As I walk toward the front of the house, Logan’s eyes do a slow perusal up my body until he reaches my face, and when he gets there, I know he sees it. Good. Obviously, I was out all night, but I’m hoping the slap in the face is that I’m wearing another man’s shirt. I don’t give a shit that my parents and two police officers are witnessing my walk of shame, because all I care about is making sure Logan feels even a sliver of the hurt he has now caused me. He just threw a fucking grenade into my life, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want to wound him right back.
