“That’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Glad you’re keeping track.”
“I’m really not.”
“Would you like to join me?” He grinned, one side of his mouth curling slyly.
“Are you here by yourself?”
His grin widened. He took a step back and I got a clear view of our surroundings—the three women standing behind him, all watching me curiously. They looked exotic, long dark hair that looked a lot like mine, and near-perfect bodies, as showcased by the tight, revealing clothes they wore. Under any other circumstance, I would see them at the gym or walking in the street and think nothing of them, but knowing they were here with Logan annoyed me.
I met his eyes, tilting my chin up. “I have no desire to be part of your harem.”
He was silent for a beat. “Suit yourself, if you want to live like a peasant.”
“Have fun pretending you’re royalty,” I said as he turned around. “Let me know if it makes you any less lonely.”
He didn’t face me so I couldn’t see his reaction, but I knew I’d hit a sore spot. Max approached me as I watched Logan and his women walk to their table—right up front by the entrance, where everyone would surely see him.
“That looked intense,” Max said.
I shrugged, noncommittal. By the time we were shown to our table, I was starving. We followed behind the perky hostess and were seated right beside Logan. Of course. That would be my luck. The tables in this place were set in a way that it was as if you were having dinner with the entire restaurant—tiny tables with such a small separation between them that they seemed more like a giant table that sat forty people at once. Max stood back as if he preferred the lone seat on the other side. I stood beside him because I did not want to share the booth with Logan. Logan was oblivious because he was too busy leaning into the girl beside him to look up and realize I was standing there. I swore under my breath, blood simmering, as I stepped forward and sat in the booth. I bumped him with my purse as I sat down. At least I had a shield between us, albeit a small one.
“You were finally seated,” he said.
Ignoring him, I picked up my oversized menu and focused on it. He was being a jerk tonight. He’d been so nice this morning, letting me sleep in his bed, where he supposedly had no germs. Looking at the three girls he was with I assumed that was highly doubtful. I shook that thought away and focused on the words in front of me—ham croquettes sounded good. Sangria! I could totally go for a sangria right now.
“I know two things I want.” I set down the menu and looked at Max, across from me. “Do you know what you want?”
“I know what I want,” Logan said beside me. I turned my head toward him. It was a mistake. Hazy, lustful eyes met mine, making my stomach flip flop.
“I didn’t ask you.”
“You might be interested in hearing it though.” He scooted over a little. My hand shot to my purse, keeping it upright. My shield.
“Why are you talking to me?” I gripped my purse. “You have three beautiful women at your table.”
“But you’re in this one.”
“Logan.” I gaped at him. “I’m here with someone.”
“On a date?” His arm moved and suddenly I felt his fingers caressing my knuckles. I tightened them more, hating the way my entire body seemed to come alive to his touch, hating the way I swayed a little toward him. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“Huh?” I yanked my hand from beneath his reach and confined myself to the small area I was allotted.
“Hey, Paper Boy,” he said, looking at Max, whose face was hidden behind his menu.
He glanced over it. “What?”
“You do know Amelia has a boyfriend, right?”
“I do not have a boyfriend.” I frowned. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Yeah, you do.” Logan’s eyebrows furrowed. “Tall, black guy.”
“You mean Travis,” I said.
“I didn’t catch his name.”
“Well, his name is Travis.”
“And what exactly is Travis to you, if not your boyfriend? Friend with benefits?”
“What he is to me is exactly none of your fucking business,” I snapped, picking my menu back up. What the hell was taking this waitress so long? “Mind your harem and leave Max and I alone.”
“My harem,” he repeated, his eyes alight with amusement. “You really are stuck on that.”
“And you’re drunk and obnoxious. Please let us eat our dinner in peace.”
His eyes searched mine for a beat, then two, seconds that flew by, but felt like an eternity when he was looking at me like that from this close. Finally, without another word, he backed up and started eating whatever was in front of him. I exhaled. Max raised an eyebrow. I shook my head in response, hoping he could sense that I was just as annoyed as he was.
As I scanned the menu, trying really hard not to focus on his presence, one of the girls started laughing loudly, making a show out of whatever he was saying. My hands gripped the paper menu. Finally, the waitress came by and took our orders. When she left, I felt myself ease up a little. Logan stayed on his side of the booth, and I stayed on the other side of my purse.
Max started talking to me about the job he had lined up in Philadelphia, a newspaper where his older brother worked and he’d managed to interview with. It was pretty much in the bag for him. He hoped to work his way up in sports journalism specifically. I told him about how I really wanted to work for an esteemed journal, writing significant stories, but how my father expected me to join in on the family business and I wasn’t sure how things would ultimately play out.
“Maybe your dad can buy a newspaper and you can write for the paper.”
“Oh my God.” I laughed.
“What? I’m sure he can buy one.”
“He can, but he wouldn’t.”
“So you do it.”
“Me?” I laughed harder, then stopped. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. Why not? You can start your own digital paper. It’ll be small for a while, but then you’d expand. I’d write for you.” He smiled. “Gratis.”
“That’s very kind of you.” I smiled back. “But even if I wanted to do that, I couldn’t. That would take marketing and effort to push out there for people to actually read it and I don’t have money to start one.”
“You . . . you don’t have the money?” he cocked his head. “Really?”
“I’m not rich, Max. My parents are.”
“Spoken like a true rich girl.”
“But it’s true.” I lifted the Sangria in front of me and took a big sip. People always assumed because my parents had all this money that it meant I did as well. Sure, I got to reap the benefits of it all—I had all of the designer clothes, took trips at the drop of a hat, but it was all measured by how much they felt I deserved at the moment. Right now, with no Travis and attending dad’s school of choice, I could probably buy myself a Porsche and he wouldn’t bat an eye. Last year around this time, when I wasn’t calling home and they didn’t approve of any of my choices? Well, my credit card was locked after my fifth Uber ride.