Football players are assholes. I know; I'm related to their king. My older, and annoyingly overprotective, brother Jake is the star quarterback at Santa Cruz High School. I love him but hate living in his shadow. Everyone worshiping the air he breat...
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Logan's name came out in a breathy whisper. What the fuck was he doing here!?
"There's the jelly to my peanut butter." His smirk widened and he patted the space at his table. "Hi, baby."
I gasped and blinked, as if Logan Hightower, the guy who my brother warned me to stay away from and who attended school almost an hour from here, wasn't standing right in front of me. Why was he standing right in front of me?
"Eleanor, wash your hands and jump right in." Karen looped an apron over my head, tied it behind my back, and pointed to the kitchen sink.
I trudged my feet in slow motion to the sink. My thoughts turned muddier. How was he here? It couldn't be a coincidence. In a blink, I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Logan with my hair collected in a net. Or, his elbow level to my shoulder.
Did he plan this? Why isn't he at football practice?
Thank God Jake isn't picking me up.
If he found out Logan and I were together... Not together-together, but this wasn't good. The kitchen walls narrowed and I swallowed the dryness in the back of my throat. I couldn't bail on this event. What do I do?
Karen's voice broke through my jumbled thoughts. "I appreciate all your help making meals today so I can catch up on bookwork."
Yes. Making meals. That's it. Never mind the elbow not subtly poking my arm.
She nodded at my empty table space. "Sandwiches are pretty self-explanatory, just wrap them in foil once you're done, but Nina, Meredith, and Earl can help if you four need anything."
Then, she abandoned me. I tried a few deep breaths, but my heart hammered into my chest walls. Once again, my thoughts weren't much help.
Jake will kill me. No, he won't. He doesn't even know where I am. Play it cool, Ellie. It's a charity. Don't make a scene. His eyes look as blue as the ocean today. No, Ellie. You hate the beach, remember?
I reached into a box of plastic gloves on the table and grabbed a pair. All ten fingers stuck inside each sleeve as if my hands were sweaty or something.
Stop it, Ellie. Make some damn sandwiches. You have an escape vehicle. Just. Don't. Look. At. Him.
"You going to take all day with that?" Logan clicked his tongue. "Not very philanthropic, baby."
"Philanthropic," I muttered and snapped the second glove on like a surgeon. I was surprised he even knew what it meant. "You're like a cockroach I can't squish."
"About time you pull your weight." He spread peanut butter on a piece of bread that fit in his palm. "Thought maybe you weren't going to show up."
"My weight is not even half of yours." I pretended to glance disapprovingly over his body as if there wasn't a freaking model's build with rock-solid pectoral muscles staring back.
