I Hate Football Players

31: I Like You

He was here. Right here, at this moment.
Thirty feet from a football team led by my pissed-off brother.

I didn't know whether to be concerned or impressed. Or leap up from my seat to hug him, or more. A thrill rushed down my spine, and I wanted to jump out of my skin.

"Kind of exciting, huh?" His smirk softened into a gentle, almost sweet, smile, and he extended one hand to me. "Let's take a walk."

A walk? Did he come all the way here to walk with me? "You're not going to murder and bury me under the bleachers, are you?" I couldn't decide where to look between his charming smile and his outstretched palm. He threw back his head and laughed. The wind blew a few blonde strands across his forehead, and my finger twitched at a strange urge to brush them aside.

"Kidnap me?" I cringed at the idea.

"After what your brother did, I should. Come on." His fingers curled into his palm. I rose but stayed rooted on the spot and looked at his hand. I searched his face for any sign that this was a trick, some kind of trap, but he was too good at masking his feelings. So, I grabbed my bag, stepped sideways from his hand, and went down the stairs. He chuckled at my squeezing past before his feet thumped behind me.

"Where are we going?" I glanced over my shoulder when my feet touched the hard clay track. The cross-country team that practiced here earlier had left. We were alone with nothing else here except a faint fall breeze.

"Just for a walk." Logan reached down and laced his fingers with mine. I tugged my hand to retract them, but he responded and gripped me tighter, and swung my arm in a flailed motion.

"Logan." I sent him a coy smile since his swing almost yanked me off the ground. "Now who can't keep their hands off whom?"

"Can't help it." He slowed down his arm movements but held his grasp on my hand. My palm tingled from the warmth that radiated from his fingers wrapped around mine. "I missed you, baby," he replied in a quiet tone. His eyes cast down, and he spoke like he admitted what he'd said more to himself than me, "It was a fucked-up week."

"I can't tell if you're being honest or not." I glanced at him from the corner of my eyes. Like so many of our other conversations, I wanted to believe him.

"Tell you what, Ellie." He stopped and turned to me with a serious expression. "I promise to never lie to you if you do the same."

I probably looked and sounded naïve, but I looked him straight in the eyes. "Why would I have reason to lie to you?"

Logan stared at me with only a slight raise of his eyebrows. His eyes scanned mine, and his voice tightened with bitterness. "I don't know. How about your brother? Loyalty to flesh and blood? Star quarterback of Santa Cruz? Hater of my guts? The guy responsible for trashing Mom's house last night?"

"I'm not my brother - wait, what?" Before I knew anything else, he showed me a picture of Grace's townhouse littered with toilet paper and shaving cream. I widened my eyes and cupped my mouth. Oh no! Poor Grace. She didn't deserve that. This was what Jake wouldn't tell me. Of all the stupid-ass retaliation -

"No, you're a lot more attractive." Logan's thin lips twitched upwards, but his eyes remained serious. "I assume by your reaction that Jake didn't tell you."

I lowered my hands, looked into his eyes, then shook my head no. A flicker of anger and annoyance at Jake ignited inside me the longer I gaped at the state of Grace's house, her car, and Logan's truck. Jake, how could you!?

I was only distracted by the slow burn of rage inside by the amused smile that pulled up the corners of Logan's mouth. I fought the urge to keep looking at them because of other urges they probably elicited inside me. Instead, I shifted my eyes to the ground in front of my feet. "I'm sorry," I said quietly and shook my head. "I didn't know, honestly."