"Then let me talk to her." He spoke in an even, matter-of-fact tone. "Please." Harper's eyes met mine over her shoulder. With my nod, she pointed to the closest bench. "Elle, I'll be there, twenty yards away… with my phone… and a brand-new can of mace." I patted her shoulder and smiled at the back of her vanilla-scented head. "Thanks, Harper." After a breath, I sat down with a huff. Why was it hot again? It was dark, but sweat returned to my armpits. His large frame sat down right in my personal space. He nudged me over until we shared the towel and his shoulder pressed into mine. "Boundaries, please?" I grumbled, drawing up my knees and shifting an inch between us. "That applies to whatever you've done that's exploding my number of followers." "How come you don't have more than a basket of cats?" his voice twisted into cocky amusement. "Not the pussy… cat I was hoping to see, baby." Of course, he emphasized the 'p' in that vulgar statement. Sucking in a sharp breath, I almost threw up from my saliva. Who said shit like that!? And in person too! Lewd and beyond disgusting jerks, that's who. And, lucky me, this one was persistent, annoying, and perverted. "Sorry about the followers." He didn't sound sorry, more as if a cat swallowed a cage full of canaries. "Guess I'm a likable guy." The most unattractive snort left my lips. "I doubt that. So, do you have a name, or am I supposed to call you Asshole?" Not that I couldn't look up who followed me first, but I wanted to hear him say it. And, if my hands were doing anything, it was throwing sand in his face. "…" Now he was quiet. I shifted my eyes to his hands palming his heart. "You don't know? Guess I'll have to work on leaving a better impression." Oh, he was making an impression, but not the one he wanted. He was handsome, yes. So handsome, it hurt to look at him when he spewed out shit. His suggestive undertones reminded me of a spoiled child holding back a secret that nobody cared about. His low, raspy voice killed more of my brain cells. "You should want my name, baby. Every girl at my school knows it." His arrogance made me want to scream at the ocean. Instead, I clenched my molars. Flopping around impersonating a beached whale was more productive than us having a decent conversation. I squeezed my eyes shut. "Then go bother any other girl." "Can't." His shoulder bumped mine. "Baby, I told you. You left an impression." This endless mudslide deluge of cockiness was worse than 'Go out with me, Elle.' I sunk my nails into my palms, but my reply was weak. "You're annoying." The smirk in his voice grated my ears like sandpaper. Another shoulder bump. "And I'm thoroughly enjoying this." "At least one of us is." I wouldn't win a war of retorts here and opened my eyes with a sigh. "If you don't have the balls to tell me your name, then-" "Logan." Even-toned and unfazed, he was as cool as a cucumber. His name sounded pleasant when I repeated it, "Logan." Jake had never mentioned any Logans. Then again, football talk was a direct flight to Snoozeville. Screens, shovels, defensive setups, four-threes, sneaks, post-routes, blitzes, all boring! Logan's name didn't matter; all I wanted was closure. How to get it though? I snuck a side glance, to the corner of his mouth curved. "You're welcome," he said. "Huh?" I wasn't winning any smoothness points and blinked at his profile. Even that was impeccable, sharp in all features except his lips - stop, Ellie. The hot ones were always assholes. "For what?" "For catching your clumsy, cute butt," he teased and bumped me hard enough that I rocked on my hips. That was him too? Oh. Oh. This is too much. I need to go home. I'm done. I shifted my voice to the sweetest one possible and swallowed every ounce of dignity. "Hey, I'm sorry… It's been a… rough day. Logan, I appreciate you catching me while I tripped, and thank you for checking on me after I got sick. That's very…" Dig deep, Ellie. "…Generous." Tiny stars twinkled in his eyes at my fumbled words. "Baby, you want generosity? Give me five minutes, and I'll-" "Don't even think about finishing that thought." Knowing his response was in the gutter, I fought the temptation to leave. Why hadn't I left? Looking back at Harper's scowl brought my nose closer to Logan's shoulder. I couldn't even say that he smelled like jock itch cream, testosterone, disappointment, and single-digit brain cells. Instead, ocean remnants intermixed with a fresh deodorant and a slight perspiration musk. My brother's sweatiest day could kill weeds, but Logan's scent was more subtle, tolerable even. What was I saying? If this conversation continued, then I was going to end up with single-digit brain cells. With my softest voice, I whispered, "Is there something you want, Logan?" He gazed at me with the answer in his eyes, but he rolled his lips in. Given he had no filter, Logan's silence filled me with suspicion. "Anything?" he asked. Poor choice of words. His quiet, serious tone fired all kinds of warning bells, so I set the record straight with a tone louder than I intended. "I'm not having sex with you if that's what you're thinking!" That suggestion earned me a thumbs up from Harper, which I shook my head at. Gross. My sarcasm fell flat against Logan's cockiness. That damn smirk was a permanent fixture. I wasn't sure if I wanted to punch or kiss it off his face. "Baby, if I told you that was an option, then you'd drop your-" "Get your mind out of the gutter."