Neither do I.
“You really should go to bed.”
“Yeah,” I breathe and take another look out at the dark ocean before following Logan into the room. He uses the bathroom and showers while I unpack my suitcase. I pile my hair into a tight bun on the top of my head and sit on the bed, waiting for my turn to shower.
Logan comes out of the bathroom wearing grey sweatpants. His hair is damp, and his skin is reddened from the hot water. He’s holding his towel and brings it up to his head, rubbing it over his hair once more.
Everything inside me feels all squishy, and I instantly regret not packing my vibrator. Not like I could use it, though.
“H-how was your shower?” I fumble over my words, mentally yelling at myself to stop staring at Logan. My eyes are on his muscular chest right now, and when I try to look away, my gaze drops to his crotch. There’s a bulge in his pants, and when he takes a step closer to the bed, I can see the outline of his large dick.
I squeeze my eyes closed and reach up to play with my hair like I do when I’m nervous, forgetting that I have it in a ridiculous topknot. Why the hell does Logan have to be so damn attractive? It’s downright rude of him to be so tan and fit, sporting the perfect five o’clock shadow. And the nerve of him to wear gray fucking sweatpants. The only thing worse would be him coming out in a well-tailored suit, which he’s going to be wearing Saturday for the wedding.
I.
Am.
So.
Fucked.
“It was fine.” He hangs up the towel and looks at me on the bed. “So…how is this going to work?”
I pull the band out of my hair, needing something to do with my hands that’s not running them over every ripple of muscle on Logan’s body.
“How is…is what going to work?”
“Sleeping. There’s only one bed. And two of us.”
“Oh, right.” I blink and let out a breath. “It’s a big bed.”
“Plenty of room for us both?” Logan raises an eyebrow. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I can sleep on the couch.”
“That’s not a couch.” I wave my hand at the little love seat near the balcony door. “You stay on one side and I stay on the other, and we’ll be fine. And don’t get handsy.”
He gives me a cheeky grin.
Dammit, Logan. Stop being so adorable and sexy at the same time.
“I can’t make any promises.”
My eyes go to his hands. His large hands with long fingers and rough skin on his palms. Hands that would feel so good on my body. Spreading my legs. Slowly moving between my thighs and up to my—
“I’m going to get in the shower.” I almost fall off the bed I get up so fast. I grab my stuff and buzz past him and into the bathroom, leaning against the door as soon as I get it closed. My heart is hammering in my chest, and it feels like I’m doing something wrong again.
But am I?
Shaking myself, I put my hair back into a bun and start the shower. The water is warm and feels so good rushing down on my skin. I should lower the temperature and stand here shivering the desire right off me, because my body is craving it bad right now.
Turning my thoughts to something much less pleasant, I sit on the shower floor to shave my legs and think about seeing my family in the morning. It’s sad, really, how strained things are between me and my parents. Growing up, I used to think I must have been adopted since I was so different than the rest of my family.
Feeling like you don’t fit in with your own family is an isolating feeling, one I can’t really explain. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to make my parents proud. So for years, I did what I thought I was supposed to do. I followed Dad’s “ten-year plan” only to get toward the end of that ten years and look back and mourn the wasted time.
I can’t change the past, and regrets only rob me from any happiness the present can offer. But I do wonder what life would have been like if I had done what I wanted to do instead of what was expected of me. Maybe I’d feel like I knew who I was, and I’d have a purpose in this world.
Or maybe not.
Maybe I’m damned to always feel like this. Never really fitting in anywhere. Not really having a sense of identity. Not having anything that truly defines me.
I swallow the lump that’s rising in my throat and think about Logan. And then the reason why I’m so scared to be more than friends hits me like a punch to the gut.