CLANDESTINE | HS |

THREE

Logan

I should move my hand.

That's what I tell myself.

Looking down, the pale green color of my nails contrasts so sharply against the color of his pants.

Again, I should move my hand.

"Logan."

Perfect pink, heart shaped lips wrap around each consonant and vowel of my name, the whisper they are delivered on louder than anything I've ever heard before.

With all the effort in the world I tear my eyes away from where my hand lays, looking up at him as the green in his eyes darkens with each passing streetlight.

Swallowing the lump in the back of my throat, I watch the way his tongue rolls across his bottom lip.

"Harry."

Just his name alone should remind me of the person I do my best to avoid.

Despite the fact that there's times when my mind inadvertently paints a picture of him — those mossy, earthen green eyes and that fucking dimple — he still draws my attention like a moth to a flame.

It's like I haven't been able to ever look away from him, even if he never seems to look at me.

I mean, I don't even think I've had more than three conversations with him. Most of those didn't even include dialogue that went deeper than asking to pass the salt or to ask if he knew where the bathroom was.

Yet, he remained the center of my focus.

For someone that couldn't get away from me fast enough, his dark gaze follows the angles and curves of my features for both the longest period of time in my life and also the shortest.

It wasn't fair.

God, it really wasn't fair.

Nothing was fair about the way that I'd wanted Harry Styles ever since the day that I met him.

And fuck it, nothing was fair about the way I wanted him now.

My mind drifts off to that day. The very one where he slipped his warm hand in mine and his words rolled off his tongue, rich and warm.

Truly it felt like an act of the god I don't believe in that my body didn't disintegrate the moment he walked out of the door, out onto the patio where everyone else sat.

From across the space, it felt like every single other person between us just didn't exist anymore — no. Not a damn one of them.

He walked with a certain confidence, loose fitting cream colored pants so casual it should be cruel. His dark, unruly dark hair was just a tad bit longer and pushed back off his forehead, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. A dark shirt opened just a button more than would usually be deemed appropriate, the way it fell open as he walked gave just a little taste of the ink on his chest.

However, that's nothing compared to the ink the short sleeves left on display.

My own sunglasses were missing as I tried my best that day not to stare, but could you blame me? From where I sat, I could distinctly make out the dark, onyx shapes that marked his skin.

Ones I immediately wanted to memorize.

Ones I wanted to trace with my fingertips.

Sunlight kissed his olive skin so effortlessly, so fucking effortlessly. As I sat at a table with Lauren, it wasn't until she practically knocked over the drinks to greet him, pulling him over to introduce us that my stomach doubled over on itself.