“I don’t mean to butt in,” Logan says, and it’s clear from his tone he’s not the least bit sorry and absolutely meant to butt in, “but I need to have the first dance of the night with my girlfriend. It’s a requirement.” Girlfriend. This all may be fake, but hearing Logan call me his girlfriend does things to me. I am a stick of butter left outside on a summer day. A warm, buttery puddle.
