Ch-2

LOGAN

I swallow hard, staring at the girl in front of me while my brain does a system restart.

Wait. Did I just hear her right?

I squint at her, fully expecting her to burst out laughing or confess that my best friend had paid her to mess with me. But Kylie doesn't flinch. She just stands there in the middle of Lecture Hall B, holding her head high and looking at me.

Slowly, I stroll over to the instructor’s desk, turn around, and hop up onto the edge. I spread my knees, plant my elbows on them, and look up at her.

"Hold on a second," I say, tilting my head. "What kind of 'help' are we talking about here? Are we talking 'help me hide a body'?"

Her eyes go wide. "Why on earth would I ask you to hide a body?" she mutters, taking a step back.

I track her movement. Does she even recognize sarcasm when it hits her in the face? Guess not when her stress levels are through the roof.

Kylie drops her gaze to her hands, twisting her fingers together. She sucks in a breath, puffs out her chest, and tries again.

"I need you to teach me how to get guys to notice me. To like me."

Silence. Dead silence.

I know the air in this room might have as well turned to lead. You could have heard a pin drop three rows back.

I blink. "Run that by me again?"

Kylie squeezes her eyes shut, inhaling slowly through her nose. When she opens them, her jaw is set. "I need you to train me on how to get guys to like me."

"I heard what you said," I reply.

"Then stop acting like an idiot," she snaps.

"An idiot?" I chuckle, leaning back against the wood. "Kylie, you’ve been living next door for what? A week? And you just barged into an empty hall, chased off my hookup, and now you're asking me for dating lessons?"

"She wasn't a date," Kylie counters, a faint blush creeping up her neck. "And it's not 'dating lessons.' It's... a crash course."

"A crash course," I repeat. "Right."

I take a proper look at her... for what is probably the first time since she’d moved in. Kylie. My best friend's new stepsister.

I'm not about to lie to myself. The very first afternoon I saw her walking up her front steps in precisely an oversized knit top and denim shorts, I’d low-key lost my mind for a second. She was stunning. None of that stick-thin, delicate stuff... she had rich, soft curves that made it impossible not to look. A total head-turner.

Chocolate, silky curls frame a round face that holds these captivating features.

Not that any of that matters right now. What matters is that she's standing here asking me for romantic guidance.

Me.

If anyone on my team hears this, they’d think it's the joke of the century. I'm the guy who has spent two full years on campus dodging commitments, hooking up with any girl I fancy, purely because every time things get warm, someone starts looking for a future I have no interest in giving.

"Okay," I say, folding my arms. "Let's back up. Why me?"

She lets her hands fall to her sides and stare straight into my soul. "Because you're an expert."

I quirk an eyebrow. "An expert? In what?"

"In getting women to fall all over you," she corrects. "You're the lacrosse captain," she says, raising one finger, then two. "You're everywhere on campus. Girls flirt with you every time you walk into a room. I've literally watched them do it in my own living room."

I slouch slightly, letting my smirk stretch. "So you've been keeping tabs on me, Kylie?"

"I have eyes, Logan!" she shoots back, her face flushing a gorgeous, fiery red. "You're constantly in my house!"

"Fair point," I chuckle, enjoying how easily I can rattle her. "So... let me get this straight. You want to learn how to flirt, how to play the game, how to go out on dates... and you picked me as your mentor?"

"You're the only guy I actually know who seems to have it figured out," she blurts out.

The smug grin melts off my face.

"Did something happen?" I ask, dropping the playful tone. "Did some jerk say something to you at a party?"

"No," Kylie murmurs, looking away toward the empty rows of theater seats before dragging her eyes back to mine. "Nothing like that."

"Then what's this about?"

"I've never had a boyfriend," she confesses, her voice dropping down to a quiet whisper.

I keep quiet, letting her speak.

"I've never even been asked out," she continues, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard. "And... I've never been kissed. Not once."

That last part is so faint I have to strain to catch it.

I stare at her.

Never been kissed?

I don't know why that hit me like it did. It's not like people walk around with their relationship history tattooed on their foreheads. But sitting here, looking at her, I can't wrap my head around how any guy could be in the same room as her and not want to get close to her.

"You're twenty," I say gently. "It's not like your time has run out."

"It feels like it has," she says. "When you go twenty years without a single person showing interest, you start drawing conclusions."

"Kylie..."

"It's because of my weight, Logan."

I blink, caught totally off guard. "What?"

"My body," she says, gesturing down at herself. "I'm plus-sized. And I know everyone likes to throw around those cheesy quotes about 'beauty coming in all shapes,' but let's be real. Look at the girls who get hit on at the bars. Look at the girls guys talk about in the locker room. They don't look like me."

