Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
I recognize what he’s saying immediately.
He doesn’t want this to be like last year, and I can’t blame him for thinking it could be.
“I see.”
He swallows, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, I don’t open up easily to very many people, and last year, I opened up more to you than just about anyone. It isn’t like you’re doing something wrong, Chase. I’m just… still remembering what it’s like to exist around you.”
My heart squeezes in my chest.
Because I do understand that. Down to the core of my being.
“You don’t have to say anything more,” I tell him softly. “It’s okay.”
I reach over a hand gingerly and place it on the small of his back. When he melts into the touch instead of recoiling, I let myself leave it there.
“How have you been, Chase?” he finally asks.
“Good. Other than the fact that I noticed you haven’t looked at my DMs from last night.”
He puffs out a small laugh. “Those apps really have to stop sharing what everyone views and doesn’t view.”
“I agree, actually. But… I still noticed.”
“I’ll read them,” he tells me. “I just have a lot of work stuff right now.”
I give his lower back a squeeze. “I messaged asking if you’d want to get dinner together.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” he says. “You want to order in and come back here tonight?”
“No. I meant out in the real world. At one of those restaurants with private booths, obviously, so you don’t get mobbed, but still. In the world. Because I have missed you this year, and I do think we could try to be real friends.”
“Chase,” he says in a warning tone.
“Logan,” I reply in an exaggerated, playful way.
“I’m just worried.”
I nod. “Because there are other actors out on the balcony?”
“Not just them.”
I cock my head to one side. “I’m not exactly afraid of paparazzi walking in on us in your private hotel room, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“But you should be afraid of crazy people online snapping pictures of us eating dinner. If we went to dinner.”
“I don’t see why I should care anymore,” I say, my voice coming out sounding measured and stilted in a way that’s so obviously not normal for me. But I’m attempting to have restraint. “People finding out who I am would be a good thing. I’m an artist. I want to sell paintings and photographs. I don’t know why you see fame like it’s a vampire that eats people alive.”
I never want Logan to think I’m mad at him.
But I am frustrated with the machine that surrounds his life. I’m sick of having to consider the rest of the world when all I want is to consider Logan.
As I’m lost in thought, he leans in.
And out of nowhere, he presses a small kiss to the side of my head.
It almost takes my breath.
It’s so unexpected that I let out a quick exhale, feeling every cell in my body respond just to that small amount of touch. His lips are warm, and the proximity is enough to pull me back down to Earth.
“Can I tell you something, and you have to promise not to say anything back?” he asks, just above my ear.
“I promise.”
“Yes, I missed you too. I missed you so goddamn much this year,” he says, and some hungry monster inside me suddenly feels even more fed. “I convinced myself I didn’t, because I kept myself busy. But the moment I saw you again, I knew it was a lie. I don’t know what to think, or do, and I’m not good with emotions in the first place. I just want to shield you from fucking everything. Fame is like a vampire. I’ve seen it kill people, Chase. But of course I fucking missed you.”
I stay silent.
Something dark twists inside me as I process what he said.
This isn’t just a normal reaction to your fame.
Maybe it wasn't last year, either.
It’s more.
What happened, to make you so protective? And when you say you’ve seen fame kill people… do you mean it literally?
I bring my hand to his back, gently stroking my palm down his spine and showing him that I’m listening.
It’s like Logan has two modes. The first one is absolutely unreadable, calm, placid expressions. And the second mode is the most raw and vulnerable glimpses of emotion I’ve ever seen in a man.
He runs his thumb over my jaw before he moves away again.
And as I look at the pain in his face, I feel a living magnet take hold inside me. Every urge inside me is begging to bring him close to me again.
He stands up quickly, though. He holds up a finger, then walks off down the hall, disappearing into one of the rooms. He returns soon after with a different envelope in his hand. He walks up and gives it to me.