Giving It All

by Christi Barth

  Even better. Because he figured the shit was going down in the next few minutes. Having never fought with his best friend before, Logan wasn’t so sure he could keep it PG-rated. “So, Knox—are you still fucking her?”

  “Enough,” Knox ground out in a voice full of gravel. “Have some respect for Madison.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Logan had had it. He launched himself out of the chair, turning to face Knox head-on. “After the way you treated her, you really think you have a leg to stand on when it comes to respect?”

  “You haven’t been here. You don’t have clue one as to how I treat her. Plus, you’ve watched me with women for years. You know I treat them well. The best restaurants. Expensive gifts. Nobody ever walks away mad or unsatisfied.”

  “Those are other women. They aren’t my baby sister. Yeah, I know how you treat women. You treat them like fucking tissues. You blindly grab, use, toss away.” Now Logan would make Knox cop to the full horror of what he’d done. “Didn’t you get named the Washingtonian’s bachelor three years running? Don’t you have a map almost filled in with women you’ve fucked from every state? Didn’t we get you stock in a condom company because you were buying them in bulk?”

  Josh held up one hand. “To be fair, those were for the whole house. Not just for Knox.”

  Logan whipped around faster than an angry sidewinder in Baja. “You really want in on this, Hardwick?”

  This time Josh raised both hands, as if Logan were holding him at gunpoint. “Nope. Just keeping things straight for the listeners.”

  “Josh. Shut the hell up already,” Griff ordered.

  Pointing a finger of warning, Knox said, “I treated other women like that. Not Madison.”

  “Why should I believe you? You’re so full of respect all of a sudden? When you pull the ultimate dick move and fuck your best friend’s sister?”

  “I told you not to talk like that about her.” Knox took one step forward, kept his weight on his front leg exactly the way Logan had taught him, and threw a right hook that connected with Logan’s cheekbone and eye socket.

  The part of him that had spent a solid six months working combinations with Knox in their high school weight room felt pride at the perfect execution. The rest of him just felt an explosion of heat, followed by throbbing pain. Logan saw stars for a couple of seconds. He used those seconds to stumble forward and grab Knox by the shoulders.

  Surprise—and an extra ten pounds of muscle that showed the difference between the computer nerd and the guy who lifted rocks every damned day—helped him to toss Knox onto the table. It shuddered under the impact. The other ACSs sprang to their feet. Chairs skittered to hit the walls.

  “You picked pussy over our friendship,” Logan bellowed as he delivered a solid uppercut to the bottom of Knox’s jaw. It hurt his knuckles. The impact zinged pain up his arm. It was totally worth it. He heard the door slam open. Dimly registered Griff yelling at them to cut it the fuck out.

  On a grunt, Knox managed to roll them off the table to thud onto the floor. “I’m in love with her, you asshole.”

  “What?” Surprise numbed Logan’s whole body better than Novacain. He watched Josh pull Knox off of him as Riley yanked him to his feet. The hot blonde from the control room stood there, hands on her hips and mouth agape.

  Griff got right up in her face. Eyes as dark as the hurricane had been over Dominica, he thundered, “This—this—is what you want to stream live in HD? Onto freaking eighty-five-inch plasma TVs? Might want to rethink that, Lara.”

  Knox swiped at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I love her. She’s wearing a three-carat engagement ring on her finger right now. I’m sorry about the way it all unfolded, but we’re getting married. Period. You’re going to have to deal with this.”

  Never in a million years, in any possible scenario, would Logan have imagined that his best friend with the No-Leftovers policy toward women would be the first of them to get engaged. Or that he could even say the word love without breaking into hives. It was the ultimate blindside.

  “You’re marrying my baby sister? The one I haven’t even met yet?”

  “Yeah. And you’re damn well not going to for a while.” He shook off Josh to point at Logan with one arm. “Don’t you dare go near Madison until you cool down. Until you can say my name to her without going ballistic. She’s got this notion in her head that you’re perfect. That you’re the brother of her dreams. Don’t you go breaking her heart.”

