Up In Flames by Nicole Williams

Jeep real quick. I wasn’t leaving.” The lies were becoming easier. “That was a great game. Two home-runs and one double in a single game? You better watch out or you’re going to have colleges lining up to sign you to their teams.”
    Logan smiled. “Who needs college when I’ve got everything I need right here? The ranch. Baseball.” He motioned at the now empty field before tapping the tip of my nose. “And you.”
    It was a sweet thing to say, but it made my stomach squirm. Guidance counselors, family, or pop culture had seriously dropped the ball when it came to explaining to Logan we weren’t living in the nineteenth century. People didn’t get married and settle into home life at eighteen any more. People graduated high school, went to college, did a bunch of crazy stuff along the way, worked in their career field, and then, maybe then, did they decide to get married.
    Logan wasn’t one of those people. And I wasn’t going to be one of those people if I stayed with him.
    “What time do you have to head into work tonight?” he asked, dropping his arms from my waist. Logan wasn’t PDA self-conscious; he just didn’t let himself touch me the way most teenage boys touch their girlfriends.
    After experiencing what touching could be like, I wanted to be touched.
    “Dad asked me to pop in around five,” I answered, remembering why I was working tonight on what was supposed to be my weekend off. Logan had told Dad we didn’t have plans so I could work if he needed me. No thought to clear it by me first. I felt a spark of anger flame.
    “You want to hang out at my place until you have to go in?” he said, turning his baseball cap around. “I miss you, Elle. Here I thought we’d have tons of time to spend together this summer, and I don’t think I’ve spent one uninterrupted hour with you yet.”
    I wasn’t in the mood to be around Logan right now. Not just because of what I’d done with Cole, but because of Cole’s and my fight and the prospect of never seeing him again. I wanted to cry, or sulk, or hit something until I’d eliminated even a tenth of the ache throbbing through me.
    What I didn’t want to do was be around my boyfriend who hadn’t been the one I’d been making out with last night.
    “Come on,” Logan said, tucking my hand inside of his. “I’ll make you a cup of tea and we can watch a movie or something. You look like you need a little time to relax.” Logan’s other hand lifted to my face, tracing over the creases lining it. He knew something was wrong, but I knew my trusting, optimist boyfriend didn’t suspect anything remotely close to the truth. When his thumbs skimmed over the dark hollows under my eyes, he added, “You must have missed me as much as I missed you this past week.”
    Logan’s blue eyes softened in concern. He was worried.
    Another wheelbarrow full of guilt added to my mountain of it.
    Tugging on my hand, Logan led me around to the driver’s side of my Jeep. “Come on. You look like you need some Logan therapy as much as I need some Elle therapy.”
    I needed therapy, that was obvious, but I wasn’t sure if it was Logan Matthews kind. I gave an internal sigh before hopping into the Jeep and following him towards his place.
    The Matthews’ house was only a few miles out of town, so the drive didn’t last long. It didn’t seem possible I could feel even more guilty than I already did following Logan in his old truck, but when I pulled up in front of the house I’d been to at least a hundred times before, I discovered there was no limit on the guilt meter.
    “Mom left a couple chicken salad sandwiches in the fridge,” Logan said as we walked through the front door of his family’s old farmhouse.
    Logan’s mom had spent the better part of her married life restoring it, and twenty-five years of hard work showed. The Matthews’ place was as much my home as my own. I’d spent as many waking hours here as I had at mine.
    “You want one?” Logan