Chapter 102 Chapter 101
Logan POV
I shouldn’t be here.
That’s the first thought that hits me as I park across the street from the sorority house, engine idling, hands still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored.
It’s late.
The house is mostly dark except for a few glowing windows, the kind of quiet that only happens when even chaos finally sleeps.
I should go home.
I should let it go.
I should stop acting like I have any right—
But the image won’t leave my head.
Harper in a dress.
Some guy raising a paddle.
Daniel’s voice: Harper Lane looks very dateable.
My jaw tightens.
Someone is going to bid on her.
Someone is going to win a night with her.
A real date. A clean slate. No history.
The thought makes something in my chest go sharp and ugly.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m out of the truck and crossing the street.
The front door is locked, but I know the side entrance from last time. I knock softly until someone cracks it open, eyes bleary.
“Oh,” the girl whispers. “It’s… you.”
“Harper,” I say quietly. “I need to talk to her.”
She hesitates, then jerks her chin toward the stairs like she’s too tired to question anything.
“Second floor.”
I take the steps two at a time.
My heart is pounding harder with each one.
This is insane.
This is impulsive.
This is—
Her door is shut.
I stand there for half a second.
Then knock.
Footsteps.
The door opens.
Harper stands there in soft shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, hair loose, face bare.
Her expression goes from confusion to disbelief in the span of a breath.
“Logan?”
Her voice is quiet, but it carries something sharp underneath.
“What are you doing here?”
“I—” My throat is tight. “Can I come in?”
She stares at me like she’s deciding whether to slam the door.
Then she steps back.
“Fine,” she says flatly. “Come in. But if this is about the auction logistics, I swear to God—”
“It’s not about logistics.”
The door clicks shut behind me.
Her room is dim, lit only by a small lamp on her desk. It feels too intimate, too late, too much.
She crosses her arms. “So. Talk.”
I exhale slowly.
“I heard Daniel today,” I say.
Her brow furrows. “Daniel?”
“He was talking about you,” I continue, words coming out rougher than I mean. “About the auction. About bids.”
Her eyes narrow.
“And?”
“And I don’t like it.”
Silence.
Then Harper lets out a short laugh.
“You don’t like it,” she repeats.
I take a step closer without thinking.
“The idea of people bidding on you—”
Her eyes flash. “Logan, that is literally the point of the event.”
“I know that,” I snap. “I know what it is. I just—”
“You just what?” she cuts in. “Decided you suddenly get an opinion?”
My jaw tightens.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“It sounds exactly like what you mean,” she says, voice rising. “You show up here in the middle of the night to… what? Tell me not to let people bid on me?”
“That’s not—”
She steps closer now, heat in her eyes.
“Do you hear yourself?” she demands. “Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?”
I swallow hard. “I don’t want someone else taking you out.”
Her laugh is sharper this time.
“Then you should’ve dated me,” she fires back.
The words hit like a punch.
“I tried,” I say.
“No,” she says immediately. “You didn’t. You did PR dinners. You did excuses. You did chaperones. You did disappearing after you slept with me.”
Her chest rises and falls quickly.
“You don’t get to show up now and act like you care who bids on me,” she says, voice shaking with anger. “You don’t get to claim discomfort like it’s the same thing as choosing me.”
“I’m not claiming you,” I snap back.
Her eyes burn. “Then what are you doing here?”
I stare at her.
Because the truth is ugly.
Because it’s jealousy.
Because it’s want.
Because it’s fear.
“I don’t know how to watch someone else get what I can’t stop thinking about,” I admit hoarsely.
The room goes still.
Harper’s expression falters for half a second.
Then she whispers, “That’s not my problem.”
“I know,” I say. “I know it isn’t.”
I take another step.
She doesn’t move back.
“You want to know what my problem is?” she says softly, dangerously. “My problem is that you only show up when you feel like you’re losing control.”
My voice drops. “Maybe I am.”
Her breath catches.
The air between us is tight, vibrating.
“I hate you for this,” she murmurs.
“I know.”
“I hate that you can walk in here and make me feel—”
“I’m not doing anything,” I say, voice low. “You feel it too.”
Her eyes flick down to my mouth.
Back up.
Her voice is barely audible.
“This is a mistake.”
“Probably,” I whisper.
And then she kisses me.
Harder than last time.
Like she’s angry at herself.
Like she’s angry at me.
Like she’s tired of pretending the chemistry isn’t real.
My hands find her waist instinctively, pulling her closer, and the heat between us is immediate, overwhelming.
She makes a sound against my mouth—half frustration, half something else entirely.
“Logan—”
My name in her voice is a warning and a plea.
I kiss her again, deeper, and she clutches my shirt like she’s grounding herself.
The world narrows.
Her room, the lamp, the quiet house outside—
None of it matters.
Only this.
Only her.
She pulls back just enough to breathe, lips parted, eyes dark.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say, voice rough.
Her hands slide up my chest.
“But God,” she breathes, “I can’t—”
I kiss her again before she can finish.
Her head tilts back slightly, a soft gasp breaking from her throat.
“Logan…”
The way she says my name is pure heat.
And I know, standing there with her pressed against me, that whatever happens at that auction—
I’m already in too deep.