  Logan looked around. Nobody else seemed surprised at the news. So they’d all known. They’d let him shoot his mouth off, bloody Knox’s lip, and look like an idiot.

  Unbelievable.

  Elbowing Riley aside, Logan walked out of the room without a word. Because he didn’t know up from down, right from wrong, if he was beating up his best friend. And he sure as hell didn’t know what to say.

  Chapter 7

  Inner-thigh sweat. It was something nobody talked about, but Brooke would bet her bottom dollar that every woman experienced it. How come her favorite magazines never tackled that topic? Eighty-seven ways to give a blow job, sure. Which, btw, happened maybe twice a month, tops. But inner-thigh sweat never got mentioned, and it happened every stinking day. That’s what she needed tips on how to handle. It’d easily be worth three impulse dollars in the grocery store checkout line.

  She lifted the yellow-and-moss-striped skirt of her maxi-dress. Contemplated tucking it under her arm. Vetoed that as there was every chance she’d run into someone she knew in the four blocks between her car and her destination. Its length had been a smart choice to keep everything covered in the too-cool airplane. Here in D.C., however, it dragged on the sidewalk and trapped all the heat.

  It’d been maybe three years since she’d attended one of the ACSs’ famous Fourth of July parties on the roof deck of Logan’s house. Of course, he hadn’t been there. Brooke hadn’t asked where he was. She’d been there with a boyfriend and didn’t want to fake nonchalance if his name came up. The street name was easy to remember. Brooke didn’t need the exact number. The bright yellow, enormous former rectory would be easy to spot when she got close. It dwarfed all its neighbors on the tree-lined street. Plus, the giant—and immensely incongruous, given the amount of sex that occurred in the house with five smoking-hot bachelors living there—metal cross on the roof kind of gave it away.

  Brooke was so busy looking up for it that she almost didn’t notice Logan walking down the sidewalk from the opposite direction. The first flutter in her stomach was at seeing him again. The second was at him seeing her. Would he think she’d turned into an insta-stalker? Should she go back to her car and wait until he got inside?

  No. That would make her seem stalkerish. Or at least feel that way. Which couldn’t be further from her intent. So she tightened her grip on her purse and kept going. And blatantly stared.

  Logan still wore the shirt from their dinner together. Albeit significantly more wrinkled. His head was down, so she just drank in the sight of his tanned calves working below his shorts. Yup. It hadn’t been vacation goggles. Logan was every bit as sexy as she remembered…from all of a day and a half ago.

  He stopped at the foot of the more than a dozen steps up to the front door. Dropped his duffel. Let his shoulders slump forward but made no move at all to head inside. When he lifted his head to look at the enormous house, Brooke gasped. He might not have changed his shirt, but he sure looked different, thanks to the bruising around his eye and the cut on his cheek.

  “Logan,” she called out, without any thought. Or plan. Or shred of self-control. But what woman could muster up any control against his golden eyes, muscled bod, and soft brown bed head? The man was a walking temptation. All Brooke wanted was a metaphorical spoon to tuck right in and scoop him up.

  His head whipped up and around. At first he looked confused. Then a giant smile washed across his face in a wave, ending in delighted bemusement. Logan loped forward the l
ast few feet to close the gap between them. “Brooke? What are you doing here?”

  Awkward. Sooooo awkward. This conversation wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t even supposed to see each other. Brooke did the obvious and stalled. With far too much care she switched her purse from one shoulder to the other. “Do you mean in the United States? Or practically on your doorstep?”

  “Both, I guess.” He reached out to stroke a finger down her pale arm. “Thought you’d be tanning on the beach right about now. I might’ve even spent more than a few minutes, on my four planes, picturing you in that red bikini.”

  Brooke tingled. Both from the touch chasing goose bumps across her skin and at the knowledge that she hadn’t been out of sight, out of mind to him. “That’s nice to hear.”

  “I don’t suppose you want to change into it right now?”

  It’d go in the compliment column, for sure. But she still wouldn’t do it. “Logan. Dupont Circle is just a few blocks away. I’m not stripping down.”

  “Pity.”

