ISABELLA
I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel.
Embarrassment? Definitely.
Annoyance? Without a doubt.
A slap-in-the-face kind of hurt? Oh, that one was settling in real nice.
As I climbed the stairs to Logan’s room, I forced myself to keep my head high, my shoulders squared, my face a carefully composed mask of indifference.
But inside? Inside, I felt like I’d just been hit by a truck. Not a real truck, more like a sleek, black, ridiculously expensive sports car driven by none other than Logan himself.
His voice drifted up the hallway, carefree and warm, nothing like the sharp, dismissive tone he’d used on me just minutes ago.
I paused at the door, fingers tightening around the knob as I listened to the easy laughter between him and his friend.
They were talking about some
