by Nikki Sloane
He let me slip from his hold, confirming again he wouldn’t do anything foolish before we spoke again on Monday. I hurried to my cube, ignoring the dirty looks. They could go fuck themselves. I didn’t need that supervisor position. This company had already given me more than enough.
It gave me him.
I ducked out of the building at lunch to call Nick, thankful I had the number saved in my phone from the time he’d texted me their progress on a run. His voice was so much like Logan’s it was unnerving. “I was hoping you could help me,” I said.
“I’m still married, so if this is another shower request, my answer is no.”
“You’re hilarious.” I was glad he couldn’t see me blush. “I wanted to surprise Logan . . .” I just realized he might not know that Logan and I were taking space. “Have you talked to him recently?”
“Yeah, I had to call him on Wednesday to tell him about the awesome stress fracture in my foot.”
“In your foot? What about your race?”
“I guess I’ll have to try to beat Logan next year.”
Months of training, gone. “God, that’s awful.”
He made a noise, sort of an oh well. “It happens. What did you want to talk about? Logan said he’d screwed something up at the office and you weren’t too thrilled with him right now.”
“I’ve gotten over it,” I announced to myself. “But Logan doesn’t know that yet, and I was kind of hoping to show him on Sunday. If you’re not running, are you still planning on going?”
“Oh yeah. Hilary had made up some signs for me, and I thought I could use them on Logan. Some of them will be epic.”
“Do you mind if I still tag along?”
“Of course not.”
“Great, thanks. Can we keep it on the down-low? ”
His half-laugh was similar to Logan’s. “I’ll try my best.”
I dressed in skinny jeans, a gray long-sleeved shirt and knee-high boots, looping a scarf around my neck. It was warm for October in Chicago, but not all that warm. Sunny with a slight breeze, and perfect marathon weather. Hilary said Nick had bitched about missing out the whole time as they walked with Logan to the starting corral. I’d met them just past mile four with coffees I’d grabbed for them at a Starbucks.
“How is he?” I asked.
“He’s fine,” Nick said. “He was disappointed you weren’t with us.”
Hilary smiled. “He’s just nervous.”
I couldn’t meet Logan as he made his way to the starting gate. I wanted that moment when he was running along and spotted me in the crowd cheering for him. I hadn’t been allowed to ask questions when he’d taken off the blindfold, and now he wouldn’t be able to either. Not when he was trying to break his personal record.
The streets were thick with people, but Nick knew where the best spots were for spectators, and his phone chimed with an automated text when Logan’s bib crossed the start so we had a rough idea of when to expect him.
“If he’s keeping pace, we’ve only got another minute,” Nick said. He looked through the signs Hilary had in her enormous purse, and selected one.
“Really?” she asked. The sign read: “I’m so proud of you, Snuggles.”
“Snuggles?” A grin widened on my face.
Nick shrugged it off. “I like to hold my woman close, what’s the big deal?”
We moved deeper into the crowd of people, edging our way up to the road. Runners flew past, and I watched in disbelief. They were going fast, much faster than I could ever run. They’d just done four miles, with another twenty-two to go. Insane.
“What’s he wearing?” I asked.
“White shirt, black shorts and hat.”
A whole herd of runners went by with women who looked like there wasn’t an ounce of fat on their bodies. The crowd was thick.
“Did we miss him?”
“There he is!” Nick pointed out in the distance to the wave of runners barreling toward us. He extended the sign out toward his brother. “Logan! You got this, man.”
Logan looked relaxed and focused. His eyes glanced at the sign in Nick’s hands and a faint smile curled on his face. I was vaguely aware Hilary was clapping and saying something like, “Go, Logan!” I thought I was clapping. Thought was difficult when our eyes met.
He didn’t slow down, nor did his eyes widen in surprise. An enormous grin burst on his face, and he was so handsome I thought my heart exploded. How could I ever stay away from him? Then he went past, his feet slapping the pavement in quick bursts, carrying him down the road alongside dozens of other runners.
