I turned to Logan and smiled wide and happy. “Hi.”
He chuckled. “Give me a second to change.”
“Sure.”
He flashed me another quirk of a grin and strode out of the room, his bag in hand, toward what I supposed was the locker rooms.
Things couldn’t have turned out more perfectly. Bobby was probably clutching his steering wheel, seething, right now. Okay, I admit that it didn’t hurt that Logan was hot. Scorching hot if you wanted to get specific. It wasn’t a hardship to go out with him.
Wincing, I dropped a mat on the floor and sat down. That didn’t sound nice. I wouldn’t like it if someone used me like a piece of meat; why would I expect Logan to be any different? Though he had playboy written all over him. He was probably using me as much as I was using him.
Too bad he wasn’t the kind of guy I could take home to my parents. He looked too wild and barely tamed. Not the respectable, socially conscious son-in-law they wanted. But if I was looking to take home someone who looked like he’d pin me to a wall and devour me (oh, god), this man was the one. Although I doubted my parents would appreciate that quality like I did.
Besides, sexual attraction did not make a soul mate. And I doubted we’d be compatible beyond in bed. A guy like Logan couldn’t possibly keep me interested, because after the sex wore out, what would we have to talk about?
“Hey.”
I looked up to find him leaning in the doorway, watching me with an amused glint in his eyes. “Are you meditating?”
“Every chance I get,” I said as I got up and put the mat back.
He stepped aside to let me pass. I sniffed appreciatively. Nice. Real nice. So nice I wished I’d paid more attention to what he smelled like before he took a shower. How a guy smells when he’s sweaty is important. You wouldn’t want a guy with stinky sweat grunting over you in bed. At least, I wouldn’t.
He walked me down the hall to the reception area, close but respectful of my space. I kind of wished he would have put his hand on the small of my back, but he didn’t.
The hulk manning the reception desk smiled at us, “You out of here, Logan?”
“Yeah, Pete. You okay to close up tonight?”
“No problem.” He glanced at me inquisitively before returning his gaze to Logan. “Have fun.”
Logan nodded and held the door open for me.
Surprising. Somehow I didn’t expect him to be gentlemanly. “Thanks.”
“There’s a bar close by. Do you want to follow me or do ya want to drive over together?”
“I’ll follow you.” Not because I was scared he’d try something, but because it seemed more convenient when it was time to go home. He didn’t know it, but despite his obvious strength, I could break him like a twig if I wanted to.
Another reason I wanted to follow him was I needed a few minutes alone to figure out my strategy. Being with Logan was distracting. I seemed to be losing focus of my goals. So I needed to firm them in my mind. Once I was safely alone in my car, I made a quick mental list.
1) Find out when Logan is with Bobby.
2) Get myself invited.
3) Find out location (in case #2 doesn’t happen)
Piece of cake.
I idled, waiting for him to drive around. When I saw his car, I gasped. I would have jumped out and swarmed it right then and there, but he was already crawling toward the intersection so I put my car into gear and followed. He wasn’t kidding; it seemed like two minutes had passed before we were parking.
The second I pulled into the space, I unlatched my seatbelt and hopped out of the car.
“You have a Shelby Mustang!” I exclaimed, circling the beauty that was his vehicle. “’67 GT 500?”
“Yeah.” He climbed out, grinning. “You like cars?”
“Are you kidding?” I shot him a quick, incredulous glance before returning my gaze to the vision in front of me.
It was a vision. Gleaming silver with two thick black racing stripes down the middle, it looked like a predator on wheels. I’d never seen one this pristine outside of a movie. Maybe he’d let me ride in it one day. Asking to drive it was too forward, even for me.
“This has to be one of the most beautiful cars ever made,” I said reverently. The Mustang I’d resuscitated back when I was in high school was a ’69 coupe, but in no way did it compare to Logan’s.
“You can touch it if you want.”
I blinked at him. “Really?”
He chuckled, leaning against the driver side door. “I don’t think she’ll mind, darlin’.”
I shook my head. If it were my car, no one would be allowed near it. Ever. But since he said it was okay, I touched the left front fender. With one finger. It was warm under my fingertip, like it was flesh and blood. Emboldened, I laid my palm on it and caressed the passenger side. “What kind of engine?”
“A Ford 427.”
“Beautiful,” I murmured. I felt his stare on me and I looked up to find him studying me. The ever present amusement was in his eyes but there was something else too--- something deep and complicated and searching. And I wasn’t comfortable with the surge of feeling it aroused in me.
