MAISY

"You sure?" he asks as he scans my face. "You zoned out there for a second."

I nod my head but can't prevent the corners of my mouth from turning down. Logan knows I'm lying; he knows I'm holding things back, but he can't call me out on it because we'd made a deal. His body shakes as he lets out a tired sigh, and then drops his fork onto his plate like he's suddenly lost his appetite. The clatter of the silverware hitting the dish reverberates through the room and the silence that follows painfully stretches out.

"You know I thought this would be easy," he suddenly admits in a low voice, looking down at his unfinished food instead of at me. "I thought we could sit here, share a meal, and have a conversation like two normal people." He picks up his wine glass and his hard gaze lands on me while he takes a generous gulp before continuing on.

"But it isn't easy Maisy. Nothing with you has ever been easy."

It's like a slap in the face, and even though he's right, my defenses go up. "We spent one night together," I counter. "One night Logan! You can't possibly--"

"Are you saying it isn't true? Are you actually going to sit there and pretend like you're an open book? Because you aren't Maisy, and you and I both know it!" He raises his voice and I feel the need to justify my actions, even if it's with more lies.

"Logan when I found-- W-when I found my mom that night, something broke inside me. I had to distance myself. I was headed to my grandparents' place, just to find somewhere to breathe, but the closer I got the worse the pain was. So I got off the bus and bought a ticket to Austin. I just thought I needed space, that it'd only be for a little while, but I ended up liking it there."

He's not buying it. He shakes his head while I'm trying to explain, shooting down each of my excuses with nothing more than his body language. "Don't lie to me Maisy," he growls. "You never were going to your grandparents' house. You ran away! Everyone was looking for you."

"What do you want from me Logan?" I demand. "Do you want an apology? Do you want me to tell you that I'm sorry I left? That I'm sorry I hurt you?"

"Hurt me?" He lets out a cruel laugh. "You said it yourself darling; it was only one night."

"Then why do you keep pushing? Why do you expect an explanation if you don't even care?"

Logan's steely glare is enough to shut me up. He rises from the sofa, picks up his plate, and marches into the kitchen. Not knowing what else to do, I pick up my plate and follow after him. When I enter the kitchen he's standing at the sink with his back to me. I don't know what to say so I wait until he finally speaks.

"Two hours," he mumbles under his breath. His knuckles pale and his forearms flex as he pushes against the sink and tightens his shoulders. "That's how long I sat at the library waiting for you."

He turns around and faces me with a thunderous expression. He rests his lower back against the counter behind him and crosses his arms over his chest. I tear my eyes from him and place the plate I'm still holding down on the counter, feeling rightfully shamed.

"Six hours," he continues, "that's how long I sat in my car in front of your house."

A knot catches in my throat. This is almost too difficult to hear, but Logan steps forward and slowly approaches me. He stops when his body is almost touching mine and I don't dare move away because he deserves to be heard. I have to take accountability for how I hurt him.

"The whole goddamn night." I blink up at him. "That's how long I waited at the park, hoping you'd show up there."

He slowly leans forward and whispers into my ear. "Eight years Maisy." His breath dances across my skin and my body throbs with anticipation. "That's how long it's been since I haven't dreamed about you, wondered where you were, or if you were okay."

He presses himself into me and I can feel his arousal. It burns through the material of my jeans and singes me. His hand traces the side of my face and I find myself bending into his touch as if I were seventeen again. "I always knew you left for a reason," he murmurs, "but that didn't help with the worry. I still thought about you every damn day."

As he continues to speak each word sounds like it's getting more and more difficult for him to get out. "Even-- Even when I started to resent you, or forget what you looked like... I still imagined all the things I would say to you if I was ever given the chance." He gulps and his Adam's apple catches my eye.

"I feel like now's my chance."

My heartbeat picks up. Knowing he missed me makes me feel better than it should but I don't pull back when he rests his forehead against mine, instead I savor the feeling-- the contact, the smell of the alcohol on his breath, and the peace that settles over me. It feels right even though nothing about it is. "I'm so sorry Logan."

