by Lisa N. Paul
“What ever happened to the babe from the bar?” Ethan asked. “What was her name?”
“Wren.” Everyone looked askance at Marcus, and he said, “What? I might be a manwhore, but I do listen when people speak. Smith has been yakking my ear off about his Emmy chick, and apparently your girl, Wren, while wacky, saved his ass last weekend.”
Even hearing another man say her name struck a jealous chord in Logan. “My girl isn’t wacky.”
“Dude, a Fortune Eight Ball?”
Logan chuckled. He couldn’t deny that the Eight Ball was weird. “I know it’s bizarre, but she isn’t. I’d take her brand of wacky over every one of your groupies combined any day of the week.”
Noah whistled. “Those are some bold words, brother. Not ones I heard coming from anyone in this room before. You gonna bring her around or keep her away?”
Logan looked around the room. Minus Greg, who was still recovering from surgery, and Smith, who while part of the group was never part of the band, these guys were his family. He couldn’t wait to introduce them to his woman.
*
The trill of an incoming text woke Wren from her accidental sleep. After a hard workout and dinner and drinks with Emmy, Wren was cheerful but exhausted. When she’d arrived home, the first thing she did was throw her hair in a bun and slip into her pajamas. She hadn’t expected a text from Logan nor the sexy yet still adorable phone call. How a man could be white-hot sexy and still cuddly adorable was beyond her, but Logan pulled it off during every interaction.
After she’d sent him a picture of herself in her boxy, silly, favorite pajama top—a bucket of ice water to douse his flame—she hopped into bed to continue the book she’d started earlier that day. The hero and heroine were enjoying a day at the beach after several traumatic events…
The Kindle rested facedown on her pillow, just beside her face.
“Shit.” She lifted the device only to see it was in sleep mode, which meant she must have been sleeping for a while. The time on her cell phone read twelve thirty. She’d been asleep for nearly an hour, yet that didn’t matter when she saw his name attached to the text.
Logan: It’s late. I hope if you’re sleeping it’s morning when you read this. If you’re still awake, goodnight.
He was still thinking about her. Her cheeks ached from smiling.
Wren: It is late. It’s possible the text woke me, but it’s probable that my dreams will now be sweet. I hope yours are as well. Xo
Logan: xo
Chapter Seventeen
Relax, Fred Flintstone
“Do I want the toffee latte?”
–Outlook Not So Good–
“Damn.” Wren offered an apologetic look to Cindy, the barista behind the register, while Stella made the coffee drinks. “Do I want a caramel macchiato?”
–Yes–
“Yes, I’ll have a medium caramel macchiato, please.”
“Thank the dear Lord, lady. It’s about damn time,” the woman behind Wren bit out. “You need help or medication. Jesus, something more than coffee, that’s for damn sure.” The woman pushed Wren aside as she made her way to the counter and placed her order.
Disheartened by the verbal attack and aggravated by the physical one, Wren tapped the woman on the shoulder. “All of those things you say I need, they’ll help me order my coffee quicker, right, ma’am?”
The woman gave her a disgruntled stare.
“Okay,” Wren continued, “I’m fine with that. My question is, what will it take to make you a kinder, more compassionate person? Will it be coffee?” Wren lifted the ball, shaking it firmly in front of the woman’s face. “Very Doubtful. Guess maybe you should look elsewhere as well.” Wren dropped the ball in her bag and grabbed her drink from an approving Stella.
Huffing, the woman shoved her money at Cindy and moved to the side to wait for her coffee.
“Did that thing really say very doubtful, or did you make it up to prove a point?”
So wrapped up in guilt for the way she’d spoken to the stranger, Wren didn’t notice Logan standing in line until his arm wrapped around her biceps. Startled, she stared at him for a second, happy to see him and embarrassed to know he’d witnessed her behavior. “I thought you were a Dunkin’ Donuts man.”
