“I got no call to say shit about who she takes…” Christ, I had to swallow the bile down.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that when you can’t even say the words.”
Asshole.
“You’re up,” Dylan interrupted before I could make more of a fool out of myself.
Over the next hour, I played pool, I drank, I engaged in conversation, and I stewed. Lauren came and went. Stopping at the table Quinn and Shiloh were sitting at to laugh with her girlfriends before she went back to the bar to talk to the guy she’d played pool with. Brice and Luke had gone between the women and the pool table, enjoying their women’s company between games.
I was biding my time until I could duck out without looking like an asshole. I was also waiting for my chance to get Lauren alone. And as luck would have it, I’d finished my last beer as Lauren went down the hallway to the bathrooms.
I slid off my stool to follow. I didn’t miss the panicked look on Shiloh’s face, and Luke tucking his woman close so she couldn’t run to her friend’s rescue.
I was done playing games.
This had to end once and for all.
4
What am I doing? I silently asked myself while staring at my reflection in the mirror.
I had no answer. But I did have a headache and was ready to leave. I turned off the faucet and gave my hands a good shake over the sink before I glanced around the bathroom for a paper towel dispenser. Spying the environmentally friendly hand dryer, I used my elbow to turn the damn thing on wondering which was better in the grand scheme of conservation—the electricity used to blow hot air or the tree cut down to make the paper towels. Then I remembered the plastic trash bag the towel got thrown into and fuel the garbage truck used to haul the trash and the landfill it drove to and I figured the use of electricity won out.
Those were my thoughts. Instead of thinking about how much my life had changed in a week. How humiliated I was. How stupid I felt. How cool my friends were being and not rubbing it in that they all sensed something was off with my boyfriend yet I hadn’t listened.
Instead of thinking about the nice guy waiting for me at the bar and how I was using him to piss off Logan, and how wrong it was, but every time I’d caught Logan staring at me my blood boiled. He’d made it painfully, abundantly clear he had no interest in me yet he was staring at me like he was the wounded party.
I reckon Nice Guy Wayne had figured out during our second game of pool I wasn’t interested despite my flirty banter. He’d gone from hopeful to friendly. Pre-Logan, I might’ve given Wayne a shot. But Post-Guy Stevens that was never going to happen. Nice guys are really assholes lying in wait. And assholes are just assholes. Logan taught me that last part.
So what the hell was I doing still sitting with Wayne at the bar?
Pissing Logan off.
Going home was my best course of action.
I needed to do that pronto.
With my hands as dry as they were going to get from the hot air blowing on them I hitched my purse strap higher on my shoulder and turned to leave the bathroom.
I’ll say goodbye to Shiloh and Quinn, then…
I was viciously pulled from my thoughts when the dryer shut off, plunging the bathroom into silence, but that wasn’t what had me frozen. That wasn’t what had my heart galloping and my breath coming out in shallow pants. The tall, imposing man that I hadn’t heard enter over the damn hand dryer, scowling at me was what had my feet rooted and my pulse pounding.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
Logan said nothing but his frown deepened.
“This is the women’s bathroom,” I reminded him.
He responded by turning the lock on the door.
“What are you…”
“You’re done,” he told me.
Why did I have to love his deep, growly voice?
“Done with what?”
“Whatever game you’re playing.”
“What are you talking about?”
It was a dumb question. I was fairly certain he knew what I was doing with Wayne.
“The game where you avoid me.”
Oh.
That wasn’t what I’d expected. Logan made an art form out of evading. He’d mastered the skill of leaving a room minutes after I’d entered. Since I’d met him he’d controlled every interaction, keeping them short and to the point. And now he was accusing me of avoiding him?
Was he crazy?
“Just playing by your rules.”
“Those rules have changed.”
It was a statement that sounded like a warning.
“Oh, no, you don’t get to change the rules halfway through the game. You set the board, Logan. You drew the lines. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me. We stay this course. You in your corner, me in mine.”
All it took was two long strides and he was in my personal space.
Danger. Danger. Danger.
Logan’s woodsy cologne perfumed the air around me, a scent I loved way too much. A scent I’d wished he left behind on my sheets after he rolled out of my bed. A wish I’d wished way too many times over the months.
Self-preservation told me to step away.
Self-respect told me to stand my ground.
Survival won out. I backed up until I hit the cold tile wall. Mistake. Big, huge, honking mistake. I should’ve rushed past him and escaped. Instead, I’d retreated like a scared animal.
Logan’s eyes blazed with a predatory glow as he stalked forward. Again, he invaded my personal space. This time, however, he didn’t stop when he was close. His left hand went to the wall next to my head, his right went lower near my hip, effectively boxing me in. And if that didn’t scramble my brain enough, he leaned in until his torso was touching mine.
“New game. New rules.” The rasp of his voice grated my skin and I was acutely aware of his presence.
Logan filled up all the space. With each breath he inhaled he stole the oxygen in the room leaving me desperate to escape. His proximity wasn’t dangerous, it was hazardous. Logan was a threat—not only to my peace of mind but to my very existence.
“I like the old game,” I fibbed.
Liar!
I’d hated it from the beginning. Hated I’d do anything to get his attention. Hated he ignored me. Hated that he made me restless and needy. Hated that Logan Haines and his troubled soul was the man who was meant to be mine. I loathed the day I met him and my stupid heart leaped to life.
I didn’t want to want Logan.
“Bullshit, Ren. You hated it just as much as I did.”
“If you hated it then why’d you play it?”
Logan’s forehead dropped to mine. What he didn’t do was answer. He never fucking answered.
“That’s what I thought. Same game. Same rules.”
I felt the rise and fall of his chest, and with each expansion, I was rethinking my choice of this evening’s bra. The thin material of my bandeau did nothing to stop hard muscles from rubbing against my sensitive nipples. Who the hell am I kidding? I wasn’t thinking about my bra, I was thinking about how good it would feel if there was nothing between us.
Stupid me.
Logan’s forehead lifted off of mine and before I could contemplate his next move his mouth was on mine. His tongue swept my lips. My surprised gasp provided Logan the opportunity, my moan provided the encouragement—Logan didn’t waste either and his tongue surged between my parted lips. He didn’t start slow and tease—he raided. He didn’t coax—he demanded. Logan kissed like he did everything else—aggressively, insistently, commanding. And I willfully followed every glide, every stroke, every brush, until I was lost in sensation.