Page 7 of Viking

He shifts slightly beside me, and I freeze, biting my lip. Will he feel awkward when he wakes up?

I can’t blame him. After all, we met less than twelve hours ago, drawn together by some unexplainable chemistry that pulled me in faster than I could stop it.

But I’d felt alive with him. There is no other way to describe it. He’d seen me—not just the surface me, but the me who craves adventure even though I always play it safe. The me who wants more than just plans and lists and predictable, immaculate outcomes.

I glance at him again, running my hands over my face and through last night’s knotted curls. His face is so relaxed now, but there is strength in the set of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble along his skin. He stretches his right arm across the bed, and I can’t help but notice the definition of muscle beneath the dark lines of his tattoos. My gaze traces the ink I’d been too distracted to study last night. It suits him—strong and intricate, bold but not overpowering. I see the partial lines of what looks to be a broken sword, the handle nearly touching his hand on the side of his forearm, the jagged blade reaching up toward his elbow and ending abruptly where it’s intersected by a very detailed fighter jet.

The self-deprecating part of me scoffs. Of course he’s this perfect. But that’s what the military does—it takes lanky, immature boys and shapes them into men. Irresistible men. Men who belong to something bigger than themselves. The kind you can’t help but look at, even knowing you’ll always come second. My mom is proof of that. So am I. And once Logan finishes training, he’ll be sent across the world, chasing missions and orders. He flies F-22s—I know exactly what that means.

A knot of disappointment is heavy in my chest. I’ll never see him again. That’s the deal, though. This was one night, a memory to take with me back to Virginia, back to my real life—a reminder that for one moment, I’d let myself really live, regardless of the inevitable ending.

Logan isn’t mine to keep and I’m not the type of girl to cling to things that aren’t meant to be.

I slip out of bed, carefully tiptoeing toward the bathroom. I can’t exactly leave, this is my hotel room, but I also can’t stay in bed with Logan sleeping so peacefully beside me. Not when my thoughts are racing like this.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and open the group chat with Alinna and Ivy.

LILA: 7:30 still to meet for the hike?

Before I lose my nerve, I text again.

LILA: Don’t freak out, but I brought Logan back to my room last night.

I make my way to the bathroom, shutting the door as softly as I can. I lean back against it, sliding to the floor, and focus on the cool tile against my overheated skin.

A buzz comes from my phone.

IVY: That’s our girl! ;) you better spill!

IVY: And yeah, 7:30.

Before I can answer, Alinna chimes in.

ALINNA: Are you okay? Are we calling an extraction team or are you just bragging?

I smile despite myself. They’ll surely pull every detail out of me once I see them. I glance at the clock on my phone: 6:48 a.m. I have just enough time to shower and get myself together.

I peel off the oversized T-shirt I’d thrown on at some point during the night, twist my hair into a clip on top of my head, and step into the shower. The warm water pours over my back, soothing me.

My mind drifts back to Logan. The way he’d kissed me—slow, deliberate, as if he’d had all the time in the world. The way his hands had felt on my skin, calloused, careful.

I shake my head and reach for the face wash.

There is something about him that feels so easy, so natural.

I sigh, rinsing my face. It doesn’t matter how I feel. This was a one-night thing.

By the time I step out of the shower, my resolve is back. I wrap a towel around myself and get dressed in the slate-blue leggings and matching one-strap cropped tank I’d brought for the hike. The color reminds me of Logan’s eyes. I outwardly groan.

I quickly run my curling iron through my long hair, adding some loose waves, and then apply mascara to my lashes before glancing at my reflection in the mirror. My skin is glowing, whether from the shower or from last night, I’m not sure. Either way, I look different. Lighter.

I take a calming breath and open the bathroom door.

Logan’s sitting up in bed looking at something on his phone. The sheet rests low on his waist, his sculpted body on full display in the soft morning light. His gaze flicks to me as I step into the room, and a slow, lazy smile spreads across his handsome face. “Morning,” he says, his voice rough with sleep, the rasp of it sliding over my skin like a caress. He drops his phone on the bed beside him.

“Morning,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathless. I cross the room to grab my sneakers, hyper-aware of every inch of space between us. My fingers fumble with the laces as I kneel.

“You’re up early,” he says, leaning back against the headboard. His bicep flexes as he rests his arm behind his head, the casual sprawl of him almost criminal.