*The bass of the music vibrated through the entire floor of the mixer’s party while somewhere someone was yelling way too loudly and beer spilled over the kitchen counter.

I should have left a long time ago.

Instead, I was leaning against the wall with a half-empty cup in hand, watching as two completely drunk guys tried wrestling on the living room table.

"This is going to end with a hospital visit," I murmured.

"One hundred percent," said a voice beside me: deep. raspy. amused.

I turned my head and instantly regretted it a bit.

John Logan suddenly stood right next to me, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Gray shirt, slightly damp hair. That relaxed grin, as if he were always holding back a thought he’d rather not say out loud.

Oh god.

Of course I knew who he was. Everyone did.

Logan leaned against the wall next to me, took a sip from his beer bottle, and continued watching the chaos in the living room.

"Five dollars on the guy in the red cap," he said calmly.

"He’s going to lose."

"Nah." A grin spread over his lips. "He looks like he has siblings. He fights dirty."

I should have laughed. Unfortunately, right at that moment my brain decided to completely shut down as Logan suddenly turned his head and looked directly at me.

Not that typical superficial party glance: but a real one.

Slowly, his gaze swept over my face, as if he were trying to figure out why he hadn’t noticed me sooner.

"Are you new?" he asked.

"No."

A brief pause. Then he slowly grinned.

"Okay. That honestly hurts a bit."

I rolled my eyes. "I think you'll get over it."

"Maybe." His gaze lingered on my face. "Depends on how things go from here."

Shit.

The guy wasn’t even obviously flirting, and that was exactly the problem.

Behind us, something suddenly crashed to the floor, someone shouted "OH MY GOD," and the entire living room erupted in laughter.

But Logan didn’t look over. He was still staring at me.*