Chapter 13 Chapter 12
Harper POV
The house is too warm, too loud, too full of everything I told myself I could handle.
But the moment I see him, that lie starts to unravel.
Logan Shaw.
He’s leaning against the wall near the entry, half in shadow, watching me the way he watches the puck—steady, patient, like he’s waiting for an opening. I pretend not to notice, but my pulse doesn’t listen.
I laugh at something Becca says, nod at the right moments, even though my head is full of static. Every time I shift, I can feel his eyes on me—quiet, deliberate. The air between us stretches thin and electric.
Then someone steps into my orbit and breaks the spell.
“Harper,” Cole says, holding out a drink with a grin that could probably start a small war. “Didn’t think I’d see the president herself slumming it at her own party.”
I smirk, grateful for the distraction. “You mean running it?”
He laughs. “Fair point. Still… not gonna lie—you clean up nice tonight.”
The compliment catches me off guard. “Thanks, I think.”
Cole leans in a little, lowering his voice over the music. “Nah, seriously. You always look put together, but tonight…” His eyes flick down, then back up—quick but not subtle. “You look good, Harper.”
My cheeks warm despite myself. Before I can answer, that familiar pull slides through me like static.
Logan.
He’s still leaning against the wall, but now his expression is darker—jaw tight, eyes flat and unreadable. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. Just watches.
Cole follows my gaze and smirks. “Relax. I’m not trying to start trouble.”
“Then stop talking like you are,” I say, forcing a smile.
Cole chuckles. “Fine, fine. I’ll back off before Shaw decides to check me into the drywall.”
“Logan doesn’t care what I do.”
Cole raises a brow. “Doesn’t he?”
I open my mouth, but Becca’s voice cuts through the noise. “We’re out of cups!”
“In the kitchen!” I shout back, thankful for the escape.
I weave through the crowd, heart pounding, the smell of cologne and champagne thick in the air. I don’t know why I’m so rattled. It’s just a party. It’s just Logan.
Right.
⸻
The kitchen’s quieter, the bass from the speakers thumping through the floor. I start stacking red cups, trying to look busy.
“You always work at your own party?”
The voice comes from behind me—low, rough, unmistakable.
I turn. He’s standing in the doorway, sleeves pushed up, hair damp, that permanent scowl sitting just under the surface.
“Someone has to make sure this doesn’t turn into another Ice House sequel,” I say. “Besides, multitasking’s kind of my thing.”
He steps closer. “Cole’s out there making friends.”
I pause, eyes narrowing. “Is that supposed to be a problem?”
“Didn’t say it was.”
“You don’t have to.”
Something flickers across his face—jealousy, irritation, both. He hides it with a smirk. “You threw this together fast.”
“Guess I did.”
He studies me too long. “You’re different tonight.”
I drop the cups a little too hard. “You already said that.”
“Still true.”
“Maybe I just stopped caring what people expect.”
He leans in, voice low enough that I feel it more than hear it. “You really think anyone believes that?”
My pulse stutters. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“Didn’t ask for one.” His tone softens just enough to sting. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Harper.”
“Good,” I say, forcing a smile. “Because you’re the last person I’d try to impress.”
His mouth curves, slow, dangerous. “You sure about that?”
“Yes.” The lie comes out too quick, too sharp.
His gaze flicks down to my lips, then back up. “Then why are you shaking?”
I grip the counter to steady myself. “Because you’re infuriating.”
He exhales through his nose, a humorless sound. “Better than invisible.”
The words hit like a slap. I can’t tell if it’s the insult or the truth that hurts worse.
He looks like he wants to take it back—but doesn’t.
I manage, quietly, “You still think I’m chasing you?”
His jaw flexes. “That what this is about?”
“Tyler seems to think you’ve had a lot to say lately.”
“Hayes runs his mouth for attention.”
“So do you.”
His eyes harden. “You really think I’d talk about you like that?”
“I don’t know, Logan. That’s the problem.”
Silence. The crowd outside fades until there’s just the hum of music and the sound of both of us breathing too fast.
He steps closer, the smell of soap and skin and heat cutting through the air. “Believe what you want,” he says, voice rough. “But don’t put someone else’s words in my mouth.”
I hold his gaze. “Then maybe you should start choosing better friends.”
He gives a small, humorless smile. “Guess I should.”
He’s close enough now that I feel his breath on my cheek. His eyes drop again—quick, unguarded—and my heart trips over itself.
And that’s when Cole’s voice cuts in.
“There you two are.”
We both flinch, stepping back like guilty teenagers.
Cole grins, oblivious—or maybe not. “Harper, Bluetooth’s throwing a tantrum. Music’s cutting out.”
“I’ll fix it,” I say, voice steadier than I feel.
Cole turns to Logan, smirking. “You coming outside? The Deltas just challenged us to a flip-cup war.”
Logan doesn’t answer. He’s still watching me, jaw tight.
Cole laughs under his breath. “Man, don’t glare at me like that. I’m not stealing your girl.”
“I don’t have a girl,” Logan snaps.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Cole says with a wink, ducking back out.
The door swings shut. The silence that follows feels heavier than the music.
I cross my arms, half defensive, half trying to keep from shaking. “You might want to tell your best friend to stop flirting before you bite his head off.”
“He flirts with everyone.”
“Guess I should feel honored, then.”
He moves closer again, low voice rougher now. “You really want him?”
“What?”
“Cole.” His tone sharpens. “You like his attention?”
My jaw tightens. “You’re actually jealous.”
He laughs once, hollow. “Jealous? Of Cole? Please.”
“Then what is this?”
“Nothing.”
“Right.” I grab a few more cups just to do something with my hands. “Because this isn’t high school anymore, Logan. You don’t get to decide who talks to me.”
That lands. His eyes flash, mouth parting like he wants to argue—but he doesn’t. He just stares, breathing hard, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
I can’t take it. I step away, muttering, “Enjoy the party, Captain.”
His voice follows, low enough that it barely reaches me. “Not without you.”
⸻
Outside, the air is cold enough to bite. I brace my hands on the porch railing, the night pressing close around me. The bass from inside thuds through the walls, a heartbeat I can’t shake.
I tell myself I’m fine. I told him off, stood my ground. But it doesn’t feel like victory—it feels like standing too close to a fire and pretending not to feel the heat.
Through the window, I see him still in the kitchen, staring into his drink, Cole beside him laughing about something.
Logan doesn’t laugh.
He’s still watching the door I just walked through.
And somehow, I know he’s not done with me.
The thought should scare me.
It doesn’t.
It feels like gravity.
And that’s the part I hate most of all.