I close my eyes and surrender to the moment as Logan scoops me up in his arms and lifts me up onto the counter behind me. His mouth seals itself to mine, devouring me with all the intensity, the anger, and frustration that we've both experienced. It's heady and I lose myself in it because even though I shouldn't, I want to.

I kiss him back, just like I'd imagined doing so many times since that night.

Instinctively my legs wrap around his waist, binding him to me as if it's where he belongs because it feels so damn good. One of his hands reaches up and tangles itself in the back of my hair as the other stays locked around my body. My mind goes blank and for the first time in awhile and I stop thinking for good when he deepens the kiss.

I don't want this to end.

I never want it to end.

Our tongues play off each other as if it's the most natural thing in the world, like they've been waiting for this reunion as long as we have. Logan snares my bottom lip between his and I actually mew with longing, fearing he's going to end the kiss, end all of this, and I'm not ready for that. I know the second we come up for air we're going to have to talk, and talking would just spoil things.

I loop my arms around his neck and pull him impossibly closer, and he lifts me up as if I weigh nothing and walks the two of us through the other room and up the stairs. I don't worry about him dropping me; for some reason I know he never would. All I concentrate on is his mouth on mine and it's enough to make me forget about everything else.

Logan kicks open his bedroom door and gently drops down onto the bed, taking me with him as we both topple back onto the mattress. I catch myself with my arms and stare down at him, letting my hair falls around his face and creating a barrier between us and the rest of the world. Without pausing, he runs his hand up the back of my body and then around the base of my neck, guiding me down to him again.

"What are we doing?" I ask between kisses, pleading with myself to just let go, but knowing this isn't going to end well-- not for either of us. Somewhere inside him Logan's got to know that too.

"We're finishing what we started," he murmurs into my skin, letting his mouth trail down my neck and sending a thousand currents of lightning through my body. His other hand cups my ass and I naturally grind into him, craving more of what will ultimately end in disaster. I convince myself that it's okay, that we'll finish what we started eight years ago, and then it'll be over. We'll both finally be able to let go. But even in the moment I know I am fooling myself, allowing myself to believe what I want to be true.

Intent on losing my inhibitions, I grab the hem of the T-shirt I'm wearing and tug it up over my head. Logan's eyes grow at the sight of me straddling him in nothing but my jeans and black lace bra, and his face fills with lust. The feeling is contagious. His hand roams over one of my breasts and the pad of his thumb creates an agonizingly pleasurable friction as the lace rubs up against my nipple. I close my eyes and tip my head back relishing in how good it all feels.

Logan moans my name in reverence straight into my cleavage as his other hand slips around my back and unclasps my bra. I help him slide it off, just as eager as he is to feel his mouth against more of my skin. When his teeth nip at my flesh an insatiable need overcomes me as every fantasy I've ever had about Logan Stanfield comes to life. But the real thing is so much better than I ever thought it could be.

I roughly yank his shirt up over his head, and toss it to the bedroom floor without a second thought, eager to get my hands on more of him and this feeling. I slide my hands down his rock hard stomach to the top button of his jeans which I greedily start to undo. But then Logan's hands clamp down on my wrists and I swish my eyes up to his, afraid that he's stopping me. But the scandalous smile he wears fills me with butterflies instead. He flips us over, pinning me down on my back and clasping my arms up next to my head.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers, letting his mouth travel down the crook of my neck. "So fucking perfect." He unbuttons my jeans and I tune out what he's saying because he's wrong. I'm far from perfect, and I thought he finally saw that.

But if hadn't, he will soon.

It's just a matter of time now.

I shut it all out and focus on his hands and how they're making me feel. "Don't stop," I whisper, my lungs filling with small anxious breaths. I encourage him on, lifting my hips and helping him wiggle my jeans and underwear down over my legs. He pushes my clothes off the side of the bed and stares down at me and all I can see is that seventeen year old boy, the one who saw me so clearly. He gives me one of those looks, smoldering and brimming with potential and I squirm. Logan's always had a way of really seeing me, and if we do this, I'm afraid of what he might discover.