Feeling suddenly slightly liberated and relaxed, I looked over at
him. His eyes fixed on the seat in front of him. His hands were
in his lap, fingers dancing around in the air as if he was anxious.
“I know I love you because even when you just punched me in
my stomach…and by the way, that hurt” he stopped and smiled
at me. “I wanted to kiss you.”
As soon as the words left his lips, my mouth popped open. My
cheeks were hot. The kid in front of us was grinning. He locked
his eyes on me and waited for my response. Nosy little kid.
Two minutes into the dance, I'm sitting in a metal chair in the
dark, listening to a really annoying Justin Bieber song blaring
over the crackling speakers. The song changes. Everyone starts
to pair off. I look over at him. He's looking around. Please, Jesus
don't let him ask me to dance.
“Hey,” he says. “You wanna...”
“No,” I interrupt.
I catch him chuckling out of the corner of my eyes. This dance
is really stupid. I'm over it. Before I can finish my thought, he's
standing up. I look him over.
“Come on,” he says, tugging at my hand. “Lets get out of here.
It's not as bad as Taylor Swift,” he says.
“What did Taylor Swift ever do to you?” I ask, defensively.
“Nothing,” he smirks, slowing down as we pull into the yard.
“Just wondered what you'd say. Come on.
Men don't know when to stop, she's told me over and over. You
have to cut them off or they'll eat 'til their bellies ache—just like a
baby or Mr. Davis's dog.
I figure all this sweet, cutesy stuff works about the same as
dessert—except if you don't cut them off from the cutesy stuff
you end up with a whole different kind of tummy ache. At any rate,
I'm pretty sure Logan Kilgore doesn't know when to quit. Case
in point, Barney Fife and the speeding ticket debacle.
Twenty minutes 'til 9, we're getting in the truck. I'm sweaty,
stinky and covered in red mud. I'm not sure what Logan smells
like and I don't plan on getting close enough to find out.
“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” he asks, as we
ride along the quiet, foggy, gravel road in the dark.
“Alive,” I say, thoughtlessly.
“I like that. Aim low,” he retorts.
He laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. I roll my
eyes and pretend not to notice how very bad he is at dancing or
how adorable he looks when he throws his head back and
chuckles. Luke Bryan comes on the radio. Boy am I in trouble.
It's not that I don't like Logan. I do, a lot—which is precisely why
I have to keep him under the distinct impression that I can't
stand him.
I open the back door of my car for Ginger to buckle the baby in.
She smiles and goes to it. I spin around and I'm face-to-face
with Logan Kilgore.
“Hey, good lookin',” he says, leaning against my door to block
my path.
“What do you want?” I ask, cracking a slight smile as I wait.
He's wearing a dirty, Auburn Football t-shirt, worn out jeans
and the same bedraggled baseball cap he always wears. His hair
is sticking out just around the edges of the cap in messy twigs
and the occasional curl. His curious eyes are dancing around
like maybe he's in a very good mood. Despite the obvious, he's
kind of beautiful, a little.
“Not a thing,” he tells me before turning to walk away. “...was
just passing through, wanted to say hello. See you.”
I watch him amble away. Ginger shuts Chucky in and opens the
door across from mine. She stops before getting in to look up at
Logan too.
“He's kind of charming,” she tells me, giggling a little.
“No offense, but you thought Doug was charming,” I tell her,
skeptically.
“Good point,” she agrees, before getting into the car.
I feel like I've woken up in some sort of crazy carefree person's universe. I don't belong here. This is not my life—or my world.
Elizabeth NicoleHe’s a gloomy sort. I noticed that right away. When he smiles though, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. When he smiles at me, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt.
Elizabeth NicolePage 1 of 2.
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