I sigh into the air-conditioned living room, and he sets my small suitcase on the ground. “How can you be hungry? You ate not two hoursago.”
“By the time the pizza arrives, another hour will have passed, and by then I’ll definitely need more food.” He pats his trim stomach. “I’m a growingboy.”
He gives me a sweet, almost silly smile, the one I love so much because it’s just for me. None of his buddies are here to impress. None of his fangirls or buckle bunnies. Not even his family. Just me. Ignoring my racing heart, I reach up to cover his face with my hand and gently shove him out of theway.
“Your pretty little smiles won’t work on me, Logan Carter.” Now I’m the liar. “If you’re growing it’s because your head’s so big you can’t get it through the door. You really should get that condition checked by adoctor.”
He laughs and turns on a few lights. “Missed you and your sass, Jojo. Order us an extra large. You know thedrill.”
The drill: I order and hepays.
He claims he likes when I order because I’m so nice on the phone that the pizza people would never spit in my food. It works for me because I never have any money to pay for takeout. Win-win.
By the time I’m done ordering, he’s shucking off his boots and grabbinga freaking puppyfrom behind a child gate blocking off thekitchen.
I squeal. “When did you get a dog?” Oh, Lordy, I’m in love. “What’s hisname?”
A smile pulls at Logan’s lips as he watches his puppy arf-arf in my face and try to lick mynose.
Logan pauses and tucks his hands in his back pocket. “I got Rambo last month at one of those side-of-the-road setups. He was therunt.”
“Let me guess. You felt bad for him.” He rolls his eyes because it’s true. Logan might act all big and tough, but he’s got the biggest heart. “And you named the little guy Rambo. Aww.” I talk in a baby voice to the dog. “That’ll give you courage, huh,handsome?”
I probably sound like a freak, but I don’t care because the dog likes my baby voice. He’s a big ball of brown and white fur with an adorable face like he’s a shih tzu or bichon. Like the kind of puppy I’ve always wanted, but we were too poor, and pets cost money. We never could’ve afforded vet bills, so I understood, although it didn’t make me want one anyless.
“It’s hard to believe, but he was even smaller when I gothim.”
“He looks like a baby Ewok.” I can let my inner Star Wars freak flag fly around Logan. We’ve watched the first six movies together in chronological orderandin the order they were released. For the record, both of us prefer the original threemovies.
His smile widens. “I knew you’d lovehim.”
“Can I kiss him and name him George?” I butcher the reference, but I’m too high on puppy love tocare.
Logan gives me a quizzical look, and I chuckle. “I forget you didn’t likeOf Mice and Men.I guess the end was sad.” I read the classic out loud to him his freshman year. Yes, I was eleven, but he told me he wasn’t going to do the assignment because he couldn’t get into the book, so I sat his bratty little butt down behind the barn and read it to him. He Googled any words on his phone we didn’t recognize. Between that and his study guide from class, we managedokay.
All I knew was I didn’t want him to get in trouble with his teacher because then Mr. Carter wouldn’t let Logan hang out with me. We spent the entire week eating Twizzlers and talking aboutSteinbeck.
Being young, poor, and stranded in the country isn’t so bad if you like to read. Thank goodness there’s a decent librarynearby.
“You’re the only reason I got a good grade that semester. You and your enormous brain.” He taps on my forehead like a pest, and I swat himaway.
“I like big books and I cannotlie.”
I thought that week was a grand way to spend my afternoons even if I didn’t understand everything about the story. Like why Curly kept his hand in a glove of Vaseline for his wife. I didn’t get it at the time, and if Logan did, he didn’t explain it tome.
One day at the market a few weeks ago, I was squeezing an avocado to check the ripeness when it dawned on me that Curly wanted to use that soft hand for sex.Duh.
Logan’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and when he checks it, he stills and glances at me, a guilty expression all over his face. “Need to take this. Make yourself athome.”
My heart deflates as I watch him head toward hisbedroom.
He’s probably making plans with some hookup. And while he won’t go about it in front of me—he makes a point never to do that—I’ll hear about it from our friends. Because in a small town like this, someone always makes sure to tell me. Like they’re honor-bound to feed me the gossip so I’ll know the boy I’ve been pining over since I was a kid is a skirt-chaser.
Life is tooshort.
My thoughts wander to the bus ride here. Mrs. Reynolds is right. I need to rip off this Band-Aid and tell him how I feel. Maybe it won’t make any difference. But before I leave for Florida, I’m going to tell Logan Carter I’ve been in love with him my whole life. Then my conscience will be clear, and maybe,maybeI’ll finally be able to moveon.
Because he obviously doesn’t see me as anything but hisfriend.
