Page 42 of Half Truths (Secret Society 1)
He seemed utterly unfazed by the attention as he looked around the auditorium. There were more empty seats than taken, so I wasn’t sure what was taking him so long. In his perusal, his gaze met mine. I froze, breath hitching. I couldn’t seem to breathe as he walked up the stairs and headed right to me. He wasn’t going to though, was he? Why would he sit beside me? A row of women turned their heads to follow him. The professor continued speaking as though he was just another kid in her class, which essentially, he was. It was the students who were making it feel like he was some sort of celebrity, and now that included me, because I felt like my heart was going to bounce out of my chest, as hard as it was beating.
He slumped down in the chair beside me with a heavy sigh. “Mondays, am I right?”
“Are you taking this course?”
“What—you think I just stumbled into the class you happen to be taking?” He raised an eyebrow. “You may just be more arrogant than I am.”
“I’m not. And that’s not what I meant.” I rolled my eyes. “Besides, your arrogance is always showing. Like, say, the other night at the restaurant.”
“Oh yeah.” He frowned and bit his bottom lip as if trying to remember.
“Oh yeah?” I blinked. “Wow.”
“What?” He put a foot against the back of the seat in front of him and splayed his other leg straight out. “These aisles are so fucking tight.”
“It’s an auditorium. Besides, I don’t think they anticipated any boys being here.”
“That’s sexist.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” I focused on the professor, trying to ignore the way Logan seemed to take up way more than just his seat and was spilling on mine, his arm on my armrest, his knees extremely close to mine, his scent infiltrating all of my senses. He was really too much.
“So, what did you want me to remember about the other night?” he whispered, leaning in closer to me.
“Nothing,” I whispered back, refusing to look at him. “And stop talking, you’re going to get us in trouble.”
He reached over, ripped a piece of paper from my notebook, and chuckled at the way my jaw dropped in disbelief. He leaned back in his chair and slid the ripped out piece of paper to me.
What did you want me to remember?
I froze for a beat. Was I supposed to respond in a note? He had an impatient look on his face that made me huff out a breath and scribble: nothing. You were even drunker than I thought.
I passed it back and watched him write: I remember that you looked beautiful.
My heart skipped as he continued: I remember wanting you to be with me and not Paper Boy.
I met his eyes then, and not for the first time, wished I hadn’t. He had a seriously alluring, penetrative gaze, and it was all just too much. I needed to stop this right now. After class, I’d continue this, but right now? Right now, I needed to stop it. I licked my lips. His expression darkened. My heart felt like it was going to explode.
“So.” I cleared my throat. “When was the last time you paused to think about the fact that women in sports don’t get paid as much as men do?”
He let out a surprised laugh. “Never.”
“That’s sexist.” I raised an eyebrow. “I guess it’s good that you’re here then. Maybe you should join the discussion.”
“Why don’t you join the discussion?” He looked at me. “You’re sitting isolated up here as if you want no part in any of this.”
“I’m simply admiring the discussion.” I shot him a look. “Besides, I’m not an athlete. I don’t think it’s my place to say anything. Some of the girls down there are wearing their volleyball and soccer practice stuff.”
“You don’t have to be an athlete to have a say in this. You’re a woman. You should rally behind them. That’s what I’d do. That’s what men do. It’s why we win.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“It’s the only way to look at it. There’s power in numbers.”
“What do you think about this, Mr. Fitzgerald?” the professor asked. “I’m sure you have a lot to say since you’re obviously involved in a thrilling conversation back there with Miss Bastón.”
I nearly jumped out of my seat. Every single person in the room turned around to look at us. At him. I looked as well. I figured if nothing else, this gave me the perfect excuse to get a good look at him. He had the kind of wardrobe Charles Addams would’ve been proud of—all black everything. Not that I could judge. It was the color I wore most these days. Logan made it look vibrant somehow though —maybe it was because his eyes were the kind of emerald green that sparked up a room. He had a perpetual five o’clock shadow and a jawline that looked as though it had been taken from a Ken Doll. Yeah, on a good-looking scale of one to ten, Logan Fitzgerald was a one hundred.
