CHAPTER 5

The sunlight seeping through the thin curtains was merciless, stabbing straight into Logan's skull like tiny daggers.

He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the world. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, his head pounding with the kind of headache only cheap beer, bad decisions, and poor life choices could summon.

What the hell happened last night…?

He shifted on the bed, trying to sit up—and froze.

There was…someone beside him.

His body tensed immediately.

Slowly, cautiously, he turned his head.

Lying next to him was a woman he did not recognize — bleached hair sticking up in wild angles, heavy makeup smudged all over her face, and a dress that looked two sizes too small hiked up around her waist. She was snoring lightly, completely unbothered by the crime scene that was Logan's life.

Logan muttered a curse under his breath.

Of course.

Of freaking course.

Party. Drinks. Dumb choices. Welcome to the Logan Carter Experience.

He gave the woman a nudge on the shoulder. "Hey. Wake up."

She stirred, grunted, and finally peeled her eyes open.

When she saw him, she smiled in a lazy, practiced way.

"Morning, handsome," she purred, voice rough with sleep.

Logan didn't even flinch. "Yeah, good morning. Time for you to grab your stuff and leave."

She sat up, stretched like a cat, completely unfazed.

"You gonna pay me first, sugar?" she said with a raised brow, snapping her gum between her teeth.

He stared at her blankly for a second, then let out a humorless laugh. "Right. Of course."

He reached over to the nightstand where his wallet was already half-hanging out of his jeans. Flipping it open, he pulled out a crumpled $100 bill and handed it to her.

"There. That should cover…whatever the hell this was," he said flatly.

She snatched the money without complaint and stood up, gathering her scattered things.

Her black lace bra was hanging off the bedside lamp.

Her panties were lying abandoned near the door.

Her handbag was half-crushed under a chair.

Logan watched her hop around the room putting herself together, feeling a strange emptiness gnawing at his gut.

When she finally tottered toward the door, stilettos in one hand, she blew him a kiss and said, "Anytime, baby."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Logan alone in the silent, wrecked room.

He exhaled heavily, rubbing his hands over his face.

Jesus, what the hell am I doing…?

Last night was supposed to be fun — drinking, dancing, forgetting for a while.

But even after all the chaos, all the bad decisions…he still couldn't shake the image of her.

Ava.

Her shy, beautiful smile.

The way she blushed when he called her "beautiful lady."

The stubborn spark in her eyes when she joked with him, as if she wasn't impressed by his stupid pickup lines.

He leaned back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling.

"You're a damn fool, Carter," he muttered to himself.

Here he was, waking up next to a stranger, while the only girl who made him feel something real had probably gone home thinking he was just like every other guy who broke her heart.

And maybe he was.

But for the first time in a long time, Logan didn't want to be that guy anymore.

He wanted to be…better.

Maybe not perfect.

But better.

He sighed again, feeling that annoying throb in his chest — something suspiciously close to regret — and swung his legs out of bed.

First things first:

Get a shower.

Get some aspirin.

Maybe…just maybe…figure out a way to see Ava Morgan again.

Because as reckless and screwed-up as he was, Logan Carter knew one thing for sure:

He hadn't felt that alive in a long, long time.

And he wasn't ready to let that feeling go.

Not yet.

He ran a hand through his messy brown hair, still shirtless, still half-drunk on last night's choices — but way more sober when it came to her.

Ava.

The name floated in his mind like a damn haunting.

And then…another name snapped into his brain like a whip.

Hanna.

He cursed out loud, slapping his palm against his forehead.

Of course Hanna would be a problem.

She already hated his guts — he could feel it oozing off her last night like acid.

"Shit," he muttered. "If I'm gonna get anywhere near Ava, I'm gonna have to deal with Little Miss Sunshine too."

Logan kicked his legs out, dragging a hand down his face, feeling torn between frustration and a weird, desperate excitement.

He never felt this way before. Not about any girl. Not even close.

Sure, he had seen beautiful women. Slept with gorgeous ones too.

But Ava Morgan…

There was something different about her.

It wasn't just her smile. Or the way she nervously tucked her hair behind her ear.

It was something in her eyes — the vulnerability mixed with hidden fire — that called out to the part of him he thought had died a long time ago.