We had to hurry to the next stop and almost missed him.
“He’s ahead of his pace,” Nick said with a scowl.
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“He doesn’t want to peak too soon and then not have enough to finish strong.”
Nick told him as much at the stop, and Logan nodded, his warm eyes locked on mine. He was sweaty, and gorgeous, and I wanted to yell at him to take his shirt off.
It was frantic going from stop to stop because Logan was moving so fast and the crowd was dense no matter where we went. He’d dialed it back too much at the third stop and had fallen behind the pace he wanted to maintain, which made Nick pull out the “You’re so sexy when you’re sweaty” sign. I gave Hilary a smile, letting her know I thoroughly agreed.
“Mile twenty-five’s going to be slammed,” Nick said. “You two go ahead and get a spot, and I’ll text you when I see him at twenty-one.”
The finish line was closed to spectators, so this was the closest we could get to see him finishing. We watched as a guy, younger than Logan, pulled off to the side and was eventually helped away by EMTs. How was Logan fairing? This wasn’t his first marathon, but still. He’d looked less relaxed last time we’d seen him, but Nick was also shouting out that he’d fallen off pace.
I was nervous for him, and once Hilary got the text, my nerves kicked up.
“It won’t be long now, he’s going to do these last miles quick,” she said. “I hope Nick can make it in time, but he fucking better not run.”
“Is it killing him not to be out there?”
“No, he’s okay. I think he’s getting a kick out of helping Logan.”
Twenty minutes later, Nick pushed his way through the people and found us. “He’s fading, but I think he’ll do it.”
Logan wanted to finish under four hours. He’d told me his last marathon he’d finished in four hours and two minutes. So close to hitting a sub-four hour race. Every time Nick glanced down to check his phone, I glanced with him. Three hours and forty-one minutes.
Time kept ticking by, and no Logan. The playful banter between the newlyweds ceased, and I thought we were all chanting in our heads for Logan to be the next racer to turn the corner.
“Yeah, man!” Nick suddenly cried. “Holy shit, he’s gonna get it.”
Logan’s shirt was pasted to his body in sweat, or possibly water he’d tossed on himself, and there was a focused expression I’d never seen before. Utterly competitive and driven. It turned my insides into liquid, flooding me with desire.
He swung his arms, one hand clutching a black pouch of energy gel, and seeing us gave him the final burst I think he needed. Every second brought him closer, and closer, and closer to me. And then, he was gone, streaming toward the finish.
We hurried toward the runner reunion area in Grant Park, and a few minutes later Nick’s phone buzzed with notification of Logan’s unofficial time. He’d done it.
His younger brother was all smiles. “He’ll have to go through gear check, but it shouldn’t be much longer.”
We waited outside the tall green fence as runners meandered out the exit, finisher medals and shiny Mylar blankets draped over their fatigued bodies, but smiles on their faces.
Then, he appeared through the line of runners.
“Hell, yeah,” Nick said. “Three hours, fifty-seven minutes, forty-two seconds.”
It’s like Logan wasn�
�t even listening. His focused look was on me.
“Hi,” he said loudly over the fans around us as he approached.
“Hi, boss,” I yelled back. “I’m so proud of—”
“I have to tell you something.” It was hard to hear, and I worked through the crowd, Hilary and Nick following me.
“What is it?” I was concerned when I reached him. He looked . . . weird. Exhausted from the race, but also nervous. Nick passed a black pouch of energy gel to him and took the gear bag from Logan’s hands. To my side, Hilary had her phone out. Was she taking pictures?
“I don’t want to keep anything from you,” he said. “So you should know I bought an engagement ring.”
I couldn’t hear the people around us anymore. “What? When?”
“That day you had lunch with Blake.”
Right after he’d heard me confess I thought he could be the one. Oh. My. God. I wasn’t sure how to respond to this stunning information. And that black pouch wasn’t energy gel. It wasn’t plastic, but fabric. My body tingled with anticipation and nerves.
