I nod, my fists clenched. “Yeah.”
“I’m kind of terrified of what it might mean. I’ve tried to be a certain person at work for all these years. Someone who follows the rules, who respects them, who’s fun and fair.”
I nod in understanding, bracing myself for the inevitable. Her reputation matters. She’s spent years building it. One wrong move and it could come tumbling down. “I understand, Bryn.”
She shrugs a little helplessly, but a little happily too. “But I want those same things, Logan. And I think I want them with you.”
I can’t stop grinning. I can’t stop feeling. My heart thumps like a herd of horses in my chest. It’s crazy, utterly crazy, to feel this way this soon.
But the evidence says maybe it’s not insane. Because I’m happy again. The sun came out, and it’s shining down on me.
“Come over,” I say.
“Now?”
“Yes. Now. I want to see you so damn badly. Give me twenty minutes to shower. If you haven’t eaten, I can make you breakfast.”
Her grin is magnetic. “You cook too?”
“Yes, I do. Am I more endearing?”
“I didn’t think it was possible, but yes, yes, you are.” With her free hand, she shoos me. “Go, shower. Send me your address. I’ll be there soon.”
I say goodbye and send it to her. The smile on my face feels a mile wide.
In the bathroom, I crank up the music, get in the shower, and do something I haven’t done in ages—I sing along. It’s “Hooked on a Feeling.” And surely that’s the reason. You can’t not sing along to this tune. I grab the shampoo bottle and belt out the chorus.
Grateful I don’t have roommates to catch me in the act of butchering such an epic tune, I croon my heart out.
I sing to the entire Upper East Side.
To all of Manhattan.
To the city.
And most of all, to myself. Because this feels so fucking good.
When I turn off the shower, Queen LT is sitting on the floor, licking a paw, taking her own bath.
“You did not see a thing. You didn’t hear a thing. Tell no one what I did.”
She simply keeps licking. Maybe she’s smiling.
After I brush my teeth, I tug on jeans and a T-shirt and run a towel over my wet hair one more time. Then I hang it up, head to the kitchen, and start some coffee.
A few minutes later, a text lands, telling me she’s here.
I turn off the coffee. I don’t need it. I’m already buzzed.
25BRYN
I’m ready to hula hoop.
That’s both a euphemism and the truth. I didn’t change from my workout clothes. Why bother? I’m confident whatever I wear will be off in seconds.
And I know this thing with Logan isn’t about me wearing a sexy outfit to his home on a Saturday morning.
It’s about four things: Honesty. Trust. Great sex. And laughter.
Things I’m pretty sure I can have with him.
Things I didn’t set out to find in him or anyone else. But they were there, waiting to be discovered.
And this weekend feels like the precipice of a new discovery, the next path to whatever we’re becoming.
Hope rises in me as I ride up in the elevator. Hope and possibility. The doors open, and I step out, ready and wildly excited for what’s next.
Decked out in my dark-pink yoga pants, a sports bra, and a workout top, I lift my hand and rap my knuckles on his door. Anticipation whips through my body, setting my skin to tingling.
A few seconds later, I hear the click of a lock.
The door swings open.
And Logan’s dark eyes are on me, traveling down my body then back up to lock with mine.
“Hi,” he says. How is it possible for one syllable to say so much? But it does. Because of how he says it. It comes out dirty, dominant, and knowing.
He knows what we’re doing now.