"That's bullshit," I say flatly.

"It's not bullshit!" she shoots back. "And the worst part is, I don't hate how I look! I actually like my face. I like my hair. I like my body when I'm in my own bedroom wearing clothes that actually fit me!"

"But then I go out with my friends," she says, her voice cracking slightly, "and it's like I'm invisible. Guys will push past me to talk to them. I stand there like a ghost. And after a while, you can't help but wonder if you're just unlovable."

"You're not unlovable."

"Then why am I always the background character?" she challenges, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. "Maybe guys think I'm fine to look at from afar, but they'd be embarrassed to actually be seen with me. I don't know. And I hate that I'm even saying this! I don't want to be the girl who blames her size for her problems. But when you put yourself out there over and over and get absolute silence in return, what else are you supposed to think?"

I sit there, completely stripped of my usual quick comebacks.

Listening to her, I can feel the crushingly heavy burden she’s been carrying around in silence. How many nights has she laid awake in her room, tearing herself apart with these exact thoughts before finally reaching a breaking point today?

And man, I hate it.

I hate that she feels second-rate. I hate that a bunch of shallow idiots who can't see past their own noses has made her feel like she's not worth a second glance.

"Kylie," I say, sliding off the desk and walking right up to her until there's only a couple of feet between us. "Look at me."

She hesitates, then tilts her head up. She's holding back tears, fighting like crazy not to let them spill over.

"Have you ever considered," I start softly, "that the guys in your circle so far just haven't had any taste?"

She lets out a dry breath, rolling her eyes. "Oh, wonderful advice, Logan. 'Just wait for someone with taste.' I'll be sixty and sitting on a porch with ten cats by the time that happens."

"I'm serious," I urge, taking another half-step in. "Stop letting a bunch of clueless college guys serve as the grand judges of your worth."

Her lips part slightly. "I don't do that."

"You literally just did," I point out gently. "Every time some guy doesn't hit on you at a party, you treat it like an official memo confirming you're not attractive."

"Because that's what it feels like!" she whispers.

"Well, it's wrong," I say, lowering my tone so she had to focus entirely on my voice. "I can't guarantee every guy you meet will fall at your feet. Nobody can promise that. But guys aren't a hive mind. We don't all want the exact same copy-pasted girl from an I*******m feed."

She crosses her arms tight against her chest. "Easy for you to say. You're trying to make me feel better."

"I don't stroke egos for fun, Kylie," I reply flatly. "Ask anyone on campus. I say what I mean."

She looks down at the floor, biting her lower lip.

"For the record," I add, leaning down slightly into her line of sight, "you don't need to look like anyone else to be gorgeous. And you definitely don't need to apologize for taking up space."

"Okay, stop," she interrupts, snapping her head back up to glare at me. "Don't give me a motivational speech. I'm not trying to get you to like me. I don't want to date you, and I definitely don't have a crush on you."

I freeze, then slowly bring a hand up to my chest. "Ouch. There goes my ego."

Kylie snorts, and then she breaks into a laugh.

It's this sudden, bright and unfiltered laugh that transforms her face and lets her dimples show.

I just stare at her.

Damn.

When she smiles like that, it's freaking stunning.

"Okay," she says, catching her breath and wiping her cheek. "Okay, fine."

"Fine what?" I ask, keeping my gaze locked on her.

"Here's what I want," she says, straightening up and counting on her fingers again. "I want to learn how to flirt without stuttering. I want to know how to spot when a guy actually likes me versus when he's just being polite. And I want to get through a conversation with a cute guy without feeling like I need... an oxygen mask."

I fold my arms across my chest, holding back a smile. "Is that the whole list?"

She pauses. She looks down at her sneakers, then looks back up, her eyes locking onto mine.

"I want to know what it feels like when someone kisses me," she whispers.

My throat goes dry. I look at her soft, full lips, then back at the courage shining in her eyes.

"Alright," I say. "I'm in."

"Seriously?"

"Under one strict condition," I say, pointing an index finger at her nose. "Rule number one: You cannot, under any circumstances, fall in love with me."

Kylie stares at me, then she shakes her head. "Logan," she tells me. "Trust me... you are in zero danger of that ever happening."

I plaster a cool, lazy grin onto my face. "Good. Then we have an agreement."

I hold my hand out between us.

Kylie looks down at my hand, then up at my eyes. She reaches out and slides her smaller hand into mine.

"So, when's our first lesson, teacher?" she asks quietly.