Logan glances down instinctively when he saw her towel drop, eyes widening just barely as he stared shamelessly down at her. Well, he was fucked. Any chance of taking the moral high ground was out the window by then. He watched her as she turned away from him, giving him an open invitation into her bed. A better man would’ve walked away. He wasn’t a better man.<br/><br/>He reached for the button of his jeans, undoing it quickly so the denim dropped to his ankles, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxers, which were surprisingly mostly dry. He didn’t hesitate to hook his thumbs in the hem, sending his boxers to the ground with his jeans, leaving him as bare as her. His lower half was as tanned as his upper, with a barely-visible tanline at his waistline and mid thigh. On his hip was a splash of color, a vivid, green shamrock about an inch wide and tall that he’d gotten inked on when he was 19 and drunk, and immediately regret when he saw it the next morning.<br/><br/>He moved slowly to be on the bed, lifting one hand to rest on her hip, pulling her against him abruptly, her back against his front. “You sure about this? I mean, we don’t... obviously, we don’t have to do anything.” He said quietly, swallowing hard. Hell, when was the last time he felt so nervous in front of anyone? He’d earned his confidence, but he felt almost vulnerable with Kathy. Probably because his usual hookups were strangers, people he’d never met before and would never meet again. Kathy knew him better than anyone, aside from Matt. It was only the alcohol fogging his brain that made him think that there was any sense to what they were doing, but it was doing a damned good job. As he waited for a response, his lips skimmed her neck, her shoulder, the hand on her hip slowly sliding upward.