Misfortune and Mr. Right (Only Magic in the Building)

by Savannah Scott

Logan’s features never change. Of course they don’t. He’s always got that Mona Lisa look about him—like he’s half smiling, half plotting your death, half constipated. Yes. That’s three halves. There’s more to Logan Alexander than meets the eye. He doesn’t math.

“Those arms, wheweee. And that hair,” Suze says. “And he can wear a shirt, am I right?” “Everyone’s wearing shirts,” I say, waving my hand around the room.

He sounds so pompous. Like he’s the one outside the door while I’m stuck in here. Which he obviously is. But that doesn’t make him better than me, just because he’s not locked in a closet at this moment.

“Who’s a riddle?” “Women. You’re the riddles we want to spend our lives solving, the labyrinths we want to devote ourselves to navigating. You’re infinitely complex.” “Is that so?” Maisy folds her arms over her chest and grins at Gil. “Only if everything I just said is being taken as a compliment. It was meant as one.” “I know, babe. It’s a compliment. But we aren’t that complex. We just want to be seen as special. We want you to consider us. We don’t like being overlooked or set aside. Maybe that’s not just women. Maybe that’s all of us.”