“But you’re not going to do that.”

He stared at me.

A nervous feeling fluttered in my stomach. “Right?”

“Look...” He cleared his throat. Leaning forward, his hands gripped his silverware—a knife in one hand and a fork in the other. He started talking, but I couldn’t look away from his hands. His voice drifted in from a distance. His knuckles turned white. They were the only thing I could focus on. My nerves crawled up my throat. They were going to choke me.

“...okay?”

I looked up to him, tearing my gaze away from his hands. “What?”

“I’m going to make this right. With Rankin. I will. I promise.”

“Okay.”

“I really will. I mean it.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “I know you will.”

“So when your boyfriend wants to know where I am, you can tell him that: I’m going to make things right, and Rankin will never know your name. I promise.” He spoke with vehemence.

“Okay.” Jason loved me; he had since seventh grade. “You didn’t put us in that situation last night. It just happened that we were there. I know that. You’d never hurt me.”

“Never!” His hands squeezed the utensils again.

“I know.” I reached forward and eased the knife and fork out of his hands. “But these guys, I’m not so sure.” I cracked a grin. “They were my mom’s. I can’t let you harm the cutlery.”

He stared at his hands, as if he hadn’t realized he had the utensils in a death grip. A second later, he laughed. It was abrupt, as if he’d surprised himself with it, too. A second laugh, this one smoother, slid out and then a third. The last one finally sounded genuine, and some of my uneasiness uncoiled.

Good. I smiled back at him. Nothing to worry about, right? I wasn’t completely sure. I still didn’t really understand what he’d gotten mixed up in. And I didn’t want to know.

REAL VS. PUBLIC

TAYLOR

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

I was sitting in my sociology class when that question came from the aisle next to my seat. I automatically thought it was Jason, but when I saw it was Logan, my retort died in my throat. “What are you doing here?”

He smirked down at me before sinking into the chair beside me. “Tsk tsk, Taylor.” He waved a finger. “The real question is why did it take me so long to properly stalk you? Duh. I can’t stalk the chick I’m sleeping with if I’m in a different sociology class. That’s Creeping 101.”

I played along. “Oh, yeah. What took you so long?”

His head bobbed. “I’m not on my A game. It took me way too long to catch up.” He patted my leg. “I sincerely apologize for that.”

I laughed as his hand went quickly from patting to groping, I moved it back to his lap. “If you’re a creeper, that went into the stalker zone.”

He wagged his eyebrows at me. “I can be a stalker. Any day. Any time. Any…” His gaze fell to my lips. “…position.”

I shook my head. Last night he’d been setting cars on fire, driving like a maniac, and punching someone for me. Fast forward through an intense hour back at his house and a night of slow and delicious sex, and now he was hitting on me like nothing happened?

I pointed my pen at him. “You give me whiplash sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Last night. I mean, it was…”

His eyes darkened in a sensual way. I felt an ache between my legs as he pointed to his face. “This is Public Face Logan,” he said. “I’m all smiles, jokes, and innuendos. You saw Real Face Logan last night.”

“I’d rather have Real Face Logan over Public Face Logan any day, any time, any…” I licked my lips. “…position.”

He groaned, dipping his head closer to mine. “I see what you did just there.”

“You do?”

We both wore stupid grins, getting stupider by the second, but I was beyond caring.

“Mr. Kade.” The professor’s voice boomed over the classroom.

We jerked apart, and an embarrassed flush heated my cheeks. I slumped in my seat and tried to remember we hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Just flirting, a voice said in my head. I felt guilty for flirting. That was ridiculous.

“Yo, teach.” Logan was the exact opposite of me. He sat as straight in his chair as possible and lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Thanks for letting me switch classes. It’s much appreciated.”

Our professor looked at me as she mused, “Mmm-hmmm. I’m sure your reasons were valid.”

“Completely. My allergies always flare up for nine a.m. classes.”

“A couple of hours later seem to be working just fine for you.” She motioned to him. “I don’t hear any sniffling or wheezing.”

“Yep. Told you this would work better.”

She harrumphed once more before turning on the projector, and a smattering of laughter rippled through the class. I could feel the other students’ eyes and remembered the first day of school. So many girls had watched me, trying to flirt with Logan. Now it was even worse. I felt like they could tell we’d been intimate. I wanted to hide in my chair. As if sensing my embarrassment, Logan threw his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me to his side.

“Oh my God,” I muttered under my breath.

The professor stopped talking and turned to us. “Is there a problem, Miss Bruce?”