“I was until I tasted Stella’s coffee. Now I find myself driving out of the way to get it.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “And maybe I was hoping I’d run into you as well. I’m busy with meetings today, so unfortunately, I won’t have time to have lunch with you.”
He had made a habit of visiting her every day that week during her lunch hour, either bringing food from Panera or taking her out for a quick bite. She’d gotten used to seeing his face and enjoying the brief but spirit-lifting visits, and the thought of him not being there stung. Work comes first. Don’t make things difficult, Wren.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You know you don’t have to hike all the way out here to me every day.”
“I’d hardly call twenty minutes a hike. Not to mention I like doing it. So unless you would rather I didn’t, on the days I can, I will.” Logan ordered his plain black coffee and received it immediately. “Tell me, the ball, did it really read very doubtful?”
Shaking her head, a heavy feeling settled in Wren’s stomach. “I have no idea what it said. I was too frustrated to read it.”
“Good.”
“Good? Why good? I was horrible to her. Mean. I sank down to a level that wasn’t nice, and I shouldn’t have.”
His palm on her cheek was soothing, like comfort food after a breakup. “Babe, she was awful. I wanted to get involved the second she opened her mouth, but I held back because I didn’t think you’d want me to jump in. When she touched you, I saw red. You handled the situation perfectly. Better than anyone else could or would have. Other people in line were practically cheering for you.”
What? “They were? It took me forever to order my drink. They were all huffing and puffing.”
“Yeah, they were annoyed. They wanted their coffee so they could get going, then they saw you being bullied for being different. You need to understand, Wren, she wasn’t nice and you weren’t mean. She was nasty, and you stuck up for yourself. You didn’t call her names, use violence, or make a scene. You used her own nasty words against her, and in doing so, you proved it was her who needed help.” Logan pressed a kiss on the tip of Wren’s nose. “Perfect. Now let me walk you to your car so you aren’t late.”
The few steps from the coffee shop to her car door didn’t feel like enough time to be tucked under his arm. “Glad I got to see you.”
“Me too, beautiful.”
Her back was against the driver’s door as he took her coffee and set it on the roof of her car, next to his own, then he boxed her in, an arm on either side of her frame. “I’ve got to confess”—Logan’s husky tone and sly smile made lust pulse through Wren’s veins quicker than blood—“part of the reason I meet you for lunch every day is so I can sneak a few minutes to do this…”
He looked hungrily at her mouth before crashing his lips to hers. Wet and warm, desperate and ridiculously talented, Logan’s kiss seared through her body, raising goose bumps that had nothing to do with the winter chill. Threading one hand into his hair, she pulled him closer while the other hand snaked under his jacket and gripped his back. Her response to his touch was fevered and wanton, heating her body and melting her skin. His tongue worked in and out of her mouth, making her belly flutter and her panties wet with desire. Desire that wouldn’t be quenched here in Stella’s parking lot.
Begrudgingly, Wren slowly disengaged. She ran her palms over the unshaven planes of Logan’s cheeks and sighed. “I guess it’s okay to confide that those kisses are one of the reasons I look forward to your visits.” Rolling up on her toes, she pecked him on the lips. “But I have to go before I really am late. The new manager starts today, and I don’t want to make a bad first impression.”
“You couldn’t make a bad first impression.�
�� Logan reached over her head to grab both drinks and handed her the sweet concoction before taking his own. She’d completely forgotten about them and probably wouldn’t have remembered until the frothy liquid streamed down her windows as she drove out of the parking lot. Planting a kiss on her forehead, Logan opened her door and waited for her to get settled and seat belted. “By the way, your lunch will be delivered at eleven-thirty.”
“What? Logan—”
“Babe, I’ve had lunch with you every day this week. Did you pack yourself something today?”
The first two days, she’d had her protein bars because she hadn’t expected Logan’s visits, but on day three, the Fortune Ball had advised forgoing her bar and holding out for Logan. He did not disappoint, so day four, she didn’t bother asking and assumed he would show up again. He did.
