space.”
He moved to the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him. But his eyes never left me, dark and unreadable, like he was daring me to look back.
The air in the room was heavy, and every breath felt like a betrayal. I tried to focus on the words in front of me, but his presence was magnetic, pulling my thoughts away from the paper and back to the way his lips had felt against mine.
“You’re not even reading, are you?” Logan’s voice broke through my thoughts.
“I’m trying,” I snapped, slamming the notebook shut.
“Liar,” he said, his smirk widening.
I stood abruptly, needing space, needing air. “You don’t actually want to study. This was just an excuse to—”
“To what?” he asked, sitting forward, his expression shifting into something darker, something that made my breath hitch.
“To mess with me,” I finished weakly.
Logan didn’t reply. He moved instead, standing so quickly I barely had time to step back before his hands were on my waist, pulling me close.
“Mess with you?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his fingers tightening on my hips. “Is that what you think this is?”
I couldn’t speak. His body was so close, his scent wrapping around me, and every nerve in my body was screaming at me to either push him away or pull him closer.
“Logan, don’t—”
“Don’t what?” he asked, his lips so close to my ear that his breath sent shivers down my neck.
I tried to step back, but his grip held firm, and before I could finish a thought, Logan pulled me down onto his lap. The sudden movement sent a jolt through me, and my heart raced as I landed against his chest, my hands instinctively bracing against his shoulders.
“Logan,” I said, my voice shaky, “this isn’t—”
“This isn’t what?” he interrupted, his tone soft but edged with something dangerous. “What you want? Because I don’t believe that, Em.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. His hands were on my waist, firm and unyielding, holding me in place like he was daring me to move. I could feel the heat of his body through my jeans, every muscle tense beneath me.
“You can’t keep running,” he murmured, his eyes locked on mine. “Not from me.”
My pulse thundered as his gaze dropped to my lips, lingering there long enough that I felt dizzy. I knew I should move, should stop this before it went too far, but I couldn’t. Not when his hands were sliding up my sides, his touch setting every nerve in my body on fire.
“Logan…” I whispered, but it came out more like a plea than a protest.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he said, his voice rough. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”
I hated him for saying it because we both knew the truth. I couldn’t say it. I didn’t want him to stop.
And then he kissed me.
It wasn’t soft or tentative like at the party. This was something else entirely—hot, hungry, and demanding. His lips moved against mine with an intensity that made my head spin, his hands sliding up my back to pull me closer.
I gasped, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. My hands found their way into his hair, clutching at him as if letting go wasn’t an option.
The world narrowed to just us—his lips, his hands, the low growl that rumbled in his chest when I shifted in his lap.
It was too much.
I broke away, panting, my cheeks burning as I pushed against his chest. “We can’t,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Why not?” Logan asked, his eyes dark with frustration and something deeper. “What are you so afraid of?”
I couldn’t answer. Not when he was looking at me like that, his lips swollen from the kiss, his hands still resting on my hips like he wasn’t ready to let go.
“Why are you running from this, Em?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost pleading.
