Love Song(64)

“And you’re listening to this dickhead? You’re up on the roof at midnight to prove something to a guy who doesn’t deserve it?”

I’m already climbing the rickety staircase as I talk. Because enough. I’m done arguing with her. I take the steps two at a time, emerging on the roof in seconds.

Blake turns to face me, her expression awash with resentment. “He said I was his safe place but that I never made him feel wanted.”

I swallow my irritation, all of it directed at Isaac Grant. “He’s an idiot, Blake.”

“Maybe, or maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s who I am. The safe, comfortable one.” She gives me a pointed look. “The one men come to for comfort or to talk to when the world is too loud. But then when they crave the heat, when they want to burn, they go somewhere else.”

“That’s not who you are.”

She ignores my gruff statement. I don’t even think she notices me anymore.

“But you know what?” she says angrily. “Fuck him and everything he wants. What about what I want? You know what I want, Wyatt?”

I step closer, careful, as if I’m approaching a wounded animal. “What do you want, Blake?”

“I want someone to need me. Not just love me. I want to be wanted so badly it hurts. I want to be someone’s obsession. Their undoing.” Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t look away, and I suddenly can’t breathe. “I want to be someone’s passion. Not their safe place. Not their steady plus-one who makes them look good because I’m John Logan’s daughter. I want to be the thing they lose themselves in.”

I can’t take my eyes off her. The fire burning bright in her eyes. The moon glinting off her skin like frost. She’s incredible. But she’s also a live wire right now, and I need to temper that fire before it consumes us both.

I inhale, filling my lungs with much-needed oxygen. “I get you’re upset about that message. But jumping off the boathouse isn’t the solution. It’s just you being reckless.”

“Maybe I want to be reckless for once. Maybe I’m sick of everyone thinking I’m safe and small and forgettable.”

“Jesus, Logan,” I say hoarsely. “No one who’s ever looked at you could forget you.”

“You did.”

Her hard, emotionless eyes crack something wide open inside me. I move closer, but she shifts her gaze back to the water, banishing me from her gaze.

“I’m so forgettable that you didn’t even remember mauling me on Christmas Eve,” she mutters. And then she’s laughing again, a high, hysterical tinge to it. “We hooked up, Wyatt, and you didn’t fucking remember. So that’s the effect I have on people, apparently. They don’t want me, and they forget all about—”

“I remembered.”

She spins around, her gaze flying to mine. “What?”

“The next morning. I remembered.” Shame constricts my throat, and I have to clear it before continuing. “I remember exactly what happened that night in the kitchen. I just pretended not to.”

“Why?” she demands, stunned by the confession.

“Because I’m an asshole, and I knew if I opened that door, we would never be able to close it.”

Her breath catches.

“Of course I want you,” I say quietly.

“Stop,” she says, but her voice trembles. “I don’t need your bullshit right now. I told you I had a crush on you, and you laughed at me.”

“You told me that when you were sixteen and I was almost twenty. What was I supposed to say, Blake? You were too damn young, and you’d been part of my life since forever. But the moment you said it, it changed everything, and I’ve been shoving it down ever since. Because we can’t go there.”

“Why not?”

“Because your dad would kill me for one, and when it ends—”

“When?”

“Yes, when. I told you, I’m not good at relationships. If we hook up, I’m going to hurt you.”

She stays quiet, watching me uncertainly.

“I’m a goddamn head case. And I’m selfish. Trust me, you don’t want some self-absorbed, struggling musician who can barely quiet his own thoughts.” I shake my head in frustration. “All I can give you is a good lay.”

Her breath hitches again.

“You deserve more than that.”

She still doesn’t say a word. And I still can’t pull my gaze away from her. From those big eyes and the perfect Cupid’s bow in her lips. The freckles, visible even in the shadows.

I’ve never wanted to kiss anybody more than I want to kiss her right now. And I think she knows it. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, and I almost groan. I want to suck on that tongue. I want to suck and lick every part of her. I want to know what she sounds like when she comes.

Instead of moving away, I take a step closer.

One step, then another, until I’m right in front of her.

Now I see her breathing pick up. The sharp rise of her tits beneath her tank top. If I looked closer, I bet I would see the shadowy outlines of her nipples.

Her head tilts up to look at me because she’s so much shorter. Our faces are inches apart. Gazes locked. It feels like she’s peering into my soul.

When I’m only a foot away, Blake reaches up and touches my face. A hot shiver travels up my spine. Her fingers scrape the stubble along my jaw.