“No, I didn’t, but I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.” With the hour break and the three extra weeks’ vacation time that the Haydens had mandated she take until all time lost was accounted for, she could easily run out and grab lunch.
“That’s not how this works.” Even leaning into her open window, his presence was huge. “I didn’t know until this morning that I’d be missing our lunch or I would have told you sooner. I had to cancel our date, which sucks, but that doesn’t mean I’ll cancel your lunch. Expect tomato soup and one of those shortbread cookies that make your eyes roll in the back of your head.”
“Oh my God, they do not!”
“Lucky, they do.”
Just thinking about those cookies made her mouth water. “Okay, maybe they do. Thank you. It’s unnecessary, but totally appreciated.” She wanted to devour him the same way she devoured the cookie he teased her about.
“Please don’t look at me that way, beautiful.” A desperate plea laced Logan’s tone as his knuckle stroked her cheek. “We both have work, and we both need to go.” He backed away from her window. “Text me when you have time.”
As if he’d flipped a switch, the playful romance was gone. He walked to his truck, got in, and drove away without looking back. She sat for more than a minute in a lusty haze, wondering just how in the hell she would get through her day.
*
When the last of his employees left the conference room, Logan eased back into the chair and smiled. Shades of Music wasn’t just succeeding as it had been since Logan started it more than six years prior—the demand for another location was overwhelming.
Back when Logan told the guys he was leaving the band and explained that while he would continue to write songs, he also wanted to open the school, the guys had unanimously decided to contribute a percentage of the band’s income to the school. Having the Shades of Certainty name attached to the school was gold. But after years of blood, sweat, and tears, Logan and his staff had created a business that not just stood on its own but thrived. Most of the time, people forgot it was connected with the world-renowned band, and when the connection was made, it was whipped cream on an already incredible sundae.
The morning’s first meeting had been with accounting and legal. While he knew what they would tell him, hearing how well SoM was doing financially felt like a fucking dream. They’d also said that the documents sent from the cable network that wanted to do a documentary on both him and his schools looked good and were ready to be signed and sent back. Even though it was a last-minute deal due to the entertainment paperwork, he thought it was awesome. His people worked damn hard to make SoM the success it was, so even if Logan didn’t revel in the spotlight, he would deal with it temporarily to grow the business.
“Did you give everyone a raise or something?” Smith’s big body leaned casually against the door frame. “Never seen so many happy people in my life… outside of the women leaving my bed, of course.” His cocky chuckle made Logan laugh.
“Come on in, buddy.” Logan gestured to an empty seat. “Remember that call I got about a month ago from the Music Network?”
Smith nodded.
“Well, they sent a contract to my lawyer last week. As of today, we are signed on to do an episode of What Happened When. I told the team today. Needless to say, they are stoked… and I gave them each a nice little bonus as well.” It had only been a few weeks since they received their Christmas bonus, so while not as generous, today’s bonus was unexpected and extremely appreciated.
“Shit, maybe I should work for you,” Smith deadpanned as he swiped a sandwich from the tray in the middle of the table.
“Nah, you love that gym of yours too much. I’ve seen what you’re like when you spend even a few days away from it. You get all cranky and shit.” Logan cringed. “Just give yourself a raise, man, and call it a day.”
Smith glared at Logan then gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Okay. I’ll do that.”
“Barely heard from you all week. How are things with the fiery Emmy?”
As if his sandwich had become the most interesting thing in the world, Smith’s eyes stayed glued to the food. “Fine.”
“Fine? Bro, what’s up? For weeks, all I heard about was Emmaline this and Emmaline that and now she’s fine? Fill me in.” If Logan was a betting man, he would have bet his BMW that Emmaline Thomas was the woman to finally capture Smith Jones’s roaming eye and contain his love ‘em and leave ‘em ways.
“Nothing’s up. She’s great. I just don’t know if I’m ready to settle down yet.”
“Was she pressuring you to do that? Because it didn’t look like she was giving you any more than you were giving her.”
