by Elise Noble
My phone buzzed with a message from Leah. Have you left yet?
Me: Just walking out the door.
Yes, walking. After all that cake with Edna, I needed the exercise, and if I cut across the park, the Brotherhood was less than a mile away. And going on foot would save me from hunting for a parking space, and worse, having to fit my car into it. Taking six goes to reverse my Honda into a narrow bay under the scrutiny of Richmond’s finest wasn’t how I wanted to start the evening.
The Brotherhood was set back from the road, and I’d definitely been right to walk. Vehicles overflowed out of the small parking lot and down the side streets, and as the nicotine addicts clustered around the open front door turned their heads to look at me, I almost spun around and ran right back home. I didn’t fit into a place like this.
But Leah hadn’t sent me Desmond’s contact details, and I could hardly stand him up, could I?
“What can I get you, beautiful?” the bartender asked once I’d been jostled and elbowed and somehow found myself at the front of the crowd.
“Uh…” Where did they get him from? A Hollywood movie set? The Mr. Universe locker room? “A diet cola, please.”
“Surely you’re not here on your own?”
“I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”
He smiled and nodded. “Lucky man.”
That bartender sure knew how to earn his tips.
Glass in hand, my next challenge was to find a table. Preferably one where I could see the door because Desmond was due to arrive at any moment. Seven thirty, Leah had said. I figured I could have one drink, maybe two, make a polite excuse, and still be home before it got dark. In June, that gave me plenty of time.
A couple got up to leave, and I almost tripped over my own feet in my hurry to reach their table. I dived for the closest seat, ignoring the glare of a leggy blonde whose stilettos had lost the race to my ballet pumps. Victory was mine! But where was Desmond? I looked around the bar properly for the first time, and I could understand why it drew the crowds.
A group of men surrounded the pool table at the back, taunting each other, and beyond them, I glimpsed the famed “money wall.” Visitors were invited to sign dollar bills and pin them to the smooth wooden boards, and when the wall was full, the cash got collected up and donated to charity. Last year, they’d raised over ten thousand bucks. But centre stage went to a sleek black Harley-Davidson, gleaming under spotlights on a revolving platform. I’d never ridden on a motorcycle before and most likely never would, but that bike would undoubtedly star in my dreams tonight, and probably those of every other woman in the place.
And at this rate, the Harley would be on its own, because there was no sign of Desmond. I checked the photo on my phone again. Nope, I definitely hadn’t seen the handsome blond cowboy with cute dimples.
“Sloane?”
A brown-haired man perched on the seat opposite me. Tall and thin, he hadn’t made the effort to shave, but then again, the fluff on his chin didn’t really warrant it.
“Yes?”
How did he know my name?
“As soon as I saw your photo on that dating site, I knew it was you.”
“I’m sorry, have we met before?”
“Not in person.”
“You’re not Desmond, are you?”
Because Laurence may have accused me of using a flattering photo yesterday, but there was no way the man sitting opposite me and the man in Leah’s picture were one and the same.
“Today, I’m Desmond. Just like today you’re Sloane, Marilyn.”
Marilyn? Marilyn was my middle name, after my grandma, but I never called myself that. I gave my drink the side-eye. Had somebody spiked it? Either that or I’d fallen off Planet Earth and landed in a parallel universe.
“I think there’s been a mistake.”
I tried to get up, but Desmond’s evil non-twin grabbed my wrist. For a skinny guy, he was surprisingly strong.
“Let go of me.”
“Look, I’m a reasonable guy. I just want my money back.”
“Money? What money?”
“The money I sent for your breast enlargement surgery.” He leaned back a little, taking a good look at my chest. “I have to admit they’ve done a good job, but cutting off all contact afterwards? Not cool, Marilyn.”
I gasped as he reached his free hand over and gave one boob a good squeeze. “Hey!”
“Feel natural too.”
“Get off!”
“Why? I paid for them. I think I’m entitled.”
Both of Desmond’s hands may have been busy, but mine weren’t. I grabbed my drink and threw it in his face. Everyone turned to stare as he let out a howl, and I was so busy cringing, I forgot to duck as he slapped me. Hard. My ears rang as I tried to scramble away from him, but he still had hold of my wrist so I didn’t get very far.
Then a pair of hands prised Desmond’s fingers away from me and gave him a hard shove.
“Leave her alone, you schmuck.”
I might have still been blinking away stars, but I recognised that voice.
“Kenneth? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Don’t worry, Sloane. I’ve got this.”
Desmond swung at Kenneth, and the meaty thud as knuckles met flesh made me wince. Kenneth staggered backwards, clutching the top of his arm.
“Ow! You just broke my shoulder.”
Kenneth had this, did he? Right.
“Butt out of my business, man.”
“Not when you’re hitting on my girlfriend.”
“For the last time, Kenneth, we broke up.”
As usual, he ignored me, and instead charged at Desmond, head down like an angry bull. Desmond doubled over, fighting for breath as Kenneth flailed away.
“Stop it! Both of you!”
Wait a minute—why was I defending either of them? Apart from the embarrassment factor, did I even care if they beat each other to a bloody pulp? Perhaps if I just slipped out the door…
“Fifty bucks says the preppy guy wins,” one bystander said.
