Rebel
Logan has a password to his computer—of course, he does. I have up trying to get into it. Now I'm lying on his couch, flipping through titles of
various movies until I hear Logan enter the flat.
He seems happy.
I can hear him humming, and then there is a promising rustle of a plastic bag that I bet is filled with ingredients. I wet my lips and look up toward the ceiling, smiling when I see Logan.
"You were fast," I tell him from my place on the couch. The fan in the ceiling is spinning, and maybe it's made me half-dizzy because I swear Logan looks like a god from here.
His eyes look so, so dark. I always deemed them brown, but I can tell they are hazel in this light. But they shift depending on the light. I decide that I like them a lot, and the aching in my body agrees.
Logan is a hottie.
"You still haven't taken off your hat," he points out, and I can hear the sound of the plastic bag again.