For Kicks by Jenna Bayley-Burke

than a little uncomfortable with. He couldn’t rein it in or rationalize it the way she did. But then, he had a hard time putting anything off until tomorrow. He’d learned too soon that sometimes tomorrow never came.
    Sliding off the table, he walked silently across the floor. His hand stalled on her doorknob and then rose to rap his knuckles on the hard wood.
    She ignored his first attempt at knocking. By his fourth try he’d switched from knuckles to the side of his fist.
    “Would you stop that.” Breeze pulled open the door as his fist was about to connect, freezing his hand in midair. She stood before him, mountains of curls piling over her head. “With all that racket, someone is going to complain.”
    “Your hair.”
    She capped her head with her hands, pressing down the mass. “I know. This is what happens when I blow it dry. I become a poodle.”
    “It’s neat.” He reached out and wrapped a silken curl around his finger. “You should wear it down more often.”
    “I hate it down.” She turned on her heel and marched back to the bathroom. He followed as far as the perfectly made bed and perched himself on the edge.
    “I like it.” He stopped short of telling her why, that it looked perfect for tangling his fingers in, that it looked like they’d just gone a couple rounds the fun way.
    “It’s a lot of work,” she said from behind the partially closed door.
    “You could cut it. That would be faster.” But please don’t.
    “No, that would be curlier. I have to keep it long to weigh down the curl.”
    “Lucky me.”
    He waited for her to emerge from the bathroom, looking around her room at the neat piles of clothes. When did she find the time to completely organize every moment of her life?
    This must be how she got so much done. She didn’t stop to think or, God forbid, feel. The desk where her books were stacked yesterday was clear and clean. Even that bit of clutter exorcised from her life.
    “Did you call your mom?” he called into the abyss, hoping it would get a reaction from her big enough to enter the room.
    “Not yet.” She emerged from the bathroom, her hair subdued into a French braid.
    Logan couldn’t stifle his laughter.
    “What is it?” She put her hand on her hip.
    “I feel like a cradle robber. You look about fifteen in your sundress and cardigan with your hair pulled back.”
    “I know, I hate it,” she grumbled, stepping around to the other side of the bed and surveying the piles of fabric.
    “You could take your clothes off. There’s nothing childish about the body underneath.”
    “ Logan .” She gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You’ve never seen me naked. And you won’t either.”
    “Sure I have.” He tapped his temple. “Let me tell you about my dream last night and then you can make it come true.”
    Both hands flew to her hips. “You know what—”
    “I answered your question wrong out there.”
    “You answered honestly. That’s all I can expect.”
    “No, I was scared to say what I wanted to because you’re stomping all over me at every turn.”
    “Well, I have to. Your behavior is unprofessional and inappropriate. And what you keep pushing for, if it got out, it would ruin me.”
    “How?”
    “How? People will say I got this project on my back.”
    “You’re here because you are more prepared than anyone else. It has nothing to do with me.”
    “The truth and what people believe are often two different things.” She sorted through the clothes, placing them in new piles. “And if Mendelssohn’s loses another chance at exclusivity with Nitrous, and my managers believe a personal relationship had anything to do with it, I’ll be fired for fraternizing with a vendor.”
    “Nitrous is a multi-billion dollar international footwear conglomerate. I’m one link in the chain. I couldn’t affect the relationship with Mendelssohn’s either way.”
    “I know that.”
    “Then why—”
    “You’re not hearing me. It’s not