“Could you move over a bit?” a woman asked. “I’m filming this for YouTube.”
Oh, heck. What if Mom found out about this? I’d never hear the end of it. Teeth gritted, I waded back into the fray and grabbed at Kenneth, but he wound his arm back to get another punch in and elbowed me in the face.
Everything went black for a second, but someone caught me under my armpits and dragged me onto a chair. As my vision cleared, I became vaguely aware of the hot bartender striding past me and picking Desmond up in a bear hug.
“Get out of my fucking bar,” he growled. “If I see you in here again, I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll have to retrieve it from Idaho.”
The crowd parted with groans of disappointment as the bartender carried Desmond towards the door, and I gingerly touched my face. Ouch. My eye was starting to swell up already.
“Are you okay?” Kenneth asked.
“Yes. No. I mean, I’m not sure. My face hurts.”
A trickle of blood ran from his nose, and he dabbed at it with a napkin. “I should probably get an X-ray.”
“I’m sorry. And thank you for stepping in.” I gave my head a shake to try and clear the fuzz, and it felt as if I had a baseball careening around inside my skull. “Hang on—what are you even doing here?”
“Saving you from yourself. Your mother was worried.”
“She told you where I was?” Stupid me, of course she did.
“With good reason, it seems. Honestly, what were you thinking going out with an animal like that? Sometimes, Sloane, you demonstrate appalling judgement.”
“I know. I dated you for over a year, didn’t I?”
“If your mother heard how ungrateful you sound, she’d turn in her grave.”
“My mother’s not even dead yet.”
But she might be the next time I saw her.
“It’s a figure of speech, Sloane. Luckily, I’m the forgiving type. Now that your ‘date’ has
gone, we can sit down and have a civil conversation over dinner, although I’d be surprised if this dump served any decent food.”
No, no, no, no, no. Kenneth did not get to charge back into my good graces like some bargain-basement white knight.
Think fast, Sloane.
“I’ve got no idea who that guy was. In fact, I’ve never seen him before in my life. My actual date is someone totally different.”
“Then where is he?”
Uh, good question. I glanced up at the door, praying the bartender would come back and escort Kenneth to the parking lot as well, but no such luck. No, a different man appeared in the doorway, and my heart began to beat faster with hope, nervousness, and just a little bit of lust.
I raised one shaky finger and pointed in his direction. “That’s him. That’s my date.”
My steps wavered as I staggered across the bar and clutched at the newcomer’s arm like a lifeline. Kenneth had followed, and he looked understandably suspicious.
“This is your date?”
“Yes, absolutely.” I peeped up into surprised brown eyes and attempted a smile. “Honey, you’re late.”
Please, Logan. Play along.
CHAPTER 10 - LOGAN
LOGAN TOOK ONE look at Sloane with her hair all mussed, her cheeks smudged with mascara, and her face swollen, and his hands balled into fists.
“Did this motherfucker hurt you, kitten?”
“Not on purpose.”
So Kenneth had hurt her. That little shit was about to get intimately acquainted with the sidewalk. Logan took a step forward, but Sloane’s grip tightened on his arm.
“Please don’t. I’ll explain, I promise, but can I sit down for a minute first? Kenneth was just leaving.”
Too damn right he was. “Get out, and don’t bother coming back. You’re not welcome here.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, you Neanderthal. You don’t own the place.”
“Actually, I do.”
Sloane gave a start and looked up at Logan, questioning. She needed ice on that cheek. Logan slid an arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him, as much to keep himself from pummelling Kenneth as anything else.
“Horse hockey,” Kenneth said. “Sloane, this man’s a liar and a thief. Did you know he stole my cufflinks?”
Sloane made a choking noise, but then Christian appeared at Logan’s elbow.
“Need a hand, buddy?”
“I was just explaining to this gentleman that he’s not welcome in our bar.”
Christian took a step towards Kenneth, and the smaller man backed up in a hurry. Good move on his part. Back in high school, Christian had been on the wrestling team, and he still kept in shape. He could deal with Sloane’s prick of an ex, because at the moment, Logan had more important things on his mind.
“Take care of this,” he muttered, then dipped his head to kiss Sloane’s hair, partly to annoy Kenneth but mostly because he wanted to. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”
People stared as he escorted Sloane through the bar, past his bike, past a giggling bachelorette party, and past the pool table, then through the door at the back marked Private. In Trey’s office, Logan settled her into the leather swivel chair behind the desk and crouched down beside her.
“I’ll be back in a minute. I’m just gonna get some ice for your face, okay?”
She nodded, staring vacantly at a spot on the wall behind him. What the hell had gone on before he got there? And more importantly, did he have to kill anyone?
In the kitchen, he ignored the staff and scooped ice into a bag, wrapping it in a tea towel to take some of the chill away before he jogged back to the office and held it gently against Sloane’s cheek. She still hadn’t spoken, and Logan recognised the signs of mild shock.
“What happened, kitten?”
He knelt at her side, holding the ice to her face as she described the evening’s events, and he didn’t know where to start with processing things. What had Leah been thinking, setting Sloane up with a stranger like that?