  She pointed at his duffel. “Are you actually just getting home?”

  “Yeah.” Logan scrubbed his palm across his eyes. “The first flight out was held up for a few hours. Then it only went as far as Puerto Rico. But it barely got me ahead of the storm. Then I hopped over to Mexico. Down to Belize. And then finally to D.C.”

  “That explains how I beat you here.” Teasing, she held up one hand and ticked points off on her fingers. “Even though I got to sleep late, had mango-filled crepes for breakfast, picked my way through the storm detritus on the beach, napped on a hammock, and enjoyed dinner out on the porch.”

  Putting one hand on his chest, Logan staggered back dramatically a few steps. “Ouch. Did you have to rub that in?”

  “Yes. I really think I did.” After all, he was the one responsible for cutting their night of bliss short. Brooke understood why he did it. She didn’t fault him at all for making that choice. But she’d darn well poke at him a bit in reprisal for his action, no matter how well justified.

  “I don’t get it. After all that fun, why’d you cut your vacation short?”

  Brooke beamed. She felt the smile stretch her cheek muscles. Felt its radiance shoot out from her heart and sparkle her eyes. The temptation to jump high in the air and land in a split was only tempered by the limitations of her wedges and long dress. “I didn’t need it anymore.”

  “You’re nuts.” He gently rapped his knuckles against the side of her head, as if testing for hollowness. “Who doesn’t need more of the ocean and hammock naps?”

  This conversation was going off the rails. Mostly because, yet again, It wasn’t supposed to be happening. If she hadn’t wanted to discuss her Very Serious Problem with Logan when it made her burst into tears, she certainly didn’t need to do it now that her emotions were back under control. The trip had been about figuring out how to get past the guilt and grief of dealing with her student’s suicide after all these months. Ignoring it. Trying to let other things fill her brain instead of just dwelling on the past.

  Brooke licked her lips. “Me. Because I didn’t go down there to vacation.”

  Vacations were fun. Relaxing. When she got on the plane to Dominica, Brooke had almost forgotten what fun felt like. And she certainly had no intention of relaxing. It was a lost skill. Like the Spanish she’d learned in high school. And how to knit. She wouldn’t tell her grandmother that skill had disappeared before they’d even backed to the end of the driveway.

  She licked her lips again. Thought for an instant about how nice it would be if Logan licked them instead. After what he’d shared with her about Madison? Brooke owed him something. Some infinitesimal piece of the truth. Not enough to bring it all flooding back, though.

  “I went down to the island to escape.” She lifted one bare shoulder in what hopefully came off as a no big deal shrug. “To work my way through some stuff.”

  “The stuff you dodged telling me?”

  “Yes.” Darn it. Logan put the pieces together. Why couldn’t he be a typical guy who didn’t listen? Who wasn’t perceptive? Who didn’t know her better after a ten-year break than her last boyfriend had before they broke up three months ago? “Which is immaterial,” Brooke insisted.

  She shook her head just enough to set her ponytail twitching across her back. Right over the bug bites she must’ve picked up on their hike. Now they itched. As if she wasn’t twitchy enough from ducking his questions.

  Logan raised one dark eyebrow. Gave her the stink-eye stare down she used on her students when it was obvious they were fibbing. “Probably not.”

  “It is.”

  “People don’t go all the way to another country to escape and then get over it in a day.”

  “Trust me, I did. I’m quite sure. That’s the reason why I’m here, on your doorstep.” And she wondered why they were still on the doorstep. Or the doorstep’s steps, to be precise. They were good friends. Used to be, anyway, and Brooke certainly thought they’d, ahem, rekindled that friendship. If rekindle was the new euphemism for sexed it up and set it on fire. Why wouldn’t he ask her inside?

  Logan leaned back against the trunk of a towering magnolia. It was dotted with waxy flowers Brooke could smell from two feet away. Which made her think again of the perfumed air they’d shared on the island. He crossed his feet at the ankles. Lots of tan skin, sexy hairiness in all the right places, and an amused tilt to those wide, kissable lips. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why’d you leave after two days to show up at the rectory?”

