“What’s next weekend?”
“Hello.” She waggled her eyebrows. “What do I do once a month? Kink club, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” Actually I had forgotten about it, except in the context of Logan. That’s where it had all began. Where I first kissed him. Would he be there? If Rachel went, he would be. That’s why he went, after all. To look after Rachel. At least that’s why he claimed to go. Maybe he’d hook up this time. There was no reason why he couldn’t. Nothing stopping him.
“Half the members are gone for the summer, so this is going to be a signature event.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It will be an intimate gathering . . . it’s at this phat house over on University Boulevard. I’m wearing a cocktail dress and these fuck-me heels I found on sale at Nordstrom.” She motioned just below her hip. “Thigh highs. No underwear. I’ve had my eye on this guy for a while. He always pairs off with this one girl but she went home for the summer so I’m making my move.”
“Sounds like it will be . . . a memorable night.”
She nodded. “For sure. This house is supposed to have like twelve bedrooms. Plenty of space. It’s not like I’m into ménage every single time. Usually that happens out of necessity.”
But there would be plenty of space this time. Room for Logan to be alone with a willing partner. Or two. I know he claimed he hadn’t kissed another girl since that night I kissed him on the porch, but I’m sure that was about to change. If it hadn’t already. Jealousy sank its fangs into me as I envisioned him slipping inside one of those eight rooms with some girl.
“Let’s go.” Forcing a smile, I waved Annie out of the loft, closing the door behind us. We headed downstairs together, Annie clinging to the walls of the stairwell on either side of her so that she didn’t fall in her lethally high-heeled ankle boots. “I’m sure you won’t need to crash with me tonight. You’re dressed to kill and you never have a problem getting a hookup,” I dutifully reminded her.
She preened. “True, but pickings are slimmer in the summer months. I’m already ready for fall semester. I swear, next weekend is the only highlight of my summer so far. Hope it doesn’t disappoint.”
I was hardly listening to her anymore as we entered the bar and made our way through the crowd. This was Logan’s stomping ground, and my every nerve was on high alert.
My eyes scanned the room, searching for anyone in a Mulvaney’s staff T-shirt. On the lookout specifically for a shirt that was filled out nicely by a body so ripped that it made me dizzy.
It might have been days since I’d last seen Logan, but he invaded my dreams. I couldn’t fall asleep without his image there, filling my head. Alone in the dark . . . thinking about him. It was a problem. It was like he flipped a switch inside me. My body ached for him, unwilling to go back to its dormant state. My hands tracked over the places he had touched and kissed and bit . . . caressing my breasts, skimming down my stomach and between my legs. It was embarrassing, this wanton creature I had become, touching myself like some kind of sex kitten who couldn’t get enough.
My hands were a pale echo of Logan’s touch, and it only made me hungrier for him.
When Annie texted me earlier in the day to see if I wanted to hang out at Mulvaney’s with her, I’d agreed. Even if I didn’t love the girl, she was single, and single girlfriends were few and far between. Suzanne was working a lot to save up money and make up for the time she was having to take off to house-sit for her parents’ cruise, so she wasn’t very available. Besides, I could just go upstairs to my room if Annie got to be too much.
We located a long stretch of table with two unoccupied chairs. A few people sat on the other end of it, drinking beer and playing dominoes.
“Want me to order us—”
She held up her hand. “Patience, grasshopper. Give it a few moments. Two girls alone in a bar . . . we won’t be alone for long. And then we can drink for free.”
Sure enough, within moments a couple guys ambled over carrying a pitcher of beer. They offered us some plastic cups and poured us drinks. Annie beamed at them and got her flirt on, beginning with the usual conversation.
Are you a student?
What’s your major?
Oooh, you have a tattoo? Show me . . .
I was bored. Neither one of them could compete with the lingering effects of Logan’s bright light. People eventually got up from the table, leaving room for the two guys to sit down beside us.
I forced the small talk, still scanning the bar. With every minute that passed, I resigned myself to the fact that he wasn’t working tonight.
“Are you looking for someone?” the guy in a knit cap beside me asked. His dark hair was long and peeked out of the sides. He was cute in a Hollister kind of way.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then I must be boring you.”
I offered a wan smile. “Just tired. Had a long workweek.”
That sent us into a conversation about what it was I was doing over the summer. I had to hand it to him. He was polite. He seemed interested as I described the goal of Dr. Chase’s research.
My gaze still flickered around the room; I couldn’t help myself. Now that I had a taste, I was maybe addicted to Logan Mulvaney. Fine. No maybes. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t kick the habit. People overcame bigger obstacles every day. I would, too.
Of course, this conviction was blown out of the water when I suddenly spotted him across the room, standing near the bar. He didn’t look like he was working. A posse of girls surrounded him. One kept her hand planted firmly on his chest as she talked, and the totally unacceptable urge to pull her off him by her hair seized me. God. I was such a cliché. I bit the edge of my tongue, disappointed in myself.
I wasn’t the jealous type. I never had been. I hadn’t even been jealous when Harris started studying long hours in the library with the girl he left me for, and I probably should have been. I guess I hadn’t cared enough to be concerned, but I cared now and it sucked.
