#ysls

Logan Delos was a pain in your ass.

His father Jim and your father, Daryl, had been friends since their Scroll & Key days at Yale. They became close in the secret society and continued their close brotherhood as Jim went on to start up Delos and your father became a grossly successful hedge fund manager. From there, Daryl married your mother Bernie, an OBGYN whom he met at a fundraiser for housing for teens in transition. The two fell in love and united their empires, having you shortly after.

Growing up, this meant you wanted for nothing. You took horseback riding lessons with your own horse, had access to the best education private school could provide, and membership to a highly exclusive country club, where your family spent most weekends. It was a comfortable, predictable life, and one you rather enjoyed. There was only one problem.

Logan Delos.

You were objectively privileged- you knew you were, no sense in denying it. But Logan was capital ‘S’ Spoiled. Ungrateful. Entitled. Uppity. He was the poster child of country club elitist. This was only compounded by the fact that Logan was extremely attractive and he damn well knew it. Logan was quick to flash his perfect, bright smile, bat his dark brown eyes, run his long fingers through his black hair if he knew it would get him what he wanted. All the girls, and a lot of the boys, in your social circle simply fawned over him, thought he was just so charming. And sure, perhaps on the surface, Logan was all of those things. Everything Logan did was so spectacular and so impressive and he was just so funny. That’s what he’d have everyone believe, anyways. You didn’t see what the big deal was. He was a good-looking boy who could pull an A in Biology. Revolutionary. But you liked to think you could see right through him and understood he was all surface and no depth.

Much to your dismay, you constantly found yourself in his presence. Jim and your father spent a lot of their free time golfing together, drinking together, hosting dinners together. Even marriage and fatherhood hadn’t managed to drive a wedge between the two. Unfortunately, that meant having Logan as some kind of weird, unwanted, unwelcome brother. Your only real reprieve was school, since he went to an all-boys prep school. Small blessings.

Even worse than that, Logan made his attraction to you plain as day. It started when you were both maybe 13, right when his hormones came in like a fucking tornado. He looked at you with hearts in his eyes, chased you all around Liberty National Country Club, and asked you out at least once a month for the last four years, each time met with a resounding “no” from you. This never seemed to deter him, though, even if he did find himself a flavor of the week to occupy his time between asking you out. Not only were boys and dating the furthest thing from your mind- school came first, of course- if you were at all interesting in dating, it sure as hell wouldn’t be Logan fucking Delos.

It was another afternoon spent at Liberty National, Jim and Daryl getting in 18 holes on one of the last nice autumn afternoons. You were posted up in the clubhouse, looking east out of the massive glass windows, taking in the boats on the Upper Bay. No matter how many times you’d seen it over the last 17 years, the Statue of Liberty and the Manhattan skyline still captured a corner of your imagination. You opened up the little notebook you always carried with you and got swept up in journaling. Sometimes, you wrote poems, sometimes musings. And sometimes, you simply wrote rants you wished you could scream from the top of your lungs, but held them in because doing so would be “un-ladylike”.

“Whatcha got there, hm?” Logan asked from over your shoulder, trying to peer at what you had written on the pages.

“None of your business,” you spat, slamming the notebook closed and slipping it back into your backpack.

“C’mon, you’ve gotta show me your writing one of these days.” Logan perched himself on the edge of the table, looking down at you with that annoying smirk that drove you up a fucking tree.

“I certainly do not,” you huffed, getting up and throwing your backpack on your shoulder. “Why do you care so much anyways?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ve got the next Catcher In The Rye in there. What if I was the first one to read it and publish it and make millions?” he smiled as he followed alongside you, clearly not taking the hint that you didn’t want his company. You simply deadpanned and rolled your eyes, not breaking your stride. Logan was still hot on your heel when you finally whipped around abruptly, stopping him in his tracks.

“Why the fuck are you still following me?” you growled.

“You know I love your company. Besides, we only have next summer together before we leave for school. I think we should squeeze in all the quality time that we can,” Logan smiled. You knew he was only doing this to annoy you but goddamn, it was working. “Where are you going to college again?”

“I have told you eight hundred million times, I am going to Yale. Let me say that again- Yale! So don’t ask me again!” you huffed, taking off again for the car.

“Aw, man. You mean you won’t be with me at Columbia? Here I was hoping I’d pledge Sigma Alpha Epsilon, you’d pledge Sigma Delta, and we’d be the unstoppable king and queen of campus,” he sighed, a little bit longing. “Just picture it.” Logan’s arm was now draped over your shoulder as he gestured in front of you, setting the scene for this imaginary future. “You and me going on dates in Central Park, me sneaking into your room late at night, getting drunk and making out in the middle of a party so no other guys there get any ideas.” You shook off his arm then and quickly stepped away.

“No thank you. Guess it just wasn’t meant to be,” you said with a fake smile and exaggerated shrug.

“Oh well. New Haven is only, what? An hour and a half away? We can make long distance work.”

“If you visit me even one time while I’m at school, I will personally make sure you are physically unable to reproduce,” you hiss as you open the back door and toss your backpack inside.

“That a promise?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, fuck off.” You take your seat in the back, hand on the door handle. “You’re so disgusting.” Logan only laughed, clearly pleased with your discomfort.

“You have no idea,” he chuckled darkly. “So, I’ll see you Wednesday?”

You opened your mouth to cuss him out again, turn down his date again. But then you closed your mouth. Fuck. You’d forgotten all about Juliet’s, Logan’s younger sister, birthday dinner. “Yeah. Wednesday,” you grumbled without looking at Logan, slamming the door shut before he could get another word in.