That was his brand. And for two years, he’d been perfectly content playing that role for Grace, his high school sweetheart.
“Because I forgot my keys.” She held them up. Then, instead of leaving, she sat down on the opposite end of the couch. Close enough that he could smell her shampoo. Coconut and something sharp. Like lime.
For a long, terrifying second, she didn’t move. The Mistake Vk Elle Kennedy
Logan looked up. Ramona “Romi” Perez stood in the doorway, arms crossed, dark hair tumbling over one shoulder. She wasn’t dressed up—just Briar sweatpants and an old T-shirt—but somehow she still looked like she belonged on a magazine cover. It was annoying. She was annoying.
Romi’s breath hitched. “Logan…”
Or so he kept telling himself.
John Logan was used to being wanted.
“I’ve been making a mistake all year,” he admitted, voice rough. “And it wasn’t Grace. It was thinking I had to get over her to be ready for something real. But I’m not getting over her, Romi. I’m getting to you.”