“Good night, Georgia.”
His deep voice was a feather-stroke to my skin in the dark. I hugged a pillow close to my chest, squeezing hard, welcoming numbness into my fingers. “Good night, Logan.”
Chapter 9
IT WAS A LITTLE after midnight a few nights later when a knock came from downstairs. I was still up, sitting on the futon watching Love Actually. It was one of my favorite movies. Whenever it was on, I always stopped channel surfing and settled in to watch it for the umpteenth time.
I had started to nod off earlier, but something stopped me from getting up and going to bed. Okay, I knew what that something was. Logan was working tonight. I’d checked the shift schedule pinned to the wall downstairs and knew. He hadn’t worked lately, explaining the sudden end to his late-night visits. I missed our sleepovers and had been a wreck with nervous energy all day, wondering if he would put in an appearance. Okay . . . hoping. No sense lying to myself.
Hopping to my feet, I brushed my hands over my shorts and tank top like I was freeing them from wrinkles. The real clue that I was open to the possibility of seeing Logan again was the fact that I still had on a bra.
Inhaling a shuddery breath, I hurried down the steps.
“Who is it?” I called.
“Uh, this is the guitar police checking to see if you’re hiding any guitars in your closet.”
Rolling my eyes, I opened the door. “Funny.”
Logan stood there in his customary Mulvaney’s T-shirt and jeans with his customary grin. My chest squeezed and my skin pulled tighter. Every time I saw him it was like getting reacquainted with his hotness all over again. The memory and the reality of him never quite caught up.
“Hi,” he greeted, his deep voice sending a wake of goose bumps over my skin. “Would it make you totally uncomfortable if I crashed here again tonight?”
Yes. “No.”
Turning, I led him upstairs, acutely conscious of him behind me. I could feel his stare on my butt and thighs.
I motioned to the futon. “I was just watching a movie, but I can turn—”
“No. I’ll watch it with you.”
I made a face. “You sure? It’s a chick flick.”
He shrugged and dropped down on the futon, stretching his long legs out and looking relaxed and at home as he draped an arm along the back of the couch. “My best friend is a girl, remember?”
“Yeah.” Rachel. I sank down beside him. “How’d that happen anyway? You don’t seem to be the type . . .” My words faded, revealing too much. That I thought about him. That I thought I knew what type of guy he was.
He looked at me for a long moment before answering. “When her brother died, her parents kind of forgot they were a family. Their marriage fell apart. They ignored her for the most part. I understood that. My mom was dead. My dad . . .” His voice faded. “I think you know about my old man from Reece.” I nodded. He didn’t need to elaborate. “We understand each other. I try to look out for her. The kink club . . . that’s been her thing.”
I snorted.
His lips twisted. “I’m not denying I haven’t had my fun moments there, but lately . . . Well, I can’t convince her not to go anymore.”
“She’s seems like a girl who knows what she wants.”
“No. She doesn’t, but she’s stubborn. So. There it is. ” He stared at the TV, watching Hugh Grant dance across the room like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “I can’t let her go there without me.”
I stared at him for a long moment, the reality of him sinking in.
Logan Mulvaney was a decent guy. I mean, sure, he got his rocks off while he was there. I saw that for myself, but he didn’t need to go to a kink club to get laid. I went to his baseball game. I saw the girls there. The guy was like a rock star with groupies everywhere. He went to the kink club to keep an eye on Rachel.
I sucked in a breath, a little rattled from this revelation. It was hard enough to resist him when he was just a hot guy, but now he’s hot and decent.
“What are you going to do about next year?” I asked. “Are y’all going to the same college?”
He shook his head with a faintly sad smile. “I guess I have to let baby bird fly the nest and hope for the best.”
I propped my elbow on the back of the futon and studied him. I felt my forehead knit, wondering if he would really be capable of doing that . . . of letting go and not trying to save his friend. “Who knew?”
“What?”
A slow smile lifted my lips. “That you made such a good mother bird.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like how?”
“Your chocolate eyes all big. Like I’m some good, wholesome guy. I’m not. There are things about me . . .” His voice trailed off. He was no longer smiling. “I’m just not.”
I wanted to ask, to press, but I couldn’t bring myself to demand more information on the not-good-wholesome guy he was. We stared at each other for a long moment until the tension grew too thick and I looked back at the TV. I still felt his stare on my face, but pretended to be lost in the movie.
Eventually, he started watching it, too. Asking questions. We slid to the center of the futon, our shoulders touching as I caught him up on the various plot lines running through the movie.
“So they don’t even speak the same language at all?” he asked, pointing to the couple on the screen. “That’s just wacked.”
I shook my head. “No, that’s the beautiful thing about it. They fall in love anyway. They’re in sync without even knowing what the other one is saying.”
I glanced from the TV and back at him as I was explaining, freezing when I caught the curious way he was looking at me. “You’re a romantic.”
My cheeks flushed at the almost tender way he looked at me.
I shrugged. “Me and every other girl.”
He shook his head. “No. You’d be surprised how many girls don’t care about romance. Or love.” And then I remembered this was a guy who spent a lot of time at a kink club. I remembered his baseball game, too. The girls shrieking his name like he was some kind of teen heartthrob. Did they see him at all? Or just some hot jock with all the college scouts after him? A piece of meat they wanted to taste. Yeah, maybe Logan didn’t have a lot of experience with girls who believed in love and romance.