Stepping through the doorway and into the wide corridor that housed the handful of vendors, Mariah fished through her handbag to retrieve her wallet. She’d turned thirty a few months ago, and she still had the prepaid gift card her mother had given her. It was in here somewhere.
As she came across the card tucked away in a seldom-used portion of her wallet, she glanced back up to the line for the closest beer vendor. Sure, she had to work in a few hours, but she worked in a bar. More often than not, she drank while she was at work—one of the few perks of her low-paying job. Plus, if she was going to put up with Jeremy Thompson for the next three hours, she needed a damn beer.
More like a fifth of whiskey, she thought to herself.
Her less than favorable thoughts about her friend’s husband ground to a halt when she spotted the profile of a man two spots ahead of her in line.
His dark hair was brushed straight back from his face, but the strands were long enough to reach his chin. Though a couple others came close, he stood taller than all but one of the people in line. The sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the start of a tattoo on the back of one arm. Dark wash jeans and motorcycle boots comprised the rest of his attire.
The tattoo was new and his hair was longer, but she would recognize Logan Harfield anywhere.
As Mariah swallowed against the tightness in her throat, the icy caress of adrenaline crept up her back. Jaw clenched, she tightened her grip on the gift card.
After four years, she hadn’t expected such a gut-churning reaction to his presence. As her heart hammered in her chest, she felt like she was suspended in a space-time bubble straight out of one of the science-fiction books she’d started reading on slow nights at work. She could still see his charming, slightly crooked smile and the mischievous glint in his slate-colored eyes. For a split second, she swore she could feel the warmth of his embrace, the slow cadence of his breathing. She wanted to revel in the memories of their time together, but at the same time, she wished someone could erase them from her brain.
She needed to leave.
Before he spotted her, she needed to turn around and leave the arena altogether. She’d tell her friends she didn’t feel well—she didn’t care.
But just as she started to step out of the line to bolt, his gray eyes met hers. He looked paler in that moment, like he’d spotted a ghost. Just as soon as it had appeared, however, the expression dissipated. With a slight smile, Logan raised a hand in greeting.
“Hey,” she replied. She was surprised her voice sounded almost normal—she had expected to sound like a frog.
“Hey, Mariah. Long time. How’s it going?”
It was fine until you got here. “All right. How about you?” she asked instead. She suspected her bitterness was just a mask for the despondency that lurked beneath.
He shrugged as a contemplative expression passed over his handsome face. “All right, I suppose. Busy, mostly.”
In the awkward silence that ensued, he ceded his position in line to make his way to her side.
“Busy,” she finally said. “Yeah, I can relate.”
Trepidation glimmered just behind his eyes as he returned his gaze to her. “I heard about what happened. Your knee, I mean. I’m sorry to hear that. For what it’s worth, most sports news outlets thought it was a pretty big loss for MMA. But, well, I guess that’s not worth much anymore, is it?”
At the hint of nervousness in his demeanor, some of Mariah’s ire vanished.
With a light sigh, she shrugged. “I guess not. I’m okay, though. I know I did my best to try to get past it, and at the end of the day, that’s all you can really do, you know?”
He nodded as a wistful smile crept to his face.
When they reached the front of the line, Logan asked for a beer, stepped aside, and waved her forward.
After the last couple years of Corrine’s insistence that she pay for everything, Mariah was used to the treatment. She didn’t protest as she made her order.
“There was a stand that used to sell churros here,” Logan said as they accepted their drinks from the young woman behind the counter. “They were like four bucks, but they were amazing. I don’t see them here tonight, though. Hopefully they just moved on to greener pastures.”
The corner of Mariah’s mouth turned at the memory. “I remember you telling me about them and about how much you love churros.”
He gestured to a doorway that loomed on the opposite side of the hall. “You want to grab a couple seats?”
Her heart was in her throat, but she nodded. “Sure, that sounds good. I was here with a couple of my friends, but one friend’s husband showed up, and…” She left the sentiment unfinished as she turned her attention back to Logan. Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head.
Logan laughed, and the sound was enough to elevate her pulse. “That bad, huh?”
“He’s a dick,” she muttered as they made their way to the doorway. “I thought it was a girls’ night thing, but then Dicky McDickbag had to show up.”
“So, you’re saying you probably don’t want to go sit by him?” Even as Logan feigned seriousness, the glint of mirth in his eyes didn’t waver.
Mariah shook her head and chuckled. She’d forgotten how proficient he was at sarcasm.
