8. Josh

8

JOSH

“ P robably so.” I shoved my laptop in my backpack and snuck a glance at Logan as he did the same. Despite my resolution to keep things professional, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, and now I was trying not to overthink what he’d shared about his date with Chet. I couldn’t deny the flood of relief that coursed through me when Logan had said he didn’t think they’d see each other again.

But that didn’t necessarily mean they wouldn’t. Or that I had a shot with him.

Snow pelted us as we walked out of the library. The ground was already covered with enough of the stuff that our shoes didn’t crunch as we walked, just silently pocked the path. Logan stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat and lowered his head against a sudden gust of wind.

“Gah, weather like this makes me already miss the fireplace at home,” I grumbled.

“Weather like this makes me miss the beach,” Logan countered, batting some snow from his face.

“How did I know you’d say the exact opposite, you contrary bastard.” I nudged his shoulder. “You said you’re from Florida, right? Panhandle?”

“Yeah, Pensacola. My dad’s in the Navy and there’s a base there. We moved around some when I was a kid but ended up back there eventually, so I consider it home. The beaches are really nice. I’ll take that over Rhode Island winters I suffered through for four years any day.”

“I’m trying to imagine you surfing.” Mostly I was imagining Logan with far less clothing on.

Logan barked out a laugh. “There’s not much surfing there, but skimboarding and bodyboarding, sure.”

“Did you do those?”

“Once was enough. I like the ocean best from a beach blanket and umbrella.”

I shook my head with a grin. I could see him perfectly, hunkered down on a towel under an umbrella, reading.

Logan slowed. “I need to do Wednesday instead of Tuesday next week, if that’s okay? But I can do eight.”

“Fine with me.”

“Great. See ya then.” Logan picked up speed and started to veer off.

“Logan!”

When he spun around, I lobbed the snowball I’d hastily scooped from the ground. White exploded in his face, and his mouth dropped open in shock. “Did you just?—”

“Holy shit. Oh shit.” I cackled like a maniac. “Payback for that pie! Turnabout’s fair play! I didn’t think it would land that dead on, though. Oh mannnn, I’m sorry.” I was semi-sorry. His indignant expression was way too amusing.

“Really?” Logan swiped at the snow avalanche sliding down his face. “A guy who spends hours practicing hurling a ball across a field every day didn’t think he could actually aim?” He dropped his backpack in the snow.

“Okay, well I didn’t mean to throw it with such force. There’s a physics problem in there for sure. If I hurl a snowball at a velocity of—whoa, whoa, what—?” I threw my hands up defensively as Logan scooped snow from the ground and sent it sailing in my direction in a cloud of white.

The measly little ball practically stopped to get gas on its way through the air. It landed harmlessly at my feet and I scrambled to make another snowball as Logan did the same.

I pelted him again, this time square in the chest, and his return volley once again poofed on the ground. “I thought you lived in Rhode Island for a while? Did you not learn how to make a snowball?”

“I told you I’m not a fan of snow!”

Apparently deciding he’d been left with no recourse, Logan launched himself at me, scooping up handfuls of snow as he came, and dousing me. I windmilled under the onslaught, trying to get a grip on him and lost my balance, sending us both careening toward the ground. Logan landed half on top of me, his head smacking my shoulder as we went down.

“Oof. Shit. Ow. That was your head.”

“It was my head, I’m okay, though,” he confirmed, rolling onto his back and staring up at the snowflakes swirling through the air as I panted.

I did the same. “Damn, that’s a pretty cool view, huh?”

“Could use some Enya,” he commented wryly, making me chuckle.

Logan twisted to stare at me as I began flapping my arms in the snow. “Snow angels, really?”

I grinned shamelessly. “Who taught you to hate fun? Seriously? Whose ass needs kicking?” I grabbed his wrist. “Make a snow angel.”

Logan pulled away obstinately. “I’m not making a snow angel. I’m still trying to get my lungs to remember how to breathe.”

“Make the damn snow angel or I’ll make you.”