"I must be fucking in love," he groaned dramatically, throwing himself back onto the bed like some tragic movie character. "Great. Fantastic. Just wonderful."

And the worst part?

He hadn't even gotten her number.

The thought struck him like a brick and he shot upright, scrambling for his phone on the nightstand.

He unlocked it quickly, scrolling through his recent messages and contacts.

Nothing.

Nada.

Just the random hookup calls, some dudes from last night's party, and one shady text offering him "free bitcoin."

"No, no, no," Logan muttered, flipping through his phone like it might magically appear. "What the hell, Carter? You always get the number! Always! What the actual fuck were you doing?!"

He was blabbing loudly to himself now, standing up and pacing the room like a madman, kicking an empty beer can across the floor.

"I have never made this mistake in my life," he growled, gripping his phone tight. "How the hell did I just let her walk away without making sure I could see her again? Stupid. Dumb. Idiotic."

He threw the phone onto the bed in a mini tantrum and flopped down beside it, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

Now what?

How was he supposed to find her?

He couldn't just show up at the party house again like a lost puppy. And asking around about her would make him look desperate.

Which he was.

But he didn't need the entire damn city knowing it.

Logan closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply.

There's gotta be a way, he thought.

Maybe he could find her through Hanna somehow…

He winced. Hanna already wanted to skin him alive — and if she knew he was chasing her best friend, she'd probably make it her life mission to ruin him.

Still…

Ava was worth it.

She was the kind of girl you fought for.

Not because she needed saving, but because you needed her.

Logan sat up again, determination flashing across his handsome, tired face.

"I don't care what I have to do," he said out loud, pointing a finger at the air like he was making a vow. "I'm going to find her. I'm going to see her again. And this time, I'm not letting her walk away."

He glanced at the clock.

10:23 AM.

Still early enough to figure something out.

And if fate gave him one more shot with Ava Morgan…

He wasn't going to waste it.

Logan sat there for a moment longer, stewing in the mess of his own thoughts, his jaw tight, his mind spinning.

"Dammit," he muttered, raking a hand through his messy hair again.

All the pacing, ranting, and self-blaming weren't fixing anything.

Feeling the growing headache pounding behind his eyes, he finally stood up — the springs of the mattress squeaking slightly under his sudden movement.

He dragged himself into the bathroom, peeling off the wrinkled clothes that still clung to him from the night before. His shirt hit the floor, then his jeans, then his boxers — a trail of regret scattered behind him.

When he stepped under the showerhead and turned on the water, a wave of heat burst over him, wrapping him in thick, steamy warmth.

The water rolled down his body, washing away the faint smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and poor choices.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool tiles, letting the water pound across his broad shoulders and down his muscular back.

Get it together, Carter, he thought.

But even as the steam clouded the room and soothed his aching body, his mind drifted — not to the wild party, not to the random girls he danced with, not even to the prostitute who had just walked out…

No.

Only one face lingered there, behind closed eyes.

Ava.

He remembered the way she smiled shyly at him on the rooftop, how her voice trembled slightly when she spoke but carried so much fire underneath.

He remembered how she didn't judge him when he stubbed out the cigarette — how she didn't run away from the messy truth of him like so many others had.

Under the hot water, Logan let himself imagine running his fingers through her soft hair, hearing her laugh, seeing her look up at him with those bright, stubborn eyes.

He let the fantasy play out for a few stolen moments — because right now, in this empty bathroom, in the middle of his chaotic life, she was the only thing that felt pure. Real.

The water washed over him, carrying away some of the bitterness, some of the anger, leaving only the desperate, raw yearning beneath.

When he finally turned off the water, he stood there for a second, dripping, breathing hard — like he had fought a battle and only barely survived it.

Wrapping a towel around his hips, Logan stared at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror.

His hair was wet and falling into his eyes. His jaw was clenched. His heart was still racing.

"This is not over," he whispered to himself.

A small, dangerous smirk curled at the edge of his mouth.

Logan Carter didn't lose.

Not when he really wanted something.

And he had decided:

He wanted Ava Morgan.

And he was going to find a way back to her — no matter what it took.

With a renewed fire burning in his chest, Logan grabbed a second towel, rubbed his hair dry, and began getting dressed.

Today wasn't just another day.

It was the first day of the chase.

Not this time.