Fuck. Nice choice of words, asshole.

We walked half a block until we were at a baseball field. She led the way to a swing-set, and sat down. I did the same, sitting opposite, so we were face to face. She smiled at me, but it was off—it didn't reach her eyes. Her legs pushed off the ground only enough so that they straightened. Her eyes focused on the dirt underneath us.

Her arms were still crossed with her hands tucked under them. She must've been cold. I pulled the full can of beer out of my sweater pocket and shrugged out of it, stood up, and then placed it around her shoulders.

"Oh," she said surprised. "You don't have to do that."

I sat back on the swing. "It's fine."

She put her arms through the holes and zipped it up. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

8

Amanda

Being in his sweater was a bad idea. I could smell him all around me. I let it control me for a second, but only a second, before I got my bearings back.

I looked at our surroundings. It was so dark, the only light coming from the moon and the one street lamp lighting part of the field.

Of course we'd end up at a baseball field. I laughed under my breath. "Do you miss it?" I asked him, jerking my head towards the field

"Of course I do, Amanda. Every day." His words were rushed. It surprised me. It must've shown in my expression because his eyes went huge, and then looked towards the field. "Oh," he said. "You mean baseball? Um. Yes, I guess. Not really, no. I mean . . . I don't know," he rambled under his breath, and then shook his hand out a couple of times before he examined it again.

Something was wrong.

"Logan, are you okay?" I stopped swinging and faced him.

"Yes." His voice was hoarse.

"You keep looking at your hand."

He focused on it again. I followed his gaze. "It won't stop shaking," he said.

I watched as his fingers trembled. He flexed them a few times. "Why?"

He laughed once. "You make me nervous," he stated. "You've always made me nervous." He looked up, his gaze intense. "I guess nothing's changed."

I looked away. I felt myself coming undone, and I couldn't have that. "Everything's changed," I told him.

It was the truth.

Then we just sat there, in the deafening silence of our own thoughts.

After a while, I stood up. I didn't know why, but sitting there with him was too much. It was too hard. But it was also too easy—it shouldn't be easy.

He stood, too. "I wrote you."

I sucked in a breath. "I know. I got it."

He just nodded and looked away. I didn't think it was necessary to tell him I kept it in my handbag and carried it everywhere.

"Look . . ." he said, his hands going in his pockets. "Can we just talk for a bit? I know that I'm the last person on earth you wanna be seeing, but I don't want this to be awkward, and I know that I have no right to ask anything from you, at all, but I don't know . . ." He shrugged, "it would just mean a lot, if you could just talk to me . . . for a bit . . ."

He took my hand in his and placed it flat against his heart. I could feel it pounding against my palm. He ducked his head so he could look clearly into my eyes. "Please, Amanda," he pleaded.

He covered my hand with his and placed the other on the side of my face.

I stopped breathing. All I could hear was the blood pumping in my ears.

Thump, thump, I felt against his chest.

His mouth parted, but he didn't move. His eyes stayed focused on mine. He rubbed his thumb against my cheek. "Please," he said again.

"Okay." I nodded.

"Yeah?" His features brightened.

I couldn't help the smile that formed. "Sure."

He led me onto the field and stopped in the middle, never once releasing my hand. Lying down, flat on his back, he tugged my hand until I was down on the ground. I sat next to him, and waited, but he just looked up at the stars and stayed silent. Then, finally, "You hate me, don't you?"

I tried to silence my gasp, but I don't know if it worked. "I want to," I told him truthfully. "I mean—how could I not, right?"

His eyes finally left the stars and focused on me.

He waited for me to continue, so I did. "There's so many reasons why I should hate you, but I can't, Logan." I swallowed the knot in my throat. "I can't hate you," I repeated. "But I can't feel anything else for you."

Lie.

He sniffed once and nodded, looking back at the stars. "So I take it you’re still at UNC?"

My body relaxed. I could do this. We could talk. "Yup."

"Still childcare?"

My eyebrows pinched. "No, um, I changed majors."

He sat up, a smile taking over his face. "Really? To what? Nursing?"

"You don't know?" He had to know.

He shook his head. "No," he laughed out. "Why would I know?"

"Your dad didn't tell you?"

"What? Why would my dad tell me?" He sat up straighter, and turned his entire body to face me.

I got more confused. "Wait. Your dad knows you're home, right?"

He laughed again. "Yes, of course he knows I'm home. What are you talking about?"

"Huh."

"Huh?" he asked. "What does 'huh' mean?" He bit his lip, but his smile still came through, causing his beautiful damn dimples to appear.