Of Painted Water (Logan Lerman Love Story)

Glitter=Herpes

So uhhh.... haven't updated in a while... sorry. I really did want to keep going, but it got really hard to write these chapters! To be fair, I did say somewhere that my updates on all story's would be pretty wonky. Oh well, here it is. I decided that I'm not going to make this dramatic as shit, because that doesn't happen at all in celebrity romances. They will have some challenges, though, I'll tell you that. Enjoy, VOTE, COMMENT. LOVE YOU GUYS!

My relationship with Logan was slowly getting better and better, if that's even possible. Slowly I felt more and more attracted to him (again; if that's even possible) and more relaxed when spending time with him.

It was almost as if that date, the one where I pretty much demolished a whole legion of grass with my body, had been a defining moment. Us deciding to call one another girlfriend and boyfriend was basically a contract saying 'Hey I think you're the best thing since sliced bread and this is me putting myself out there'.

I knew with a special certainty that Logan Lerman liked me, almost a crazy amount, and didn't care that I was practically insane. He liked crazy-haired me, Nikki (Nik) Baily, and I didn't have to be self-conscious about anything with him.

I think every relationship has certain points like that, where you decide that you can just do the stupidest shit, and the other person doesn't do anything. Or they join in, take your pick.

I squinted down at my phone, my lips puckering slightly, examining the message that lit up my dark room like some sort of light saber. Darth Vader would be jealous.

'Come over. I miss you! xo Log'

He had taken to calling himself that whenever we hung out after seeing it in my contacts list. I think he had been searching for himself so that he could change his name in my phone to something ridiculous (Robin is forever known to the inhabitants of my phone as 'That Bitch'... If people inhabited my phone, that is...) but decided to leave it.

It was five in the frickin morning.

No way in hell was I going to start up the car so that I could drive over to his (newly acquired) apartment.

Did you see that last sentence? Yes, he finally moved out! I think part of the reason was because we had nowhere else to hang out, and he didn't want his family to figure out that we're dating. We have this mutual agreement that no one should know about us, because it would cause more shit than we needed.

So Logan bought himself a little place about seventeen minutes from my house, and we chill there all the time. As in, most of my summer has been officially spent on his leather couch.

We play this game, and it has to be the most fun thing since the invention of non-stick spray.

Because it's summer in Cali, and horribly hot everywhere we go, we sit on his leather couch for long periods of time, then time each other to see who can get up faster. Of course, our disgustingly clammy skin sticks to the fabric of the sofa, causing extreme pain for the both of us. Hence, the timer.

I currently hold the high score (less than a second. Be jealous) and he tries to beat me every time. He loses every time.

But anyways, back to present tense.

This amazing guy that is quickly stealing my heart is asking me to come over to his apartment at five in the fucking morning.

With a loud groan into my pillow I get up, shoving a hand through my mass of tangled curls and instantly regretting it when I realize my hand is stuck.

"Shit, shit, shit..." I breath, starting to panic. Hand...stuck...hair....hurts!

With deep breaths I stumble to the bathroom, using one hand to try and text Logan back. Unfortunately, it turns out looking a little something like this: stummmf hadfe en mu haaaaarrrr pludz hilt.