Chapter Eighteen

It turns out Kashvi was looking for us because we won group costume. Winning means matching winner buttons, a lot of photos for the store’s social media, and gift certificates for store merchandise. We’ve pretty much done everything there is to do, so we head out after that. I’m already anticipating a potentially torturous ride back next to Logan, but he calls Sanjiv to the back with him to look at comics, so I ride next to Kashvi instead. I’m both relieved and disappointed. I’m the worst hypocrite, but I can’t help wanting to spend every second I can get next to Logan.

I recommend us listening to my favorite D&D podcast— The Smiling DM —rather than have everyone fight over music choices, and soon the whole car is laughing along with Stephanie and the zany campaign she’s put together. I’m glad they all like it as much as I do, but it’s hard to fully concentrate when I know Logan is right behind me. His words echo through my mind.

Then I’d have pressed you against that door and kissed you until the sun went down and I was your only source of heat.

How can a person have a logical thought when that sentence is on their mind?

“Does anyone want to hang out?” Mark asks when we’re back at his house. “Maybe a frozen pizza and a game of Catan ?”

“I’m in,” Sanjiv replies. He’s always up for everything.

Sloane and Logan both shake their heads. “Work,” Sloane explains. “But come by if you want more pancakes.”

“Same,” Logan says. “I’m closing tonight.”

“Who buys ice cream in the middle of winter?” Sanjivasks.

“You’d be surprised.” Logan rolls his eyes.

Another gust of cold air hits my back and I shiver. “Sorry, I want to get home and into something soft and warm.”

“I can drive you,” Logan says immediately.

My heart leaps in my chest. That sounds simultaneously like the best and worst decision.

“You just said you have to work,” I argue. “It’ll be out of your way.”

“Your house isn’t that far from the shop.”

Can everyone else feel the heat of his words? It’s like they’re pressing into my skin.

“I’m happy to drive you, too, if you need a ride,” Kashvisays.

“If you don’t mind,” I tell her, and give Logan a small smile—careful not to meet his eye for more than a moment—before saying goodbye to everyone.

Kashvi and I spend the first few minutes of the drive rehashing the day, particularly our favorite costumes from the other customers. Mine was probably the blond girl dressed as a brightly colored bard complete with her own lute.

“How are you feeling after your run-in?” Kashvi asks. “It must have been horrible seeing your old friends again likethat.”

I slump into the seat a bit more. “Yeah, it was. I didn’t talk to Caden, thank god. But I couldn’t avoid Paige.”

“Did she sound apologetic at all?”

“The exact opposite, actually.”

I kick myself again for the missed opportunity to say everything I’ve wanted to. I could have told her how grateful I am now that she’s out of my life. That it felt like cutting out a sore that was rotting me from the inside. That nothing had changed for me without her, except I was happier. Although, given the fact that I was practically hyperventilating in the corner after talking to her for a few minutes, she clearly still has an effect on me.

“I wish I’d been there,” Kashvi practically growls. “I’d have told her what a selfish, two-faced ex-friend she is. But at least you had Logan with you for moral support.”

“Mmm, yes.” My heart races at the memory. Yep, Logan was definitely up for supporting me in whatever way I wanted him to.

In my mind, he lifts his hand to my cheek again and I imagine what it might have been like had I leaned forward and kissed him. Maybe it wouldn’t have been a good kiss and I’d have put everything in jeopardy for nothing. Maybe I would have kissed him and realized there was nothing between us, like what happened with Caden. But I never swayed in Caden’s presence the way I do with Logan. I never even particularly liked talking to him when the rest of the group wasn’t around, but I’d happily spend hours talking to Logan about D&D campaigns, or possibly anything at all.

“It was nice of him to give you this.” Kashvi tugs on the cloak that’s spread across the seat, and my stomach twists with guilt. I’ve got to get my mind off him.

“It wasn’t a big deal—I got cold waiting for food outside.”

“That sounds like Logan. As kind as he is cute.” Kashvi raises her eyebrows at me as she parks in front of my house. Oh god, my emotions must be so obvious it’s like they’re written across my forehead for anyone to read.

I jump out of the car, feeling jittery. “Thanks for the ride. I’d invite you in, but my parents are scraping wallpaper off the hallway walls and it’s a total mess in there.”

“No problem, I’m ready to get into pajamas and curl under at least three blankets. It was fun hanging out today, though!”