  “First of all, I didn’t think you’d be here. My plan, in fact, hinged on you not being here.” Brooke rummaged in her bag, then triumphantly waved a postcard showing the Emerald Pool. Their pool, as she now thought of it. “Here. Proof that I didn’t intend to see you at all.”

  Snickering, he said, “A postcard’s just proof you killed some time in the airport gift shop.”

  “Nope. You lose on a technicality. There is no gift shop at the airport.” No gift shop, no coffee—it was basically a pre-flight purgatory. “So this is also proof that I put premeditation into purchasing this postcard. Well, it isn’t a postcard. Not just a postcard.” And now Brooke was babbling. Rats. If she wasn’t careful, more might spill out.

  “Don’t tell me. It doubles as a coaster. Or you figured out how to use it to interrupt the signal on a silent alarm and we can go downtown and rob the Mint.”

  Oh, he was in a mood, all right. “Look, I wrote you a thank-you card, okay? Maybe it’s old-fashioned or cheesy, but I did it.”

  Logan straightened. His arms fell to his sides and his mouth dropped open. “You did that for me? Nobody’s ever written me a thank-you card.”

  “Come on.”

  “Nope.”

  “Don’t you get them for wedding presents?”

  “Brooke, I’m a man. Our species holds out on marriage as long as possible. We also don’t write notes. Hell, we don’t write at all. That’s why we started the Naked Men blog in the first place. It was the only way to stay in touch when we all went off to college. Because the group email thing was so not happening.” He raked his hand through the air to grab the card. When she pulled it out of reach, he said, “Gimme.”

  “First, I want to be clear.” Because she had her pride, darn it. “I know we said we weren’t going to see each other again. I’m still moving to North Carolina. You’re still going to vanish the next time nature takes down a village in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I know.”

  “This isn’t some lame attempt at another hookup. I’m not stalking you. I’m not going back on our agreement. I’m not clingy.”

  “I never said you were.” Logan cupped one hand around her shoulder and put his other on her cheek. “Was I an idiot? Did I say something to make you think I’m not happy to see you?”

  No. Not at all. Not even an iota. She’d gone all hair-trigger on him by letting her past shape her present. Whoops. As an apology—not just because she wanted to touch him again—Bro
oke slid her arm around his waist. Leaned her forehead against his rock-hard pecs. “I’m sorry. Let’s say that old habits, old accusations, die hard.”

  “More of the bad stuff you don’t want to tell me?”

  Darn tootin’. And Brooke was relieved not to be looking into his dreamy eyes, which would totally tempt her to spill everything. Because she knew that she couldn’t say no to Logan. Not really. Not ten years ago, and still not today.

  “It’s pointless to waste time bringing up that drama if we’re not going to see each other after today. Better to concentrate on the good things.”

  “Okay. But for the record?” He kissed the top of her head. “You are the good thing. I’m really happy you’re here. On my doorstep.” Logan cinched her in tight against him. “Back in my arms.”

  “Me, too.” She sank into the embrace. Just let her whole body sort of ooze into his and meld into a single being. Sure, that was over the top. But everything lined up. Everything fit together so perfectly with Logan. Brooke just wanted to inhale the moment until it became a part of her just as the air she breathed became part of her blood.

  Whispering into her ear, he said, “Can I have my postcard now?”

  “You mean that hug was a bribe?”

  “No. I’m guessing that’d be wrong.” He pulled back to quirk his lips at her. “Unless it worked.”

  When Logan turned on the charm, it didn’t just trickle from the tap. It was like standing underneath Niagara Falls. Something about his humor combined with the startlingly golden eyes contrasting with his dark hair just melted her resistance. Darn it.

  Brooke tapped the corner of the postcard against her palm. “I don’t want you to read it while I’m here. It’s embarrassing.”

  “So it’s a thank-you for all the top-of-the-line sex I gave you? Any chance you’re specific about positions?”

  “Logan!” Brooke wriggled out of his arms. “There are people around.” She jerked her head to indicate the two men holding hands walking toward them. What if one of them knew one of her students? Well…her ex-students…