“I have rules.” His fingers disappeared into the pouch. “Just one, actually. You have to answer my questions honestly.”
It was a platinum band with a large emerald-cut diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds, and the moment it came out he sank to one knee. I pressed my fingers to my lips, my gaze going from his, to the ring he held up, and then back to him. My body froze into a statue.
There was a red observation tower nearby that elevated the race spotters a few feet above the crowd and, when Logan knelt down, the spotter went on high alert.
“Runner down,” he yelled into a megaphone. “Runner down.”
Logan’s gaze went to the man in the tower and turned to his brother. “Is he talking about me?”
Nick yelled to the spotter that Logan was fine. That he was proposing. It wouldn’t sink in, even after hearing that. Logan Stone was down on one knee, proposing. To me. His focus returned to mine when it was clear the spotter got what was happening.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
I nodded, my eyes wet with tears. “Yes.”
“Do you know how much I love you?”
“Yes.”
He was breathing rapidly, but I had no idea if it was from what he was saying, or the twenty-six miles he’d just run. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me?”
My idiot brain tried to come back online, and I shot an accusatory look at his brother. Nick had been carrying that ring all morning and had passed it to Logan without a word. “You told him I was coming.”
“Yeah,” Nick said, sheepish. “I was worried it would mess with his head too much if you weren’t there, and then showed up.”
“You’re breaking my rule, Evie,” Logan said. My overwhelmed mind struggled to figure out if he’d meant it playfully or seriously. Emotional tears blurred my vision.
“Will you marry me?”
He’d been with April twelve years and never done this. In less than three months with me, he was sure. And I was sure too. I wouldn’t fail at loving him. Wasn’t even possible.
“Yes,” I said.
It was barely a word, but it registered all the same. He took my shaky hand and slipped the band onto my finger, where it felt like it belonged. Strangers around us cheered and congratulated us. All I wanted was to be in his arms, and it looked like he had the same desire.
Then Logan made the mistake of trying to stand, and his face filled with alarm. “I’m not sure I can move.”
Nick hooked a hand under an arm and hauled Logan’s stiff body upright, ignoring the groan of discomfort this action caused his older brother. I ignored it too. I threw my arms around Logan’s neck, his sweat-soaked shirt beneath my hands. I loved it. I loved everything about him.
His mouth was hot and tasted like cherries from his energy gels, and he answered my urgent kiss by matching my intensity. A hand snaked behind my back to hold me against him, pressing me into his damp body and heaving chest.
“Did that really just happen?” I said in between his breathy kisses.
“I asked Hilary to get it on video because there are some people who are going to need visual proof.”
“Like Mom,” Nick chimed in.
I stared at the ring on my left hand which was still trembling when lips found mine and stole my focus. Holy shit, my fiancé knew how to kiss.
“Okay,” Nick interrupted, “congrats and all, but can you maybe hydrate so I don’t have to carry you when your muscles cramp up?”
I don’t think Logan wanted to. When I tried to release him so he could head to the table with water bottles, his arm remained locked around me.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
He grinned. “Oh, yeah.”
He was sweaty, and gorgeous, and . . . happy.
And he was mine.
chapter
TWENTY-SIX
The Saturday after Thanksgiving, my phone rang at five forty-five in the morning, bathing our bedroom in pale blue light. My hand fumbled and yanked it off the charger, and my bleary eyes looked at the screen. It was a number I didn’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Payton.”
“Who’s dead?” I whispered into the phone, terrified. She knew better than to call this early.
“I am.” Payton’s voice was frantic. “Sorry I woke you.”
I sat up, concern flooding my body. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to you, I’m kind of freaking out. And I’m coming over.”
“Okay, but what’s happened? Are you all right?”
She paused, which only made my worry grow. “I’m okay. Well, no, not really. I’m gonna grab some coffee and then I’m headed your way.”
