THEN:
At age thirteen Logan Stanfield already knew about bad timing-- his parents got divorced, he moved to a new town, and was forced to start his life over again from scratch. But when he walked into the classroom that first day and laid eyes on M...
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MAISY
Despite my protests, Logan takes my bag from me and tosses it in the back seat of his car before opening up the passenger side door. I don't say anything as I climb inside, even though I'm completely aware of the look he's giving me. I know I'm worrying him and he's got every right to be worried. I'm even giving myself whiplash. One minute I'm storming away from him, the next I'm asking for a ride. Christ, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I push my wet hair off my face as Logan shuts the door and walks around to the other side of the car. I need to get off the streets, find a place to think, and get my shit together.
The car smells like money- leather, peppermint, that new car smell, and, of course, him. It's possibly the best thing I've ever experienced and a part of me wishes I could just lock the doors and stay in here forever. But I'm painfully aware of the situation I'm in.
I look down at my wet blouse which clinging to me and making the lines of my lace bra visible underneath. I cringe as I pull it away from my body. Jesus, I might as well have been standing in front of Logan naked out there. My cheeks color just as he opens the driver's side door. As he throws the umbrella in the back and climbs in the car, I peek at him out of the corner of my eye. He runs his hands through his wet hair and gives it a shake, but doesn't say anything as he starts the engine. He pulls out of the parking spot and out into the road, adjusting the air as he drives. I'm overcome by the need to fill the silence between us.
"I'm getting your car all wet. Sorry about that."
Logan shakes his head, like his car is the last thing on his mind in this fucked up situation we find ourselves in. And the situation is fucked up. I'm supposed to be disappearing right now, not driving around town in Logan Stanfield's car. I knew all the risks involved in coming home, but I was stupid enough to believe I could handle them.
When we're about a block away from his office Logan finally asks me where he's taking me. "Your house? A mechanic? Where, Maisy?"
The possibilities reel through my mind and I close my eyes as I go through them one by one. I can't go back to my house. It's obvious from the car that I've been discovered. I could go to a mechanic; they're two in town, but is that what's expected? Would I be walking into a trap?
"Maisy?" Logan snaps me out of it. The next thing I know I'm shaking my head before I even open my mouth.
"I just need my tires fixed. Someone needs to fix them and then I can get on the road. I can get out of here." I sound a little manic, desperate even. I'm sure Logan can sense it from the way his eyes keep wandering from the road over to me. I must seem like a mess, and as much as I want to deny it, I am a mess. I ran away eight years ago with no plan in mind, and after all this time, I sill don't know where I'm headed.
"I'll take you home. You can call a mechanic from there-"
"No!" I catch myself, reigning in the frantic trill to my voice. "I mean, I already turned the keys into the real estate agent. I can't go back there."