“Absolutely. See you soon.”

I wait until she’s driven down the street and take a deep breath. Well, I don’t think she suspected anything. Not really. Now I just need to make sure that continues…forever…and everything will be good. No big deal.

I pull out my phone, debating if I should text Logan to tell him I still have his cloak or if that’s asking for trouble, only to find that he’s already texted me.

Logan: I wish you had let me drive you home

I tip my head up to the sky and moan. As much as I wish I could shove my phone back in my bag and forget him or tell him to stop texting me…I wish he’d driven me home too.

“Why are you moaning?”

I spin to find Andrew outside holding a trash bag. He’s wearing sweatpants and an old soccer T-shirt with some paint splatters. Looks like I missed out on a big workday.

“And why are you wearing that ?” His expression is a mixture of shock and disgust as he takes in my revealing costume.

“We all dressed up in costumes. Stop spying on me.”

“Are you supposed to be a Kardashian or something?”

I groan. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“Was that Kashvi in the car?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You should have invited her in.” He stares down the street even though she’s already long gone.

“What’s with you and Kashvi anyway?” I ask. My tone comes out more accusatory than I mean for it to, but I’m at my emotional limit. “You were acting weird at the soccer game too.”

“She’s cute, she’s cool, she helps me in biology. She isn’t dating anyone, right?”

“No, but she’s also older than you and she’s my friend.”

He grins at me. “I have no problem dating older women. And I’ll try not to hold your friendship against her—her judgment in friends clearly isn’t flawless, but she can’t be perfect.”

“In your dreams, Andrew.”

He only grins wider. “You don’t want to know what’s in my dreams.”

“Oh my god, get out of here, you perv!” I pick up a rock from the driveway and throw it at him.

He easily dodges, shoves the bag into the trash can, and jogs back into the house. I know I only have moments until he announces to my parents that I’m home, but my fingers hover over the phone screen as I reread Logan’s text.

Quinn: I accidentally kept your cloak

Logan: Keep it. Or you could bring it by the shop tonight if you have time. I’ll have a break around six

My paper-thin self-control flutters. My parents would understand if I needed to return something—it would be an easy excuse to see him again. But each time we’re alone together, it only amps up the temptation to act on things we agreed to forget.

Quinn: I’ll bring it to the game next Saturday

My phone buzzes with a new text, but this one isn’t from Logan.

Grandma: One of my usual pickleball opponents broke her hip. Can I count on you to fill in for her tomorrow after school?

I’m not entirely sure what pickleball is, but isn’t it something physical? Why is Grandma playing any type of physical game at all? That sounds dangerous.

Quinn: Maybe this is a sign to take a rest from it. It sounds intense

Grandma: Absolutely not. She didn’t break her hip while playing

She sends another text with an address for the same sports complex where Andrew plays indoor soccer.

Logan: Your grandma just invited me to play pickleball

I cuss under my breath. I’ll give her this—Grandma has impeccable timing.

Quinn: I’m sorry. You don’t have to go

Logan: If you havent noticed, your grandma doesnt understand the word no

Quinn: She texted me too. I guess we’re supposed to fill in for someone who broke her hip??

Logan: I don’t even know what pickleball is. Do we throw pickles at each other?

Quinn: That sounds like a real waste of pickles.

Logan: I hate the things so I’m happy to throw them at you.

I shake my head, the image making me laugh.

Logan: I’m in if you are. But I need to get my truck into the shop this week, so I doubt I can drive myself

My breath catches. He’s really willing to do this? What boy would ever be interested in playing sports with elderly women, even if it also means hanging out with someone his own age?

Quinn: You really don’t have to. I’ll make an excuse for you

Logan: I don’t want an excuse. Unless you don’t want me to come

Quinn: I didn’t say that. Though maybe it’s safest if you don’t?

A text bubble hovers on my screen for too long, as if he’s debating what to say. Finally another message pops up.

Logan: Playing geriatric sports is the safest thing we can possibly do together. It’s like putting in volunteer hours. I should add it to my college applications.

I snort with laughter, feeling more relieved and excited than I probably should. It would be a bald-faced lie to say I don’t want to hang out with Logan again.

Quinn: Pickleball it is then. Grandma’s going to be thrilled

I’ll be fine. Logan’s right—there can’t be sexual tension when we’re playing geriatric sports. It’ll just be fun. And a college app padder.