“And you think it was a case of mistaken identity?” he asked.
“What else could it have been? I mean, it’s not as though I’ve actually gotten a boob job.”
No, she hadn’t. Logan had spent the last seven years sneaking glances at her cleavage, and not only did her breasts look natural, they hadn’t suddenly grown overnight.
“I know, kitten.”
The term of endearment came naturally now, and he was surprised she hadn’t called him on it again. Not that he’d stop. It suited her, Sloane the sweet little sex kitten, but if anyone used the name but him, he’d take their fucking head off.
“First Kenneth, now two disastrous dates in two days. I’m destined to be single for the rest of my life.”
“Two? What was the other one?”
The story of Laurence came spilling out, and when Sloane finished speaking, Logan pressed her hand against the ice pack, drew his Glock 19 from his waistband, and dumped the ammunition out onto Trey’s desk. Fifteen rounds from the magazine, and one from the chamber.
“So I don’t get tempted,” he explained.
“Please don’t hurt anyone. It’s over.”
“Leah’s still got internet access. Me and her are gonna have words.”
“No! It’s fine, honestly. I’ll message her right now, see?”
Sloane pulled her phone out of her dinky little purse and tapped away at the screen.
“No more men,” she read out. “I hereby quit dating in general and online dating in particular.”
“Tell her to take down whatever profile she put up.”
“Okay.” Sloane added an extra sentence and hit the send button. “That’s it. Done. Can I go home now?”
“No.”
“No?”
Fuck it. He had Sloane here, alone, and he was going to keep her, at least for a few hours.
“What sort of douche would I be if I sent a lady home hungry? You came here for dinner, so I’m gonna get you dinner.”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Well, I am, so you can stare at your food or watch me eat instead. Choice is yours. What do you want to order?”
“Anything. I’m easy.”
If only. “Loaded burger? Fries?”
She tried to smile, but Logan didn’t miss the way she winced. Fuck. “Back in five.”
Talking to the chef took one minute, fetching a bottle of Advil from the first aid box took another, and then he made a brief detour out to the bar. Christian was back in position, no worse for wear from the evening’s events.
“Did the little prick go quietly?” Logan asked.
“Stared after your girl when you walked her back inside, then he left in his fancy-ass car. Care to share what’s going on?”
“Not sure myself, buddy. She said the first guy just showed up and grabbed her?”
“That’s what it looked like from here.”
“Motherfucker. Did you get his licence number?”
“Sorry. I tossed him onto the sidewalk, and he took off on foot. Must’ve been parked down the block.”
Shit. If Logan asked Mack from the tech department to track the guy down online, she’d want to know why, and he wasn’t sure how to answer that question right now. Yeah, he was interested in Sloane, but he didn’t want to shoot his proverbial load too early and scare her off if she didn’t feel the same way.
He’d just have to keep an eye on things. At least Sloane didn’t seem particularly inclined to jump back into the dating game right away. That gave him time.
While Christian and the bar girls kept the masses at bay, he poured out two Cokes and headed back to Sloane. She hadn’t moved from the chair, and when he appeared in the doorway, she gave him a wide-eyed look that made his cock twitch. Aw, hell. This had the potential to be more uncomfortable than his last date with Stacey the heiress, the one where he’d done the “let’s stay friends” speech and she’d thrown a glass of wine over him.<
br />
“How are you feeling?” He fished the painkillers out of his pocket. “I brought these for you.”
“Thanks.”
Logan dragged up a wooden chair, close enough that their knees touched when he sat. Sloane didn’t move away. Progress? Logan made a mental note not to joke about her sucking his dick tonight, because that sure hadn’t gone down well last time.
“Food won’t be long.”
A tear dampened Sloane’s cheek, and Logan felt the familiar rush of panic. On the plus side, at least his cock softened.
“Uh, do you want more cheesecake?”
She shook her head, and a strangled sob of laughter escaped. “No, please. I felt so, so sick after that night.”
“Then what can I do to make things better?”
She waved a hand and turned away, cheeks reddening. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Fine? No, kitten, you’re in denial.” Oh, fuck it. Logan wrapped his arms around her waist and dragged her across onto his lap. “It’s been a shitty day. I guess you just need to let it out?”
She nodded and buried her head in his shoulder, and he held her tighter. With any other woman, he’d have been ten miles away by now, but this was Sloane. He wanted her—warts, tears, drama, and all.
“I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t walked in,” she mumbled. “Kenneth wants us to get back together, but I’m not interested. Is there a secret man-code I don’t know about? How can I get through to him?”
“Some men are idiots. Either they’re stupid, or they’re too blinded by their own self-importance to see the reality of the situation. With Kenneth, I suspect it’s a mixture of both.”
“What should I do if he tries again?”
“Call me. You’ve got my number, right?”
She nodded. Good. He’d programmed it into her phone years ago under some pretence at work, but not once had she dialled him. At least she hadn’t pressed delete.
“But what if you’re not there?”
“Phone someone else from work. Or Christian. We go way back, and he’ll always help out if a friend’s in trouble.”