“Dad, I could really use your help right now,” I say into the still air. “Do you want to keep your Blues Traveler albums?”
No answer.
Thumbing through the record sleeves, I admire the variety he collected.
Celine Dion . . . Talking Heads . . . King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard.
“Your taste is eclectic, that’s for sure,” I mutter.
I raise my voice louder—so he can hear me. “Okay, I’ll save these for next week, but I want you to think about them until then. I need an answer by end of day Saturday, got it?” I should probably check to see what time—oh fuck! It’s after six o’clock, and I told Logan I would help him with that photo shoot. I open my text thread with Logan.
I’m so sorry! I lost track of time, is it too late for photos?
If he was hoping to shoot using natural light, I won’t get there in time before the sun starts to set. Especially since I still need to clean up before I go
since I’m covered in dust.
LOGAN Never too late. I’ve got enough lighting.
I’m going to take a quick shower and I’ll head over. Does it
matter what I wear?
LOGAN Nothing baggy, something comfortable.
My stomach growls. I haven’t eaten since this morning.
Have you eaten yet?
LOGAN No, we can order in though.
I’ll pick up dinner. Burgers from Matt’s?
LOGAN Sounds great.
A little over an hour later, I’m pressing the buzzer at his loft with a brown bag of greasy food in hand. “It’s me,” I say into the speaker. The door unlocks and I pull it open, then press the 6 to the top floor once I’m in the elevator. The round white button glows as the lift climbs higher.
Once I exit, I make my way to his front door and let myself in. I don’t know when we started just walking into each other’s houses, but we’ve been doing it for years.
Stepping over the threshold, I enter his loft and my gaze rises to the tall elevated ceiling that reaches above both floors. His place suits him, artsy and rough around the edges, but not in a pretentious kind of way. Large area rugs sprawl across the aged wooden floorboards, softening up the living spaces.
The interior walls are a mix of concrete and red brick, showcasing a few large pieces from his favorite artists. On the adjacent wall, gridded windows rise to meet the industrial ceiling. The older glass is divided by black mullions, and fresh air wafts through a few of the panels that are tilted outward, bringing with it the smell of spring.
His bedroom loft and art studio are accessible by a curved metal staircase that climbs to the second level; the foot of the bed faces the windows and skyline and is just barely visible from where I stand.
Tonight’s sunset is stunning, spilling rays of warm light across the floorboards. It must be incredible to wake up with a panorama of the city every morning. It’s not a huge space, but the open floor stretches it wider,
and the view takes care of the rest.
He gives me a quick hug. “Hi.”
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, handing him the food.
“How was your epic quest in the attic?” he asks over his shoulder, heading toward the kitchen.
As usual, time slipped away from me. Logan texted earlier that morning confirming our plans and asking if I needed help with Dad’s collection of vinyl, but I told him I was fine and that I’d catch up with him later.
“Actually . . . really good.” I hooked up his record player and an old banged-up speaker, then danced in circles among the dust and memories, jamming out the way we used to when he was still around. “It was more therapeutic than I expected.”
He smiles, and I toe off my shoes, following him into the kitchen. I spot the tall studio lights he’s set up for later. I decided to go with a pair of black leggings and a fitted white tee to ensure that he can easily reference my figure later, when he starts painting. I skipped the bra in case he’s planning on painting nudes. Depending on the poses he has in mind, I don’t want it to impact the natural human form. At least, that’s the professional justification I’m going with. I posed nude in art school for the extra cash, it’s no big deal.
Padding around the granite island, I open the fridge for something to drink.
“Ooh, you got one of the barrel-aged stouts from Citra?” The brewery only made a limited batch, and it’s sold out everywhere. I’ve been dying to get my hands on one.
“All yours,” he replies, dumping out the signature crispy tater tots onto the plates. “I had one yesterday. They’re pretty good.”
“Rain check. I’m not ready to jump into something that heavy. What are you drinking?”
“Old-fashioned. You want one?” He plucks an orange from the bowl, already knowing my answer.
“If you’re making them, I can’t say no.”
I perch on the wooden barstool across from him, leaning forward with my elbows on the counter, and admire the way he muddles the sugar, citrus, and bitters—the way his forearms tense and tighten is like a performance all on its own.
“What kind of whiskey are we drinking tonight?”
He smirks, pulling the stopper from the glass decanter. “The good stuff.”
After pouring, Logan grips the orange in one hand while slicing the paring knife through the peel, forming a slow, precise spiral. He twists it over
the glass, releasing the oils and dropping it into the smoky amber liquor.
“Beautiful.”
He slides the cocktail in front of me. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” I bring the drink to my lips, letting the warmth of the whiskey coat my tongue, savoring it as it rolls down my throat. It’s delicious. He seems satisfied by my appreciative sigh.
Setting my glass down, I arrange our food on the plates he laid out for us while he finishes wiping down the counter. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
He raises a brow. “Forget to eat lunch again?”
