Breathe You - C.R. Jane Page 0,10

back or cradle the nape of my neck, but these more intimate touches are few and far between. For some reason, he won’t initiate any more intimacy than that between us, and it kills me.

His finger continues to run alongside my lips, creating a spark in my belly, making it impossible for me to keep up pretenses.

“Val? Are you awake?” he asks, his tone hoarse and wanting, the bulge of his pants hardening against my backside just confirming his restrained desire.

I turn my head his way, my lashes fluttering open, while his crystal blue eyes shine bright at me. When he doesn’t pull away, still playing with my lower lip, I think he might break and finally give us what we both want.

“Kiss me,” I beg him silently with my eyes.

Kiss me, Logan.

Kiss me.

But to my dismay, he doesn’t. Instead, he shifts on the bed and pulls me up to sit next to him, leaning us against his headboard.

“Why we insist on doing these rom-com marathons is beyond me. You fall asleep every time,” he jokes, pulling a lock of my hair behind my ear.

“Sorry.”

I give him a sheepish smile, while inside, I mourn the loss of his more flirtatious touch. If he only knew how I treasure these moments, maybe he wouldn’t be so reluctant to give in to them. The only reason why I like watching movies at Logan’s so much is because it’s the only time he truly relaxes and doesn’t insist on keeping that invisible barrier between us. When we are alone in his room and he flips on his laptop so we can watch old movies together, all his worries dissipate. He’s not ambitiously studying to get good grades, nor is he doing his hundred and one extracurriculars to look good on his college application.

He’s just Logan.

Sweet, caring, Logan.

My Logan.

Sometimes, he doesn’t make time for that facet of himself, so it’s up to me to remind him that life isn’t just about getting into an Ivy League school. He can have some fun, too. Sometimes, I wonder if that’s the reason why he keeps me at arm’s length. That maybe he considers me a distraction, and that’s why he refuses to touch me. Or kiss me. It’s excruciating being with him and not being able to do everything I want to.

But we have this.

We have movie night.

And so far, it’s been enough—for now at least.

“Want me to take you home?” he rasps roughly, still fiddling with a lock of my hair.

“But I haven’t seen the rest of the movie.”

“You never do,” he jokes.

“Do you want me to go home?” I bite my lower lip, gazing at him from under half-mast eyes, afraid he’ll push me away again.

“No.”

“Then I won’t,” I reply cheerfully, nestling my head into the crook of his neck.

“You sure your dad won’t mind? It’s starting to get late,” he explains, pointing to the screen on his phone and indicating it’s well past my curfew.

“I doubt he’d mind tonight. Dad’s on a date.” My smile widens.

“Really?”

“Yep,” I pop the P at the end excitedly.

“You know, most teenage daughters wouldn’t be so happy to see their dad dating.” He laughs.

“I’m not most daughters.” I shrug, my chin placed on his shoulder just so I can lose myself a little more staring into Logan’s light blue eyes.

“No, you’re not.” He chuckles again, pulling me closer in his embrace so that my head falls to his chest. I feel his heart beating, and just like mine, it’s a little bit erratic. I maul my lip to prevent myself from asking why it’s beating so fast, even if the question is on the tip of my tongue.

“If you fall asleep again, I won’t wake you up. I’ll just crash on the couch downstairs and text your dad you’re sleeping over.”

I’m happy he can’t see the immediate frown that thins my lips with his remark. I really wish he would sleep in bed with me, but every time I’ve slept over in the past, Logan has been a true gentleman at giving me my space.

And I hate it.

I really wish he stopped using kid gloves with me and just be mine already.

I grab his discarded laptop and place it on his stomach, pressing play on another John Hughes’ movie. Unlike the female leads in his old teen flicks, my love life won’t be so easily fixed.

Quaid and Dad are still horsing around with a football in our backyard as I take the spinach cannelloni out of the oven