block the entrance with my body. Logan turns back from staring at the parking lot and his eyes meet mine. I have no words for him, and I drop my jaw a little. He smirks, and a twinkle in his eye only makes me more nervous.
“Hey,” he says, cooly. He steps forward to move inside, but I block his way. He glares at me, a bit confused, maybe just surprised. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”
“Why would I do that?” I try to keep my voice low, but stern. “A strange man doesn’t just get to walk into my house...” I think for a moment, and resist adding ‘a man who stole my driver’s license.’
He grins and shrugs, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine.” He fishes something out of his pocket, and then adds, “I guess you don’t need this then.” He flashes my ID and waves it in front of my face. I keep my hand rested on the door, and I frown.
“I already got a new one today,” I lie. I purse my lips and try to keep my eyes fixed on his. I can tell that if I let go of the door, my hand will start shaking with a combination of excitement and nervousness. He gives me a look that says he knows I’m lying, and to be honest, I don’t know why I did. Especially since I'm so bad at it. For some reason, I don’t want him to come in. Maybe it’s because I don’t trust myself around him. I’m already used to making myself look like a fool in front of good-looking men, so I’m especially nervous in front of one that’s so badass.
I hesitate, and then pull away from the door. I watch him as he steps into my apartment and looks around. I try to think of what he’s seeing, and hopefully it isn’t bad. What is he used to?
His arms glisten with sweat, making his tattoos look dark and even more vibrant. I can’t take my eyes off of them. As he steps past me, I get a whiff of that smell of fuel and leather, and it makes my heart swoon a little. I shake it off and try to collect myself. I can’t look like a drooling dog in front of a complete stranger.
After I shut the door behind him, he points into the kitchen. “Uh, I think you have a problem.”
“The pasta!” I dash past him and pull the pot off the burner, splashing some of the boiling water on the laminate floor. I scoot away from it to keep my toes from getting cooked, and sigh raggedly in shame. He chuckles a little, and that familiar growl comes back into his voice. I try to hide it, but I know my cheeks are burning red. I try to distract myself by pretending to dip into the fridge, hoping the chilled air will calm me down a little.
I can feel his closeness. That hungry energy of wanting him closer, so our skin actually touches. It makes me ache. I’m not like that, am I? Just falling over myself for any guy who looks at me? I pull out of the fridge and look at him, his gaze wandering over the decorations and kitschy paintings on the walls. It doesn't look like he's critiquing them so much, just noting them. He isn’t just any guy. I know that.
His eyes are making my stomach twist inside me, and I can’t bear to look at him for too long. It’s a shame too, because I really want to. As I set the pot back on the burner, I feel him come up behind me, his breath tickling my neck. I want to turn and slap him, but something inside me would rather kiss him. What’s he doing? I keep my eyes fixed on the pot and I sigh gently.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing what you’re cooking,” his voice reverberates through me. I suck in my breath to stop from inhaling his scent like a rabid dog. “Looks boring.”
“I don’t even have any of the ingredients out yet,” I shush him. I’m surprised that I still have some bite around him, even if he is making me scream on the inside. Why won’t he go away? As if he read my mind, he steps back and I hear the screech of the chair near the counter, and he sits down. I can still feel his eyes burning into me, but I try to contain myself.
“Why are you here, exactly?”
He exhales and grins a