“Hey, you’re guilty of it too.” It’s not uncommon for us to become caught up in our work once we begin. One of the many similarities we share.
We catch up on our days while devouring our burgers. His gaze seems to track my mouth between bites. It’s the same easy, casual conversation we’ve had a hundred times before, but now there’s a hum beneath it that quickens my pulse.
After dinner, I find myself staring at Logan as he preps the space, all six feet, four inches of quiet dominance. He adjusts one of the lights, dimming it to create a softer ambiance. He’s focused and controlled as he works. His calculating eyes are framed by those goddamn glasses that drive women wild —and I’m no exception.
While he sets up his camera and tests the lighting, I wander toward the giant windows, drawn to the towering buildings silhouetted by a technicolor sky. The cocktail in my hand expertly balances the ratio of smoke and citrus —the flavors lingering on my taste buds. With each sip, I grow more relaxed.
As darkness falls over the city, it’s transformed into something magical, sparkling like a night sky.
He brushes up behind me, and I almost lean back into his broad chest. My cheeks heat with embarrassment when I realize he’s reaching for the open windows—not me. The temperature has dipped since the sun melted below
the horizon.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm,” I answer, lowering my chin. I recall the other night when, for a split second, I thought he might kiss me. Between the wine and the breakup, I probably wouldn’t have stopped him; my emotions were all over the place. I shake away the intrusive thoughts and remind myself what I’m here to do.
“Where should I be?” Waiting for direction, I peel off my socks and toss
them toward my shoes at the front door.
“First, I want you on the sofa,” he instructs, moving the coffee table out of the way. “Lay on your back.” His voice takes a deeper tone. I’ve teased him in the past that he should use his bossy voice around women more, it’s sexy. But at this moment, I’m glad he’s using it with me and not someone else.
I point to the left side of the firm leather sofa. “My head at this end?”
He nods while I get settled.
“So, what kind of mood are we going for?” I ask, letting down my hair from the ponytail. “Something somber? Some bleak chic?”
“Seductive.”
I swallow.
“Just you,” he adds.
Damn.
When it comes to men, there’s not many who can compete with Logan.
He’s a terrific friend and probably an even better partner—if he were to give love half a chance. He watches out for the ones he cares about, protective with an edge of danger.
Does he take women home? Despite how often I joke about him being celibate, I can’t imagine that’s actually true. He’s far too attractive. His sex life isn’t any of my business, but that doesn’t stop it from slipping into my thoughts anyway. It steals my attention more than I’d like to admit.
He snaps a few quick shots, then tweaks the settings on his camera before crouching on his knees. “Turn your head toward me a little more,” he says, then adjusts the lens. The shutter clicks a few times.
“Arch your back for me.”
I chuckle. “For you, huh?”
“Kelly . . .” He draws out my name like a warning.
“Yes, sir,” I purr, flashing him my best sex eyes in an attempt to fluster
him.
His tone sharpens. “Do that again.”
So commanding.
“What? Call you sir?”
He tilts his chin. “You know what. Give me that look again.”
I swallow, the charged air settling as I meet his suggestive gaze once more. Warmth washes over my cheeks and I don’t shy away—I bathe in it.
I’ve posed before, but never has it felt so . . . intoxicating. The way I’m able
to hold his attention is like wielding a powerful weapon I didn’t know I possessed. It’s addicting and I like it.
Maybe it’s the warm cocktail in my veins or the soft lighting, but this time, I don’t bother pretending. I drop my guard and give him a good look at the temptation I’ve kept buried for too long.
“Your eyes are so fucking perfect,” he whispers.
There’s no way I’m not visibly blushing. He snaps a few more photos.
“Are you comfortable laying on the floor?”
“Sure!” I shoot off the sofa, my voice way too loud. Be more obvious.
“Right here.” He points to the rug.
Once I’m on my back, he sinks to his knees and straddles my midsection.
Whoa.
“This okay?” he asks.
I bob my head up and down.
He sets his camera on the floor. “Do you mind if I adjust your hair?”
“No.” I lift my head, and he plants a palm next to my ear, using his free hand to fan out the strands to his liking. Then he picks up his camera again,
aiming it at me.
“Look right into the lens, Kelly.”
My chest rises and falls as I peer up at him.
“Stunning.” He smiles and gives a subtle shake of his head behind the camera. “You’re so good at that.”
My laugh is awkward and forced. He smiles wider.
“You don’t have to be shy,” he says. “It’s just me.”
I nod. “I know.”
“Are you uncomfortable?”
In the best way. “No.”
Quit sexualizing him. You’re making it weird.
“Good.”
This is one of the most arousing nights I’ve experienced in a while. It’s hotter than any foreplay I had with Jason, yet Logan and I are both fully clothed. I remind myself that the tension between us is in my imagination only. Dad always said I was great at playing make-believe.
My gaze travels to his neck and broad shoulders, tracing the tattoos that peek out of his collar. “Eyes on me, remember.”