“No.” Smith picked at the bread on his plate. “She’s cool. But she isn’t the type you fool around with—she’s the type you end up with. And I don’t think I’m there yet.”
Shit, his friend was into this woman, and he was going to screw it up, if he hadn’t already. Logan geared up to find the gentlest way to see how badly his friend had screwed up. “I gotta ask—have you told Emmy how you feel?”
“Hell no! You let a woman know you have feelings, it’s like showing weakness. I broke a date with her via text, and other than a quick phone call, we haven’t spoken. She hasn’t even tried to call me since Monday—it’s crazy. But it’ll be fine. I’ll call her next week and take her out. As long as there’s some distance between us, I should be okay.”
No wonder women thought men were idiots. Some men were idiots. “Dude, I don’t think this game you’re playing is going to work out the way you want it to.”
Smith’s head cocked to the side as real confusion crossed his face. “I know what I’m doing, Lo. I need to put this whole Emmaline thing on ice until I’m ready to deal with it.”
“You can’t put a person on ice, you moron. Jesus Christ! Look, all I know is what I’ve heard from Wren, and that is, like you, Emmy doesn’t do feelings often or easily. If she likes you, that means something. If you hurt her, that will mean something too.”
“I’m unsubtly changing the subject now,” Smith declared, reaching for another sandwich. “How are things with you and the fortune teller?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Kidding, man, really. I like her for you. Are things good?” For the first time since Smith walked into the conference room, Logan saw the ease settle back into his friend’s frame.
He could talk about Wren for hours: her humor, her strength, her beauty, the way she turned him on with no more than a look, how she frustrated him every time she pulled that damn ball out of her purse yet how he wanted to protect her from even a mean glance from someone else regarding the ball. He could have said all of those things, but somehow, they felt too private to share. “Things are great. Every day is interesting, if not fun. I’m not sure I’ve ever laughed as much as I have since I met her.”
“And she’s hot,” Smith added, making a curl of unwarranted protectiveness spike through Logan.
“She’s smokin’ hot, and all mine,” Logan said, calming his inner caveman.
“Relax, Fred Flintstone, I’m not trying to poach your Wilma. Just making an observation.�
�
The beeping of Logan’s cell phone alerted him to a text.
Wren: Thanks for lunch. It was smooth, hot and delicious. Not unlike your kisses ;)
Smiling, he typed back.
Logan: Wish I was there to watch you enjoy… both the soup and my kisses. Tomorrow night, Lucky.
Wren: The soup has no effect on my panties, unlike this text. Tomorrow night. Xo
“You know, I am sitting right here.”
The intrusion of Smith’s teasing voice while Logan dirty texted Wren felt no different than getting caught making out with Lolly Parker in the seventh grade. The only difference was the conference table thankfully hid his erection. To this day, Logan still couldn’t mention the girl who had ended up as the town’s pharmacist to his mother without her rehashing the whole mortifying experience.
“Yes, you are. Why is that again?” Logan asked.
“You wanna go out tomorrow night? A little clubbing, drinking—you know, check out the chicks.”
“Sorry, I’m taking Wren out tomorrow night. How about pool on Sunday?”
Standing, Smith smoothed his hands over his track pants. “It’s bros before hos, remember that, Enders.”
Irritation zipped through Logan as he too stood and walked around the large table, meeting his friend eye to eye. “You are my brother, so I’ll let that comment slide. You may not think you’re ready to find something good—hell, the way you act, maybe you aren’t. I wasn’t either… until I did. But unlike you, my brother, only way I’d walk away from Wren is brute force.”
Regret tightened Smith’s jaw. “It was a dick thing to say, Lo. I’m sorry.”
“It was. You know I’m loyal, Smith. I’m always here for you, but I want her. The more I think about it, I’m beginning to think it may be more. So don’t give me shit, man. Let me figure this out and enjoy it.”
Nodding, Smith held out his hand. “Always, brother.”