They picked a couple isolated seats toward the top of the stadium, but Mariah didn’t argue the selection. By now, she wasn’t interested in the outcome of the match, anyway.
As Mariah sat, she brushed off the front of her black slacks. Aside from a jacket that labeled her as staff, The Max didn’t have a specific dress code for those who worked the door. To maintain some semblance of professionalism in a job where she routinely snagged free alcoholic drinks during lulls in business, however, she almost always wore slacks and a button-down dress shirt. Though she occasionally added a splash of color to her attire, her usual MO was black on black.
When she glanced back to Logan, she was surprised at her pang of curiosity. Four years had passed, and she hadn’t heard a word about him. There was no ring on his left hand, but the absence of a wedding band didn’t always mean a person was single.
Wait, why did she care if he was single? She didn’t have any intent to throw herself back into that fire. Or, at least, that’s what she told herself.
“So,” she said. “How has your business been doing? Your whole venture capitalism thing. How’s that been treating you?”
His mouth twitched in a modest smile as he nodded. “It’s been all right. A lot of the businesses we’ve invested in have been successful, so it’s been a busy couple of years.”
She was surprised at how easy it was for her to return his smile. “Just a wild guess, but I bet my version of ‘busy’ and your version of ‘busy’ are quite a bit different.”
He raised his eyebrows and leaned back. “Maybe. I work, probably too much, and I spend time with my kid. Otherwise, there aren’t a lot of opportunities for anything else. This is the first night I’ve gone out by myself for a non-work-related function in, Jesus, I don’t even know how long. Months, at least.”
“Yeah, same here, actually,” she replied. “Not that I go out for work functions, and I don’t have a daughter. I guess I just work a lot, then. Okay, so maybe it isn’t quite the same as what you’re saying. But I understand. I can’t remember the last time I actually got to go out for a real girls’ night without having to leave for work. Much less the last time I went on a date.”
Mariah wasn’t sure why she had added the last part. Was she complaining, or was she trying to find out if Logan had the same romantic hardships as she?
He snorted out a laugh and nodded. “You and me both.”
Well, she thought. There she had it. Logan Harfield was still single. The tension in her muscles eased at the realization, but she had no idea why she should even care.
His gray eyes flicked over to her as he took a sip of his beer. “You’re working a lot, too, huh? What have you been doing?”
He arched an eyebrow. “A call center? Didn’t you get your soul sucked out by one of those before you started MMA?”
She had to hide her surprise. After four years, he still remembered. He even remembered that she had referred to the job as soul-sucking.
“I did,” she admitted, “but I had enough of my soul left to work for a few months in a different call center so they could suck out the rest of it. Now, I’m afraid to say, I have no soul left to speak of.” For emphasis, she rested her hand over her heart and painted a look of defeat on her face.
The corners of Logan’s eyes creased as he flashed her a grin and chuckled. “What did you do once your soul was gone?”
Now, it was her turn to laugh. “I got a job as a bouncer at a bar on the edge of town. The commute was awful, though, so I quit there when I got an offer for a place downtown. The Max, have you heard of it?”
He paused to look thoughtful before he shook his head. “Believe it or not, no, I haven’t. I’m not much of a nightclub kind of guy, though. Not anymore, at least.”
Mariah took a sip of her beer “Yeah, me neither. Not as anything other than an employee, anyway. I don’t know, it’s all right, I guess. The pay sucks, and ever since we lost some of the security people a few months ago, I’ve been picking up extra hours left and right. I think the last time I worked under fifty hours in a week was something like six weeks ago.”
Logan winced. “Ouch. I know the feeling, but it still has to suck. At least my long weeks are mostly by choice.”
Leaning back in her seat, Mariah looked at him and shrugged. “It is what it is, I guess. There are some pretty cool people who work there, and my boss is a nice guy. When we have a long week ahead of us, sometimes his wife will send him to work with cookies or banana bread.”
He seemed to perk up at the mention of desserts, and she almost laughed aloud. “I love banana bread. I make that at least once a month.”
“Wait,” she laughed. “You make banana bread once a month?”
He grinned. “My daughter loves it, too. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not much of a cook, but I can follow a recipe pretty well. If it wasn’t for my housekeeper, Emily and I would probably live off of cupcakes and dessert bars.”
With one hand, Mariah covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. “I bet she would love that.”
“She would,” he chuckled. “She definitely inherited that from me. Her mom always liked salty snacks and real food. Her parents were Italian immigrants, so she could make some killer food.”