I refocus. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re doing great.”
My inhibitions lower every time he praises me. He pauses shooting to stand, retreating a few steps. “Okay, now sit up, lean back on your palms, and pull your knees up.”
I switch to a sitting position, and he drops to a crouch in front of me.
“Have you ever considered doing boudoir photography?” He can create a vibe, that’s for sure.
He smirks. “Inviting women over to strip down and let me take my time with them? No, but it sounds like fun. I like where your head’s at.”
I huff a breath, ignoring the tinge of jealousy. “You just ruined it.”
“I’m only teasing you.” He laughs. “It’s cute you think I’d photograph anyone else like this.” His massive hand cups the back of my calf, and he slides it over a few inches, then winks at me. “Keep your thighs open.”
Logan is sexy as hell when he’s behind a lens, bossing me around.
Especially when he uses that calm, controlled tone—the one that makes me want to push back, just to see what happens.
He lowers his camera, eyes fixed on me. It’s not professional, hell, it’s predatory, like he’s been imagining stripping me down and taking his time.
What is he waiting for?
“Aren’t you going to take the photo?” I mumble.
“This one’s not for the camera. This one stays with me—safe in my head, where I can look at it whenever I want.”
Holy hell.
His voice is quiet but rough. It’s what I imagine he sounds like first thing in the morning, that sexy rasp after a night of little sleep. The image of waking up naked next to him forms in my thoughts. No, no way. I shake my head. Blistering heat and nervous giggles bubble to the surface, which only
adds to my embarrassment.
“You’re such a freak.”
My laughter seems to break Logan out of his silly trance. He raises his camera again, taking a couple photos.
“You like it,” he whispers from behind the lens.
My teeth bite into my lower lip as a flutter spreads throughout my chest.
He’s right . . . I kinda do. Logan hits the shutter at least half a dozen times in quick succession. I blink out of the haze. Shit. I shouldn’t have had that old- fashioned. I’m far too relaxed. This is getting out of control, he must be messing with me.
Logan delves a hand into my hair again, fluffing it up. It’s hard to resist
closing my eyes and giving in to the sensation. “When was the last time you posed?”
I clear my throat. “Not since college, for figure painting.”
“Nude?”
“Sometimes.”
“Hm.” His jaw tightens along with the rest of his features.
“Oh, don’t be like that. It’s not sexual.” We’re back to that conversation from the attic.
“I just don’t like the idea of you on display for a room full of people.”
“Why, ’cause I’m like your sister?” I avert my gaze.
He smirks. “If I thought of you like a sister, we wouldn’t be here right now.” I swear a record scratches. What did he just say?
My face slackens. “You don’t?”
“No.” He clicks the shutter. “Keep right like that.”
Oh. I hold still while he works. My thoughts are racing, but none will hold still long enough for me to give them attention.
“Why do you seem so shocked?” He chuckles from behind the camera.
“Focus on me, Chaos.”
Wait—what the hell is happening right now?
“There she is . . . Those are the eyes I want.” His grin is wicked. “Fuck, the way you’re staring has me almost believing it.”
There’s no way he just said what I think he said. I must have misheard him. I blink a few times. “You once said I was like a sister to you. You used to call me Junior . . .”
It was easier to pose for him when there wasn’t a chance in hell of him being attracted to me. But . . . what is he saying?
Earlier, I brushed off his flirtation as him helping to set the mood for photos or trying to get a rise out of me, but now I can’t help but wonder if it
was more than that.
I gaze into the camera lens.
“Why do you think I started calling you Chaos?”
Jesus Christ.
He snaps more photos.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I ignore the intrusive thoughts of him. This is the product of alcohol and an inconvenient ovulation schedule. I can’t let him muddy my emotions. Thankfully, I don’t need to speak to him, I just need to complete the task at hand: hold still and take direction. So that’s exactly what
I do.
He remains quiet and professional for the rest of the shoot. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was by design, forcing me to sit with my thoughts.
After two hours, we wrap up.
“Thanks, Kel. You did a fantastic job,” he comments, flipping through the shots he took on the small camera screen. “I think these will turn out perfect.”
He sounds so pragmatic. Was that it? Was it all for show?
“Anything . . . for a friend.” I put on my socks and shoes, waiting for him to say something. Correct me, laugh at the statement, shake his head —something.
He doesn’t so much as glance in my direction.
Logan simply hands me my jacket to send me on my way. “I’ll edit these tomorrow. Let me know if you need any help moving boxes out of the attic this weekend.”
He seems completely unfazed by my phrasing, and I hate the sinking feeling in my stomach. We’ve only ever just been friends. He’s made that clear over and over, yet I keep seeking more. The tendrils of my teenage crush have me in their clutch again.
Logan and I walk to my car parked outside, and I climb into the driver’s
seat.
“Drive safe,” he says.
I nod and shut my door, eager to get out of here. As soon as I pull out of my parking space and turn the block, a lump forms in my throat and my eyes swell with tears.