Logan was out cold, deep in a NyQuil coma. My fiancé had been fighting a cold for at least two days, refusing to admit defeat until last night. As we were getting ready to go out for drinks with our friends, he’d curled up under the covers, shivering. We ended up canceling, and I spent the night in bed, reading his iPad while he snored and coughed beside me. He looked better this morning. Also, he looked like he might sleep another four hours, which was good. Whatever was going on with Payton sounded serious.
The entire time I was in the shower I was worrying about her, and then a knot formed in my stomach. Oh, god, was she pregnant? She was careful in her personal life, and it was required at the club, but accidents did happen.
My shower was brief. I’d learned pretty soon after moving in with Logan that showering in the big glass enclosure by myself was a great way to end up cold. No wonder he always had the water so hot. I pulled my bin of cosmetics and hair stuff out from beneath the sink and dug out a ponytail holder, wrapped my wet hair back into a bun, and stored the bin away. I’d only moved in a week ago and was determined to keep my sloppiness to a minimum. I padded out into the kitchen and sat at the breakfast bar, staring out at the gorgeous view I’d never get used to.
I’d never get used to him, either, and didn’t want to. I couldn’t get enough of him. Ironically, I saw less of Logan at the office, but now that the cat was out of the bag and I was reporting to Kathleen, things improved everywhere else. Logan and I got ready in the mornings together, commuted together. We ate lunch out in the open when his schedule allowed it, and at the end of the day we came home together.
Jamie was instantly my new best friend when she saw me sporting the rock on my hand. Custom designed by Logan, of course. I think she wanted to swing an invite to the wedding, or possibly help me plan it. She’d been dropping some not-so-subtle hints like talking about how she’d planned her sister’s wedding. Even when Kathleen promoted me to Senior Designer over her, Jamie took it in stride.
At six-fifteen there was a sharp, single knock on the door, jarring me from my thoughts.
Payton came in like a blur, dropping a tray of coffee cups on the counter. Was all that coffee for her? Or had she been so freaked out she’d forgotten I didn’t d
rink the stuff? When I pull an all-nighter I look like death warmed over, but of course, not her. Her hair looked perfectly messy and tousled, and her makeup smudged to give her sexy, smoky eyes like a magazine ad. I could tell she hadn’t slept, though.
“Are you pregnant?” That was the greeting I gave her.
“What? No.” She yanked her coffee out of the tray with too much force and sent coffee slinging everywhere. She was vibrating with nervous, chaotic energy, and witnessing her like that was scary.
“What’s wrong?”
“I got let go from the club.” Her face was white. “I mean, I got fired.”
I froze with the paper towel in my hand, ready to clean up the coffee. “What?”
Her face fell into her hands. “What am I going to do?”
“Again, what? What happened?”
“This is all his fault, you know. He shouldn’t have said a damn thing.” She paced a circle in the living room. “Fuck, it was so much money.”
“Could you be more cryptic? Who are we talking about?”
She pulled to a stop and glared at me like I should know. “We’re talking about the guy who got me fired; the one who fucked up my life.”
“Your life?” I said, dubious. “You like what you do there, but, come on. That place is not your life.” Did she think that was rich coming from me, given what I’d done to keep my job?
“Ugh, no, I’m not talking about the club.” She set her coffee down that had been nothing more than a prop to occupy her busy hands. “Look at me, I’m a fucking mess. He owes me at least an apology. He should have warned me.”
“Jesus, Payton, who?”
Her gaze hardened. “Logan.”
What? “Logan got you fired? How?”
“Because of what he did last night.”
She was making absolutely no sense. “Last night–? He was sick, and he was here with me.”
“Yeah,” she snapped. “I’m aware.”
She resumed her random pacing without explaining. It was like she was coming apart, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Worse, I couldn’t help her without understanding what had happened, and she wasn’t making sense, so I stormed into the bedroom and latched a hand on Logan’s bare shoulder.