Before You Go (YA Romance) (18 page)

“And why is that?”

 “The whole thing is a bad idea,” he said, so soft and slow, “for several reasons. For one, you’re the nicest girl I’ve ever met, hands down—”

Her jaw dropped. “That’s a bad thing?”

He shook his head. “It’s bad because I’m not.”

“You’re not a nice girl?” She smiled thinly.

“I’m not nice.”

“Okay, right. I get it now. You’re one of those guys who
says
some variation of ‘It’s me,’ when in fact, it’s clearly
me
.”

“No—it actually is me. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Margo.”

“Oh, I bet,” she said, shifting onto her knees, planning to get up, get out, get away from him. She was tired of being hurt. 

He grabbed her hand before she could rise. “I mean it, Margo. I— I’m nothing like you. And I’m not just talking about money or being nice. We’re different in…a lot of ways.”

“You’re a boy, and I’m a girl.” She rolled her eyes, trying to keep her emotions under control.
He’d said he liked her.
But actions spoke louder… “You know, you don’t have to like me. I don’t feel like you owe me anything. We just talked and hung out a little and… whatever. It was really no big deal—”

“It was,” he interrupted, rising on his knees. “It’s just…yeah, Cindy.” He rubbed a hand back through his hair, looking pained. “She’s my basically my benefactor. She wants to send me to Mars.” His voice took on a reverent tone. “I want to go there. I’ve wanted to go since I can remember.”

Margo didn’t know what to say to that. She’d known he wanted to be an astronaut, but was he
really
going to
Mars
? It hit her like a bolder, the thought of him doing something so dangerous, and she blinked against another round of silly tears.

He shifted positions so he was sitting with his legs folded, his elbows propped on his knees. “I think your mom would hit the fan if she knew…you
know,
how I feel about you.”

How he felt about her…

Margo bit her lip to keep from grinning; he had feelings for her! She deflated a second later, though. He was in the middle of telling her this was going nowhere. She felt a bite of anger, followed by determination. Logan had feelings for her? She couldn’t let that disappear. She wouldn’t. But what could she do about it? She flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“I doubt she’d care,” she said, twenty shades less intense than she felt. “I don’t think she considers me her daughter. But pretending that she did, that’s actually kind of understandable. Lifelong dream versus girl you barely know...”

She held her breath, praying for him to contradict her. She wouldn’t beg.

“It’s not like that.” Logan wrapped his hand around his ankle, playing with the lace of his sneaker. “I don’t feel like I barely know you.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head, wiped a hand over his face, like talking to her—about this—was hard for him. “I don’t know what it is,” he breathed. “I just…I don’t know… You make me happier.
Or something.”
His mouth quirked up into a mocking smile.
“Ordinarily, I feel like an idiot, you see.”

Her cheeks warmed, the blush spreading down her neck and chest. “Earlier I was going to look for you,” she said, random and unplanned.

“You were?”

She braced her arms on her knees, looking at the dirt.
 
“I wanted to tell you what I thought of you.”

His smile was strained. “Give me a piece of it, huh?”

She nodded, thinking briefly about the researchers she’d heard talking about them. Maybe it really would make things harder for him, being close to her. She didn’t want that, but then she still didn’t really believe he cared for her at all. “The way you were at dinner…”

“I was an ass at dinner.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “It kills me, thinking of it.”

And that confession sent butterflies through her stomach. Before they dissipated, he reached out and cupped her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Margo.
Really sorry.”
His face grew darker. “You really are better off without me.”

She shrugged, dislodging his hand, which she immediately missed. “You were an ass. But do you really think being alone is better for me?”

He exhaled loudly, his eyes bleak. “You’re right—you shouldn’t be alone. It’s wrong, the way she treats you. Cindy.”

Margo’s eyes
teared
. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know her. She’s like…not even my mom really.”

“Is that why you were so upset just now?”

“Kind of,” she hedged.

Logan grabbed her hand. He captured it in his big, warm ones and glanced sideways at her. “You’re putting me in a tough position, you know that?”

“Not exactly.”

He scooted closer, looked into her eyes, so Margo felt like he was reaching into her chest and squeezing her heart. “Margo,” he said. “You really shouldn’t get involved with me. I know this sounds stupid melodramatic, but you shouldn’t. I’m not good for you—or any girl. I shouldn’t have told you…but I wanted you to know why I…behaved the way I did.”

