Wrecked Book 3 by Rachel Hanna Page B

it ever happened.
    We would at least be able to move past it.
    But now, as I closed the door to my house and the dread settled more firmly in the pit of my stomach, I realized that that was never going to happen.
    Miranda was never going to forgive me. And that meant that I was never going to forgive me either.
    Letting out a sigh, I leaned my forehead against the door. Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, but I did my best to hold them back. Taking a deep breath, I straightened up and released it. About the time I had pulled myself together, I realized what had happened. What I had said about Logan while he was standing right there.
    Panic swept through me and I spun around quickly to face him, to explain what was going on—but he wasn’t there. He was already gone.
    “Logan?”
    I heard movement sounding upstairs, it sounded like it was coming from my room. Sure that was where he’d gone, I raced up the stairs, not caring how early in the morning it was or how much sound I made as I went. I made it to my room. The door was open and sure enough there was Logan. His shirt was still off, but he was seated on my bed so he could lace up his boots.
    I stood in the doorway, not sure what I wanted to say now that he and I were in the same room again. Of course, I wanted to explain what had happened with Miranda—but did I really? The more I got to know Logan, the more I realized how hard he tried for the things he wanted no matter the consequences. Maybe it was easier now if he just thought… if he thought that last night hadn’t meant anything to me.
    “Logan…” I began slowly, stepping a little into the room and moving so that I could lean against the desk. I faced him, but there was plenty of room between us.
    Logan didn’t say anything to me at first. He didn’t even acknowledge me. He just finished with one boot, jerking down the pant leg of his black jeans over the top of it. Then he moved on to the next as though I wasn’t even there.
    Biting my lip, I tried again. “About what happened downstairs—”
    This made him pause. He stopped lacing his left boot and finally looked up at me. The expression on his face was enough to make that pit filled with dread inside me mingle and mix with guilt. It made me want to tell him that I didn’t mean it, that I was sorry and all I really wanted was him.
    “You don’t have to explain,” he told me, his tone cool as his eyes swirled with dark storm clouds. “I get it. I’m not stupid. You had your moment with the bad boy. Had a little fun, and now that you’ve experienced it you’re done. It’s not the first time a good girl took a walk on the wild side for the novelty of it.”
    Each word was like a physical blow against me, making my arms snake around my waist to hold tightly. I began to shake my head. It wasn’t like that. I was the bad girl, didn’t he see that? But before I could say anything in my defense, he finished tying the other shoe and stood. I couldn’t help but notice once more that he was an odd mixture of muscle, dark art, and long since healed scars.
    “I didn’t think you were like that,” he told me, looking around my room for something. “I thought you were different, special.” He reached down when he spotted his dark shirt, snatching it up off the floor and jerking it down over his bare body.
    My eyes followed the hem of his shirt as it covered his cut abs.
    “But you’re not, are you?” he continued, his eyes sharp as they searched my face. “You’re just like everyone else and you always will be.” He gave a humorless laugh. “I can’t believe how stupid I am.”
    And before anything more could be said, he turned away from me and stormed out of my room. I stayed frozen at my desk, clutching at my stomach, listening to him stomp down the stairs farther and farther away from me. I stayed like that right up until I heard the door slam shut downstairs. That’s when the tears that I had been holding back all morning finally