When her hand drifted down his stomach, pain sliced my chest. It only got worse as I watched her red fingernails stroke low, snatching hold of the hem of his shirt. He smiled. Like he used to smile at me, in the beginning when he was all teasing grins.
I wondered what she had said to make him smile. She tossed her long hair over a sleek, tanned shoulder, leaving no obstruction to the view of her ample cleavage.
Comparatively, I felt like a minister’s wife in my pink wraparound blouse with a sash that tied smartly into a bow across my midriff.
I must have been glaring holes into Logan because suddenly he lifted his head and scanned the room, promptly finding me.
I tore my gaze and looked back at the guy beside me. Knowing Logan was watching, I tried to look really interested in what he was saying. I hated that Logan caught me gawking at him. Even though I was dying to know if he was still watching me, I refused to look in his direction again.
I was in the middle of asking Knit Cap Guy a question about winters in Maine where he grew up when a pair of long legs stopped beside my table. I looked up into Logan’s impassive face.
“Hey, it’s Little Mulvaney,” Annie declared.
He flicked her a withering glance before looking back at me. “Can I see your ID, please?”
I shook my head and tucked a long strand of hair behind my ear, certain I had misheard. Of all the things I thought he might say, that was not what I expected. “Excuse me?”
“ID,” he repeated.
Now I was royally pissed. He knew I was still twenty and he was asking for my driver’s license? Jerk. I stabbed a finger where he had been standing moments ago with his little harem. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“C’mon, buddy,” the guy beside me coaxed. He rested a hand on my shoulder as if offering his support. “Be cool.”
Logan’s eyes
settled on that hand on my shoulder for a moment before sliding his blue eyes to Knit Cap Guy’s face. “Stay out of this, and I’m not your buddy.”
My would-be savior’s smile faltered.
“You got to be kidding me, Mulvaney. Her best friend is together with your brother and you’re carding her?” Annie’s voice was loud enough to draw stares. “And she’s living in the loft upstairs. That’s just dick of you.”
“Be quiet, Annie,” I ordered without looking at her. I didn’t look at anyone except Logan. Even as I dug around inside my handbag for my fake ID, I kept my glare trained firmly on him, positive that steam was escaping my ears. He glared right back at me, his jaw locked hard, arms crossed over his chest.
Finding the ID, I extended it to him with one angry flip of my wrist.
When he took it from me our fingers brushed and it was like a spark of heat flew up my arm from the touch. My body remembered him even though my mind was trying to forget. Even if my mind wanted to introduce him to my fist right now. I hated my body right then.
“Marianne Allison Kellog?” He read my cousin’s name in a deadpan voice. I’d used her ID for the last two years without issue. We bore a resemblance.
“Who’s she?” he asked.
“Me.” I lifted an eyebrow in challenge.
Annie giggled. “That’s right, Jack-off. She’s Marianne.”
He ignored Annie. “When’s your birthday?”
My mind blanked. I hadn’t been carded in a while, and even then no one had grilled me. “October eleven . . . no, seventeenth.”
He grinned then. It was a nasty smile. Slow and satisfied. I felt it slither through me like a snake winding its way home. “Sorry, sweetheart. October seventh. I’ll have to confiscate this, Marianne. And get rid of the beer.”
I shot to my feet. “You . . .”
He clucked his tongue. “Careful or I’ll have to escort you out. It’s protocol for me to give anyone flashing a bogus ID the boot, but I’m feeling generous.”
I quivered with indignation. “I live here!”
“Then maybe you need to go on home for the night.”
I was so mad I saw red. How dare he interfere after I slept with him? Was this his MO? To punish the girls he slept with?
Without thinking, I reached for my half cup of beer and splashed it in his face.
You could have heard a pin drop. The bar went silent. The only sound was the rush of blood in my ears. Even Annie watched with her mouth gaping. The guy I had been talking to looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. He inched back in his chair as if he wanted to distance himself from the crazy beer-tossing girl.
Crap. What did I do?
A nerve ticked beside Logan’s right eye and I knew he was pissed. Even more pissed than when he first walked over here and demanded my ID. He was a bomb and I had just lit the fuse.
What was happening to me? I was normally a polite, drama-free girl. But there was nothing normal about this. About me and Logan. The air was charged, sparking with suppressed energy.
“It’s time to go,” Logan said, his voice lethally quiet.
“Hey . . .” Knit Cap Guy started to stand in one last effort at heroism on my behalf.
Logan swung his gaze to him. “Sit the fuck back down.”
The guy sank down in his chair, avoiding my gaze. I rolled my eyes. Good to know he wasn’t easily intimidated.
Taking my arm, Logan led me through the bar. Bodies parted liked the Red Sea. I could smell the beer on him and that only kept the moment I splashed beer over him on instant replay in my head.
As we entered the kitchen he grabbed a dishtowel off the counter and wiped it over his face and then tossed it down without a glance.
“Just what in the hell was that about?”
“You’re not twenty-one.”
“Oh, come off it! Like you give a . . . a . . . shit.”