“Okay, but you still haven’t explained why you’re ‘bad for me.’”

“I… had a weird upbringing.” Something dark passed across his face, and she squeezed his unhurt hand.

“You mean with the going off to school so young?”

“No,” he murmured, looking down.
“Before that.”

She remembered what he’d said about going home.
I don’t think home’s the same for everyone…

Oh, God. She looked at his cut, bruised hand. “Logan…”

Before she could ask him anything, he was wrapping his arms around her, holding on tight. She could feel it the moment the squeeze went from one of comfort to…something else.

He pulled slightly away, and when he looked into her face, his eyes seemed odd, so dark and dazed.
Like he was drunk or something.
Drunk
on her
.
But when she looked more closely—looked below the surface, she could still see the other thing, and she had the same feeling she’d gotten on the horse, when he had talked about going home.

“Logan, you can talk to me…if you want to,” she added quietly.

From looking down, he looked at her…and his eyes were big and wide, almost vulnerable.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Margo, can we just…stay here?”

She nodded, pinned under the weight of those hypnotic eyes. Logan leaned in, his lips brushing gently over hers. The kiss was dizzying. She felt her judgment drift away as her body got hotter.
Heavier.
She felt restless, hungry… She ached. She thought,
This
is why they do it.
All the sluts at Kerrigan.
I would do it, too—with him.
Logan kissed her until she thought she might go crazy, till she had to pull away to breathe. Her body trembled, but he was rubbing her arm, tugging her gently, gently close to him.
 

She found his mouth again, unable to believe what he had started but wanting it. His mouth was warm and slick and sweet, his arms around her heavy and strong. She felt him shaking, and she knew it wasn’t show. Those little sounds from his throat, they meant something.

The air seemed to wrap them up, his body hardening, hers melting.
His eyes shone, fever-bright and hypnotizing.
It was kiss and then
breathe
, long kiss, little gasp, rough kiss, and rougher, until the air didn’t matter anymore and only Logan did, Logan with his hands in her hair and his mouth over hers, Logan who couldn’t get enough of her.

He kissed a warm line down her throat as his palms cupped her breasts; his fingers stroked her nipples, and she felt on fire.

“Margo. God…”

She liked the sound of that, his hoarseness.
Want
.

Shaking, gasping, she lifted his shirt, running her right hand up his hard, hot chest. He flinched, as if in pain, but she knew that he wasn’t; she let her hand slide down, running into the fabric of his boxers. 

His breath caught, and she froze, too. She felt something beneath her, at just the right spot to be… “Oh…
wow
.”

“No,” he whispered, his long fingers closing around her wrist. Margo waited, thinking he would drag her hand away. She waited, because she would have pulled against him, but it didn’t come to that. She smiled, smug, at the bliss on his face, Logan’s eyes searched hers. He looked so hot like this.
So wild.

Sweat bloomed as their hands inched lower, moving like fingers on a Ouija board—working together—down down
down
, until she dipped under the fabric of his underwear. For a breath she felt sick with anticipation.

And then she found what she was looking for.

He groaned out, “Stop.” But he sounded drunk.

“I don’t want to.”

Her admission started a fire—his mouth slammed down on hers. Nothing mattered now, none of her misgivings, when he was breathing like this, his muscles tight, strong hard Logan, whispering her name like a sacrament.

Her warm hand slid down, rolling under him, then creeping to top.

His eyes flipped open.

She would never forget the look on his face. Like he was hungry, and he wanted to have
her
. That heady focus stole the breath out of her throat. She bent down, wanting better access to him. His head went back, eyes popping wide.

“Margo, STOP.”

He lifted his knee, separating them, and reached down for her hand.

“You’ve got to stop. I’m
sorry,
I know it’s my fault.”

She had her hand on his knee; her fingers curled possessively. “You know…I wouldn’t mind sneaking around to see you.”

“That’s not fair to you.”

“I think I can say what’s fair to me. I’d do a lot of things if it meant we get to see each other. We can meet here every night. Hey—you can just come back to the room!” She slapped her head.

“That’s another point.” He sighed. “We share a room.”

“So what?
We’ll have different rooms in like, a week. Remember what Jana said?”

He shook his head and stood. Margo groaned and followed him up. “What does it matter?”