PREVIEW

... oor?

No, back up.

How the fuck does Logan Everett know where I live? Stalker vibes much?

And yet I'm still scrambling to open the door, my body not on the same wavelength as my brain.

Said brain short-circuits at the sight before me. Logan stands in my hallway like some divine punishment for my sins. His worn t-shirt clings to his chest, outlining every ridge and valley of his sculpted torso. The jeans riding low on his hips aren't helping my mental state either. ...

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