Forever Logan by Elena Matthews (animal farm read .txt) 📕

She shrugs her shoulders as she makes a left turn onto a residential street, a pretty nice one at that. “You know what? It is what it is. He said he’d make it up to me tomorrow night.”

“You should stand him up, see how he likes it,” I offer, disliking the fact that even after being stood up, she’s still willing to go out with him again.

“But the difference between me and a dude is, I’m not an asshole.”

I tilt my head to the side, smirking. “I beg to differ. You’re nothing but an asshole to me.”

“Yeah, but I’m only an asshole to you because you deserve it,” she says as she pulls up into the drive of a two-story house.

“You might be right about that,” I begin, unclipping my seat belt. I inch closer to her until our arms are touching, and the single touch burns all the way to my soul. I keep my voice low when I speak again, “But I do know one thing. If I were lucky enough to go on a date with you, there’s no way I would screw it up by standing you up. He missed out on seeing how amazing you look tonight. He doesn’t deserve a beautiful woman like you.”

The air between us grows thicker, and the temperature rises at least thirty degrees hotter. It’s only slight, but I hear the hitch of her breath, and I know what I feel for her isn’t a one-way street. Her eyes flicker to my mouth, and they stay fixed there for a moment, almost as if she’s contemplating kissing me. Then, her eyes focus back on my face, and like a spell has been lifted, she blinks and pulls back, clearing her throat as she kills the ignition.

“Well, I’ve arrived home in one piece. You can get out of my car now.”

She resumes back to scowling at me, like I’m nothing more than shit on her shoe.

“All right, I’ll leave in peace, so you can do evil voodoo on your boyfriend or pray for his dick to fall off—whatever you chicks do when you’re pissed off.”

A light giggle leaves her throat, and the sound is everything. Just like her.

“If I’m doing voodoo, it’ll be on the guy who almost had me arrested, making my night even shittier.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t like it?” I tell her with a suggestive waggle of my eyebrows.

“Just get out of my car, dipshit,” she says with a no-shit attitude, all the while smiling at me.

I do as I was told and finally exit her car. As I adjust my posture, I glance up to the renovated American Foursquare house with slate-gray finishing, and I notice the curtains twitch in the far-right window.

“I think your roommate is spying on us,” I point out as Ally climbs out of the car.

She gives me a knowing nod as she waves at the person in the window. “That isn’t my roommate, just my mom. Though, since I’m living under their roof again, I kind of am their roommate.”

“You still haven’t found a new place to live yet?” I find myself asking.

She shakes her head. “No,” is all she says.

With the way her eyes downturn and sadness sets in her features, I’m guessing there is more to it. I don’t push her. I can’t even begin to imagine the turmoil she went through, surviving two house fires, mere months from each other. The first one nearly killed Remi, and the second one could have easily killed us all. It nearly did kill Nate and me. Luckily, I’ve always quickly bounced back from any kind of trauma, but I know, for some people, mental health can really get into your head.

And because of my strong mentality, I was able to return to work soon after getting shot a few months ago. Yes, I needed physical therapy, and I have the battle scars to show my fight against this messed up world. But, emotionally, none of it fazed me, and I think it gives me an edge as a cop. You can’t be scared each time you walk out the door, thinking that every time you step outside, it could be your last. You can’t think of the what-ifs. You just do it without an ounce of hesitation. It’s why a lot of cops suffer with PTSD—because the stuff we deal with isn’t for the fainthearted, and even those with strong exteriors can crack under the pressure. I’m just relieved that I’m unaffected by a lot of the stuff because if I wasn’t, I would struggle.

However, I think Ally is more of an emotional creature, and that’s okay. It’s okay to not be okay.

I might have saved her life in that last fire, but it kills me that I can’t control any of that inner pain I see in her. She might not realize it, but I see Ally. Every single molecule of her.

“You look like you’re thinking a little too hard over there.”

I blink through my internal thoughts, but just as I’m about to respond with something snarky, the sound of a front door opening pulls my attention, and I see a woman and a man in their late fifties step outside with concern marring their faces. Her parents. Even if I didn’t know we were outside Ally’s parents’ house, just by looking at them, I’d know they’re related. Ally is a perfect creation of her mom with her brunette hair, cute button nose, and complexion, but she is also every bit like her dad with his round face, same blue eyes, and scowl.

“Is everything okay?” Ally’s dad asks his daughter before returning his eyes on me.

Ally flashes me a glare, and her lips pull up in a snarl. “Do you see what you’ve done? Caused unnecessary panic just because you’re a douche,” she says under her breath as she rounds the car beside me.

“You’ll have to define the word okay,” she