Page 120 of The Risk Taker

But the image is fully seared into my memory. Her face. His hands. Both their bare asses. And the look in their eyes when they realized they weren’t the only ones with secrets.

“Well,” he says eventually, taking a step down the hallway, his voice casual like we didn’t just see our friends mid-fuck. “Can’t say I didn’t see that coming.”

“They saw us,” I say, the words heavier out loud than they felt in my head. “Cole and Aurora. They saw us holding hands.”

Logan doesn’t look surprised, not a hint of panic flashing in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says.

I stop walking, and Logan stops too when he realizes I’m not following him.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He grabs my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “Seriously. They’re not gonna say anything.”

I nod, slow. “Yeah. I know.”

“Besides,” he says, leaning in with that glint back in his eyes, “we’ve got dirt on them now.”

I huff out a laugh, the tension in my chest loosening a little. “Right.”

He glances over at me, watching to see how I feel about the fact that someone knows we’re hooking up.

I thought I’d freak out. Thought the second someone knew, I’d spiral. But I’m not. I feel… weirdly okay. Like something in my chest just loosened.

“Wanna find a closet?” he asks, yanking me out of my thoughts with a raised brow and a wicked grin.

I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re relentless.”

“Horny,” he corrects, reaching around to grab a handful of my ass, squeezing. “Very, very horny.”

We cut down the hallway, trying all the doors. Third time’s the charm, apparently.

“Thank fuck,” Logan breathes as the knob turns. He yanks the door open, tugs me inside, and kicks it shut behind us before locking it.

The room is dark, quiet, and slightly musty. Doesn’t matter, though, because I’m with him.

Logan turns to face me, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Now…” he says, tugging at my belt loop. “Where were we?”

30

LOGAN

It’s his eyes. Has to be.

It’s the only explanation for why I walked in here starving and then completely forgot what I left my warm bed for.

They’re big and brown and way too serious, like he’s thinking about twelve different things and not planning to say any of them out loud. I’ve been fixated on them since freshman year, back when he’d narrow them at me every time I opened my mouth. Used to be my favorite thing. Still kind of is.

But now I think I like them better when they go soft. When he looks at me like he sees straight through every joke and deflection and isn’t scared off by any of it.

Although, I’ve got to say, making them roll back when I have my mouth on his cock is also fun as hell.

I blink, trying to remember what I was doing. Oh—dumplings. Right.

Nathan glances up from where he’s leaning on the counter, his eyes flicking down to what I’m wearing—sweats and an old band T-shirt I slept in—and then back up to my face.

“You’re not getting dressed?” he asks, his eyebrows doing that little tilt thing that usually means he’s trying to figure me out.

“Nah,” I reply with a shrug as I reach into the freezer. “Not feeling it,” I mutter, ripping open the bag of dumplings.

I catch him from the corner of my eye, watching me with a puzzled expression on his face. “You’re sick,” he says.