Wild(105)

            “You said you wish you could do things over,” he supplied, the blue of his eyes washing over me.

            I nodded, remembering.

            He continued, his voice deep and raw and hitting me in places that I never knew a voice could touch. “Because I don’t want to do anything over. Every minute . . . I’d do every fucking minute of it again even if that’s all I could have. But I gotta know. Is it? Do you want more?” He lifted a hand, motioning vaguely to where I stood. “Or are you staying here?”

            “I don’t want to stay here,” I said in a rush.

            “Good. Because I drove all this way hoping to hear you say that.”

            The air released from me in a whoosh. Home. Dartford. Him. Yes. YES. Tears welled up in my eyes.

            “Is everything all right, miss?” The hostess, an older lady, looked Logan over in his faded jeans and T-shirt disapprovingly.

            And I didn’t care. I nodded dumbly, happiness rolling through me.

            Logan watched me closely, his blue gaze intense, peeling away my layers.

            “Everything is . . . great.”

            Logan closed the distance between us then. He seized me by the face, his touch all at once gentle and rough. His need was palpable. I knew it, recognized it, because it was the same for me.

            His hands cupped my cheeks. His fingers splayed wide, each finger a burning imprint. “People wait their whole lives for this. Sometimes half their lives pass before they find it. Sometimes they never do. They settle for something else. Or nothing at all. But we found each other now, Georgia. Do you know how lucky that makes us?”

            My chest tightened, emotion clogging my throat, but reality was there, biting at the edges of this beautiful moment, threatening to burst the bubble with the question of how I could make this all work. Love wasn’t going to feed and clothe me and get me through school. “I know, but . . . my parents—”

            “What do you want, Georgia?”

            He was the first person to ask me that. To care what I wanted. My mother never once asked me what I wanted. She never asked what was important to me.

            “I came here for you, Georgia, but if you really want to stay here . . .” He released a deep breath and dropped his hands from my face. “I’ll go.”

            A sob burst from my lips. “No. I want you! I want to be with you.” I reached for him, grabbing hold of his head and tugging his face down to mine. “Don’t you dare stop fighting for me now. For us.”

            I couldn’t let him go. I chose him. The rest I would figure out.

            He kissed me, swallowing the sound of my sob. His hands flattened against my back and hauled me against him.

            The hostess sputtered from where she stood a few feet away, but we ignored her.

            “I won’t,” he muttered between hot, fevered kisses. “Never.”

            “You little whore.”

            I tore my mouth from Logan with a gasp to see Harris standing just beyond us with hands balled at his sides. “I came here tonight willing to give you a second chance and you’re ready to spread your legs for this loser who got you arrested.” Logan’s arm tensed under my fingers.

            “Harris, enough!” Words burned on my tongue. I wanted to hurl insults at him—and not even for calling me a whore. I wanted to hurt him for calling Logan a loser.

            “No, this was good,” Harris continued. “I needed to see this. Like I would even want to put my dick where this punk has been.”