He tsked. “My, my, Pearls cursing? What would your mother say?”
“Fuck you!” This fell easily even as the thought flashed through me that my mother would be horrified. Being a lady was right up there with eating your vegetables in my house. It didn’t matter how provoked you were. Staying composed under fire was a true testament to one’s character.
He smiled, looking both dangerous and excited. “Oh, there she is. The real Georgia.”
No. I wasn’t this wild thing he made me out to be. He brought out this ugly in me. This beer-tossing, foul-mouthed, hot-for-his-body girl. I shook my head and bit my lip, bewildered. No. This wasn’t me at all. It couldn’t be.
I headed for my apartment door, tossing over my shoulder, “Why don’t you head back to your little bar groupies?”
“Jealous?” His hand clamped on my arm, forcing me around.
“Ha. As if. I don’t care who paws you, Logan. We’re not even friends.”
“No . . . we’re more than friends. And you know that.”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “No.”
He took my face in both of his hands then, holding me still as his gaze scoured me like hot coals. “What are you so afraid of?”
You. Me. How I am with you . . . Us being something more, something real, and then facing the world . . . My mother, enduring her disappointment by becoming all her worst fears.
Releasing my face, he grabbed my hand and pulled me after him. At the door leading to the loft, I dug in my heels and stepped in front of him. “You don’t get to come up.” My chin lifted in a show of bravado. Courage that was hard to cling to when he looked so furious . . . with the front of his shirt wet with the beer I’d thrown at him.
“Key.” The single word dropped like a stone between us. He nodded at my bag, that nerve still ticking near his eye.
I hesitated a moment before moving, my fingers fumbling until I pulled my key out of my bag. He plucked it from my hand and unlocked my door.
I braced myself, determined not to move until he left. Me and him upstairs? Together as mad as we were? Alone? Yeah, not a good idea. I was so not on board with that.
Swinging the door open, I didn’t stand a chance though. He ignored my sputtered protest and ushered us inside the stairwell.
He shut the door with a dull thud and we were engulfed in shadows. I moved up and turned on the third step, determined to go no farther. I would not let him bulldoze over me. This ended here.
I’d left a lamp on in the loft above and a dim gold light trickled down into the stairwell, gilding the lines and planes of his face. Standing one step above him, we were almost eye-level, and I seized the advantage, letting it embolden me. “You’re not coming up here.” My voice fell loudly, echoing in the tomblike space.
“Scared of what I’ll do to you?”
My pulse jackknifed against my throat. His eyes glittered like an animal’s in the shadows of the stairwell. The air was electric, like he would erupt any moment into fire and ash.
He was still pissed at me, but there was something else in the air, too. Something that brought to mind the hot press of his body pinning me to the bathroom door . . . ordering me not to move my hands from above my head.
“No one does anything to me,” I countered.
He laughed almost cruelly. “Your whole life has been others doing things to you. Deciding how your life is going to be. Your parents. Your douche ex.”
The accusation enraged me. I didn’t want it to be true, but a piece of me buried deep acknowledged that he wasn’t totally wrong.
He continued, “You’re like that guitar of yours. Buried away from the world where no one can see or touch you.”
“Shut up,” I hissed.
“You’re scared,” he pressed. “From the moment you took me on you’ve been wondering what the hell you’re doing getting tied up with a guy that doesn’t fit into your vanilla life.” He took another step, and damn it, he w
as taller than me again, encroaching like an invading tank. “But you want it. You want to be with the kind of guy who will retaliate when his girl has a tantrum and splashes a drink in his face.”
His girl?
The words simultaneously thrilled and terrified me, sparking something deep and tugging at the part of me that I kept hidden. The Georgia buried deep. Just like my guitar. He was right. Panic blossomed in my chest with the realization. Everything he said was true. He saw me. I felt stripped bare. I couldn’t hide anymore.
I swallowed. “I’m not your girl.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You are. You just haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Oh, so now you’re deciding things for me,” I charged, diving for the words almost desperately.
“No. I didn’t decide it. You did. The moment you kissed me. I thought I would give you a little more time, some space to realize this, but I changed my mind.”
I made a strangling sound. “Oh?”
“About ten minutes ago when I saw that asshat sitting next to you and looking at you like you were his next meal.” He leaned in, forcing me to grab the stairwell wall and arch back from him. “I wanted to fuck him up and then throw you over my shoulder.” One corner of his mouth lifted, but there was no humor in the play of his lips. “You’ve turned me into a caveman. I’ve never acted this way before.” His eyes looked almost bleak right then. Like he didn’t want to feel this way. I could relate. “You. Me. We’re the real thing, Pearls.” His eyes gleamed in the shadows of the stairwell, willing me to see that, too.
I just couldn’t. The idea of us . . . it was too wrong . . . too crazy.
Shaking my head, I shoved at his chest. His hand locked around my wrist, fingers circling my bones completely, stopping me from pushing him away.
Feeling slightly panicked, I brought my other hand from behind me and shoved harder at him. The momentum sent me falling back on the stairs and he followed, coming over me, one hand circling around my back to soften my fall against the steps.
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