Make me remember (to forget)

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Emily

I'm annoyed. Maybe it's because Rob won't get the message that I'm not interested and he has coffee breath and has been going on forever about his boring job as an auditor. Or, it could be because the music seriously sucks and everyone is smoking hookah.

Or... there is a slight possibility that it could be because all the girls have been trying to flirt with Logan: checking him out not-so-subtly, dragging him to the dance floor, brushing their arms against his chest. The worst part? It's not just his American passport that is attractive. It's him, goddamn it.

He's wearing a white button-up dress shirt and jeans. Casual, right? Wrong. It's easy to trick myself into believing that he's trash when he's dressed in an NYU hoodie, khaki shorts, and flip-flops. But now? Not so much.

And it's not even like I'm attracted to him or something. I'm not, obviously. I just don't like it when he's treated like a God, an unreachable, to-die-for, mega-super-nova, okay? I don't. It's annoying. 

Especially that he's so humble about it. He talks to everyone. Dances with everyone. Mingles, laughs, asks questions, moves from one place to another - He's literally a social butterfly. He's also the most down-to-earth person I've ever met and that annoys me even more. 

I roll my eyes when one of the blondes takes his hand and leads him towards the hallway. Here we go, she's like the third one and it hasn't even been two hours. Fuck, I need a drink. I also seriously need to stop thinking about him. I need to stop thinking about who he's talking to, if he thinks she's pretty or not, if he's going to kiss her or not. I need to stop!

I look over at Rob, who's still going on and on about his job in Dubai, and fight the urge to cry. Literally. Pushing Logan into the very back of my mind, I smile sweetly at Rob. "Do you think you could get me a drink, please?"

"Sure, I'll be back in a few," He shouts back, due to the music being extremely loud.

I exhale in relief when he walks away. A part of me can't help but stare into the hallway where Logan and Blondie went- No. Fuck, no. I'm done thinking about him. I need to get really, really drunk.

So, taking a deep breath, I walk over to the other side of the room where I get lost between sweaty bodies and hookah smoke, drinking random leftover cups on my way to finding some proper tequila.

When I finally do, he's back again. Not Rob, Logan. Except this time, he's not in my thoughts. He's in front of me, looking extremely pissed.

It takes me a millisecond to register that he found out about the motorcycle. The three to four shots I gulped on my way here have not prepared me for this. His crystal emerald eyes are bloodshot, probably from the drinking. And it feels like he's staring into my soul. "We need to talk. My room, now."

I quickly drink the tequila shot that I had poured for myself before following behind him. My heartbeats match the sound of the drums and my chest shrinks, making it really hard to breathe. I'm nervous. Goddamn it, why am I nervous? It's just Logan in a freaking dress-shirt. I need to get my shit together.

When we reach his room, I close the door behind me and press my back against it. He walks back and forth next to his desk, lifting the hems of his shirt up slightly. Fuck, he looks so hot when he's angry. And I think the alcohol I drank on my way here is starting to hit.

"I'm going to ask you once. What did you do to my motorcycle?"

I try not to focus on the veins on his neck, or his messy curls, or his crystal green eyes. I try not to focus on how red his lips are - most probably because he's been making out with Blondie less than five seconds ago. Goddamn it, I should not be thinking about them making out.

But then he looks at me. He looks at me like he's so freaking angry that I can't stop picturing it. Us. Him over me. Me against the wall. His hands in my hair. My lips on his neck. I'm going to regret this so much tomorrow.

He steps closer until his face is almost touching mine. Close enough that I can taste the vodka in his breath. Close enough that he can sense my raging heart.

"Don't," I breathe out. But I want him to, so much.

He presses his nose in my neck. The feel of his breath on my ear makes me press my thighs together. I fight the urge to pull him closer and I think he notices.

His lips touch my earlobe, sending my eyes to the back of my head. Fucking hell, all I feel is tingles and fire and a burn - a burn for something I can't name.

"My motorcycle," He whispers.

But my eyes are closed as he traces my thigh with his index, his face still pressed against my neck. He draws circles on my skin, reaching higher and higher before stopping at the hem of my short shorts.

"Emily." His voice is raspy, making me shiver before he pulls away slightly, just enough so that his eyes pierce through mine.

He's looking at me like he's picturing it too - picturing us too. And I can't help but bite my bottom lip, as I press my thighs tighter, hoping to relieve some of the pressure down there.

"Fuck," He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the wall behind me. I could kiss his neck, but I won't. I won't. I won't. "You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now."

I hold my breath, my eyes closed, hoping his hands will find their way back to my legs.

"- But I won't. Because you're obviously drunk. And God knows what you did to my motorcycle."

Right. Motorcycle.

"It'll be fixed by Sunday night." I can't even recognize my own voice. It's breathless and raspy and deep. Logan is taken by surprise too.

"Is that why you let me throw the party? So that I wouldn't notice?"

I hum in response but before I can say anything, his phone rings. But instead of picking it up, his eyes don't leave mine. I try to hold eye contact but it's like he can see through me. For a split second, it's almost as if he could see it all: the fire, the anger, the burning. And it terrifies me, goddamn it.

So I look away, at his pocket, focusing on the flashing of his screen through his pocket as if it's the most fascinating thing ever. "You should take it."

"Not now. We're having an important discussion."

"No, we're not."

"Yes, we are. Goddamn it. You can't do that, Em. You can't lie to me about breaking my motorcycle and then fix it while you distract me with a party."

I close my eyes, unable to formulate coherent sentences with his face so close to mine. "Yes. You're right, okay? I panicked. I'm sorry." I open my eyes again and look into his green orbs. "I am truly sorry, Logan." My stomach hurts when I say his name. 

He's taken off guard, obviously not expecting me to give in so quickly. But he's right. I have nothing to say to defend myself. I completely abused his trust and obliviousness.

But when his eyes look at my lips for a split second, I find myself taking in his lips too. I find myself leaning in a tiny bit. And I find him getting closer. Until his nose touches mine. Until we're breathing the same breath. Until my stomach is in knots and every inch of me is captured under him.

And I almost do - Almost press my lips on his. But his phone rings again, shaking us out of this madness. "You should seriously take it. It sounds urgent," I manage to make out.

He sighs before taking it out of his pocket. I can't help but read the caller I.D.'s name. Mar. It sends a punch to my gut as the high wears off. Goddamn it, Emily, God-fucking-damn-it. Do you need a reminder of how off-limits the guy is? He's Adam's nephew. I'm his boss. He's dating a super-freaking-model. Not to mention that every girl in this house wants him.

What the hell am I even doing?

Logan freezes at the name too before declining the call. Oh, hell, no. Hell, no. I shake my head and gather the strength to push his chest away. I slam the door behind me as I storm towards the living room.

Tequila. I need more tequila.