I flushed, ducked my head, and dropped my hand. “It’s a nice car.”
“Thanks.” He tipped his head. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah.” I fell into step beside him. After a moment of silence, I asked, “Do you know what would happen if Microsoft manufactured cars?”
Logan glanced at me sideways. “What would happen?”
“Your car would crash twice a day for no reason.”
He actually laughed. “And the airbags would ask ‘are you sure’ before deploying.”
I blinked. Did he just not only get my joke but laugh at it? And make an excellent comeback?
Weirded out, I didn’t realize where we’d arrived until he stopped and motioned to a dimly lit doorway. “It’s right here.”
I stared at the back door. “Are you sure?”
“Come on.” He took my elbow and my heart stopped.
It was the barest pressure, but I felt it spread up my arm, down my spine to my toes and back. Twice. Hell, my nipples stood at attention. That was talent. As soon as I got over that sensation (why couldn’t Bobby’s touch affect my nipples this way?), I noticed the interior of the bar.
I blinked. The floor was shiny, not sticky at all, and it didn’t reek of stale beer, and the upholstery was leather, not new but definitely not ratty. Nice.
Instead of taking me over to one of the booths in the back, he escorted me to the well-lit bar.
I admit it, I was a bit taken aback. Why didn’t I rate a dark booth? As I hopped onto a bar stool, I wondered if guys just didn’t see me as that type of woman. I was beginning to have major doubts about myself. I knew I wasn’t angelic like Jean, but I didn’t think I was that bad either.
Maybe I was. Look at Mort—he brought two of his friends so he wouldn’t have to be alone with me. Johnny wouldn’t come closer to me than a phone line connection. And Warren only wanted to get me in bed but, if Bobby was right, he’d be way disappointed.
I gazed at Logan. Had I misread him? Was this a friendly thing? It had to be. Otherwise he would have sat next to me in the dark booth in the back and tried to feel me up. I looked down at my boobs. They were decent enough.
It got me to thinking: Why did he want to see me again? I doubted he had a shortage of women to go out with. Why me? I only wanted to know because I needed to make sure he asked me out again.
That was my story, anyway, and I was sticking to it.
So I decided to subtly weasel the answer out of him. I could be sly. He’d never know what I was after.
I turned in my seat to face him and said, “Why did you want me to stop by the gym?”
I know--- the subtlety of a brick.
Logan apparently wasn’t one for beating around the bush either. He ran his fingers through his thick, unruly hair, still a little damp from the shower, and said, “I felt like I had to secure a way to see you again or I’d never see you.”
He frowned as he said it, sounding as if he himself wasn’t sure why he was saying what he was saying. He looked as puzzled as I felt. I waited for my intuition to scream creep, but there was just placid silence. In fact, except for the discomfort of the acute sexual attraction, I felt supremely at ease with him. Not to mention that if not seeing me was as unbearable as he made it sound, he’d be sure to ask me out again. That thought caused a ripple of excitement. Directly related to getting Bobby back, I told myself.
“Hmm.” What else could I say? That’s great? I feel the same way? Let’s go rent a hotel room?
Focus. I was here to get back together with Bobby. Logan was just a means to a way.
I gave him a sidelong glace. If only I could clean him up and take him to the party. But even if I could disguise his sexuality (ha!), there was the fact that he worked as a boxing instructor at a gym. My parents wouldn’t see him as living up to his potential. Sigh. It would have been fun, but Bobby was the only feasible option.
I sighed out loud this time, deep and long.
“That was some sigh.” Logan signaled the bartender.
“It’s been a long day.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
Tempting, but I didn’t think he’d take well to my plans. At the moment, I wasn’t sure how I felt about my plans myself. So I said, “It’s nothing that a beer won’t cure,” realizing too late how I sounded like a lush.
He didn’t notice. Or he was too kind to comment. “What do you want?”
“Guinness, please.”
Logan shot me a pleased smile and I tried not to blush as he ordered my beer and a Molson for himself. The bartender poured them while we watched in silence.
I picked up my glass as soon as he set it in front of me. Sipping slowly, I tried to center myself, but it was hard since guilt was starting to settle in. Maybe Scott was right and I was temporarily insane. I should have come up with an excuse to bale out of his date.
Hell, I didn’t even know if it was a date. What made a date? Food and drink? Food and kissing?
I glanced at his lips. What would they feel like? Not like mushy fish lips, that’s for sure.
“How’s your beer?”
I looked up to find Logan watching me, concern wrinkling his forehead. I tried to smile reassuringly. “It’s great.” Then I realized I hadn’t had a sip lately, so I took one quickly.
