Page 2 of Love to Hate You
I’m pretty sure that I’m giving him the green light to lean in and plant one on me again.
At least I hope I am.
Logan raises his other hand to my cheek as the arm around my shoulder pulls me toward him.
“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, gradually moving in for the kill.
Anticipation floods my system. Other than Logan, there hasn’t been much making out going on. I spent most of the summer with my mother—
Best to stop that thought in its tracks. Thinking about Mom will kill the mood, so I’m not going to dwell on her. All my thoughts are on Logan and his very kissable lips that are oh-so-slowly descending toward mine.
My eyes are on the verge of drifting shut when an audible click shatters the silence, and the living room is flooded with bright light. Logan and I leap apart like guilty teenagers who’ve just been caught having sex in the basement by my parents. My hammering heart is lodged somewhere in my throat.
What the—
I blink, focusing my attention on the muscular form leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest and hiss out an exacerbated breath.
Goddamn it.
I should have known better.
Carter fucking Prescott. Or better known as the biggest pain in my ass.
What the hell is he doing here?
He’s supposed to be out getting his drunk on with Noah and holding court with his fan club. I overheard them discussing their plans earlier this afternoon.
Was I eavesdropping?
Please, as if…
What I was doing is a little something called recon. I humph out an irritated breath for all the good it did me. This is precisely the situation I was hoping to avoid.
I blink and realize with another wave of shock that Carter isn’t wearing any clothes. How did I miss that? He casually rests against the wall in a pair of white, torso-hugging briefs stamped with red and black roosters.
What.
The.
Hell?
I could seriously die right now. Someone needs to shoot me and put me out of my misery before this gets any worse.
Too late.
Logan stiffens beside me. And not in the way I was hoping for, either.
Before I have a chance to blast Carter into next week, he saunters into the room and plops himself down on the ugly, oversized recliner situated across from us. I hate that eyesore and opposed it being moved into the apartment.
I was overruled.
Unaware, or—more accurately—uncaring that I’m about to blow a gasket, Carter lifts his chin in Logan’s direction. “Hey, what’s up?”
I sputter in anger. Carter’s all nonchalant, as if he’s not strutting around practically naked and interrupting my date.
Poor Logan doesn’t know what to make of the situation.
“Ahhh…” he falters and stares wide-eyed as if Carter is a horrific traffic accident that he’s unable to rip his eyes away from.