The corner of his eyebrow kicked up. “Good.”
“Is your beer okay?” I asked, just to be equitable.
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
I winced. “I’m being a moron, aren’t I?”
“Nah. You’re being… cute.”
I groaned. “Bunnies are cute.”
“Then what are you?”
“Fierce,” I said without thought. Then I thought of MacGyver and added, “And resourceful.”
He held up his pint. “To using everything at your disposal.”
I blinked and then clinked my glass against his. “That’s a fighter’s principle.”
“Yeah?” he commented conversationally as he took a sip.
I waved my hand toward him. “Using everything at your disposal. You aren’t a fighter.”
“I’m a boxer,” he said, and damn if he didn’t sound amused.
“Yeah, but that’s not really fighting.” The second it came out, I knew I’d put my foot in my mouth. I didn’t even need to see the way his forehead furrowed. “Wait. That’s not what I meant. I know you’re a boxer, but boxing has rules. You can even knee the groin in boxing.”
He winced. “Damned good thing, too.”
“So you can’t very well use everything around you.”
“Sure you can.”
“No, you can’t.”
He sighed. “Look darlin’, I ain’t denying there are rules in boxing, but that doesn’t mean you don’t use everything you can to your advantage. Boxing is as much strategy as it is brute strength.”
I snorted before I could help myself.
His eyes narrowed. “How much do you know about fighting?”
“A little.” Slight understatement. I was a fighting goddess.
Enjoying myself, I shrugged and took a casual sip of my beer. “I’ve studied Kung Fu here and there.”
He leaned close and said, “Fight me.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Fight me,” he repeated. “Come by the gym sometime and work out with me.”
I watched him drink his beer, his eyes on mine over the rim of the glass. Fight him. The thought made something in the pit of my stomach quiver. In a good way.
Logan set his beer down. “Afraid?”
I shook my head. “Calling me afraid isn’t going to work.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve used that tactic on my sister all my life.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yeah.” Props to me for not gagging as I admitted it.
He gazed at me steadily, waiting. I knew he was waiting for me to elaborate, but I didn’t want to talk about Jean. She wasn’t relevant. Fine. Okay, I admit it. I didn’t want to tell him about her because I was afraid he’d want to go out with her instead. Hey, I had precedence. Every guy I brought home while Jean was home visiting lost interest in me the second they saw her.
Hell, I bet that was why my mom wanted to have Bobby at the party, so he could meet Jean and fall in love. That made me frown.
“You have the most expressive face.”
“Huh?” I asked articulately, facing him.
Logan trailed a finger down my hairline. “I can almost see your thoughts pass over your features.”
I grimaced. I hoped not. My thoughts weren’t very pretty lately.
Get a grip. I pulled up the mental list I composed on the way over and decided to ask him how well he knew Bobby. “So Wolverine---“ I frowned. That was a nickname I’d heard Bobby refer to Logan by a time or two while we were dating. I never quite understood it. “What kind of name is Wolverine, anyway?”
“What kind of name is Rogue?”
I looked at him in surprise that he would know that detail about me.
“Bobby mentioned once how he didn’t like your little friend’s nickname for you," he said in way of an explanation.
Ah, okay. That would make sense. Bobby never did like how close Scott and I are. I think my relationship with Scott always made Bobby feel a little uncomfortable. It would only make sense that he ranted and complained about that to someone else.
“Got the name while I was in the army.” He supplied while I was still thinking about Bobby confiding in him and how unsettling I found it. “But I just go by Logan these days.”
“Fair enough.” I smiled a toothy smile his direction. “Logan.”
He slid his hand over my own and goose bumps crawled up and down my arms. The shivery kind that triggers a pool of warmth between your thighs. He said something and I had to ask him to repeat it.
“Go out with me again.” He rubbed my knuckles and smiled in an adorably boyish way that seemed like it should be at odds with his manly exterior.
Staring into his eyes, I realized I’d forgotten all about Bobby, Jean’s party, and my parents breathing down my back. At this moment, all that mattered was the touch of his MacGyver hands on me and his earnest look that showed just how much he wanted to see me again.
But everything came back with a crash, weighing on me so heavily I could barely breathe. I wanted to shove it all away and go back to enjoying Logan’s company.
Only I had an objective to reach. So I tried to smile. “I’d like that.”
And as much as I meant it, I still felt guilty.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Logan buys Marie a beer and Marie feels tingly, but it has nothing to do with the alcohol...