Mariah didn’t miss the reference to past tense. But despite the spark of curiosity, she didn’t press the subject. If he used past tense to refer to Emily’s mother, then there was a good chance the subject was a painful one. For the time being, Mariah wanted their banter to remain lighthearted.
“I love Italian food,” she said instead. “And I love banana bread.”
He shot her another one of his charming smiles. “If you didn’t like banana bread, I’d be inclined to think you were a cyborg.”
Mariah chuckled into her cup before she took another drink. “Speaking of cyborgs, I’ve started reading some science-fiction books. When it’s slow at work, there’s basically nothing else to do, so I’ve gotten through quite a few of them.”
He lifted his brows. “Science fiction? I thought that was the one genre you didn’t really get into?”
“It was. But my friend, the one with the dipshit husband, she kept bugging me until I finally started reading a series she’d just finished. And, well…” Mariah paused to shrug. “It was awesome. So I kept reading sci-fi stuff. Plus, when I’m at work, with the way the lighting is, it’s easy to pretend I’m on a spaceship. I only do that when I’m really bored, though.”
His laugh filled the space between them. “Hard work builds character, I guess.”
She snorted, but returned the chortle with a sarcastic grin. “Maybe it does when you get paid more than minimum wage. Otherwise…” She left the thought unfinished and shrugged.
Though slight, his eyes widened. “Minimum wage, really? As a bouncer?”
“Okay, okay.” She held up a hand. “Maybe it’s fifty cents above minimum wage. Seventy hours a week, but it pays the bills. For the most part.”
As the mirth vanished from his eyes, the amused expression was replaced by a sentiment Mariah hadn’t expected—empathy. A spell of quiet settled over them, the drone of the crowd and the ongoing match the only sounds.
She wasn’t sure how she should react to the look of understanding. Though she wanted to make another slew of self-deprecating observations about her work, she realized that something in her banter must have resonated with him on a deeper level than just a lighthearted chat.
Years ago, he had told her that he was raised by a single mother, and for the most part, their finances hadn’t been great. The sudden remembrance served as an explanation for the moment of quiet. If there was one aspect of life with which Logan Harfield could empathize, it was struggling to make ends meet. Mariah could tell the fight for life’s necessities was well behind him, but he would always remember the lesson.
His next question all but blindsided her.
“Why don’t you come work for me?”
As their eyes met, there was no glint of sarcasm or amusement. He was serious.
Chapter 13
Logan
He didn’t know what in the hell had possessed him to ask the question. The rush of his pulse whenever she looked at him was undeniable—clearly, the feelings of attraction he had tried so diligently to bury were still alive and well.
In the silence that followed his unprompted query, the seconds seemed to morph into minutes as his muscles tensed. He briefly considered laughing off the suggestion as silly or joking, but he knew the dismissive remark would only make him look like an even bigger jerk. He had done plenty to instill in Mariah the impression that he was a prick; he didn’t need to poke that wound any more than he already had.
Sure, he had wanted to distance himself from her, but he didn’t want her to hate him. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, he still cared for her, and the thought that she worked her ass off to barely afford her basic needs struck a pang of understanding in him.
Blinking a few times, Mariah sipped at her beer. “What kind of job are you hiring for?” she asked.
Damn. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He had jumped from problem to solution without considering the pathway to get there.
He sat up straighter and took on a business tone. “We can find something for you. It’s been a busy year so far, so we’re always looking for good people to add to the team.”
As her lips parted in a sarcastic grin, the tension melted away from the air. “You’d better not be thinking of putting me in a call center,” she warned.
He spread his hands and laughed. “No, of course not.”
When the moment of mirth passed, a trace of her smile remained. “I’m not sure. I’ve been working at The Max for over a year. It’s not the most lucrative line of work, but I’m good at it, and I like the people I work with.”
As he reached into his back pocket, he held up an index finger. “Here,” he said as he produced a simple white business card. “Like I said, business has been ramping up, and we’re always looking for quality people. You don’t need some crazy degree like half the jobs I see posted out there. A lot of what we do is stuff you learn on the job, anyway.”
She nodded as she accepted the card.
Returning his wallet to the back pocket of his jeans, he offered her a reassuring smile. “How about this. Tomorrow, I’ll look around and see where we could use some help. Honestly, that’s something I’ve needed to do for a little while, so this’ll give me the incentive to finally do it. We can meet up on Monday and talk about it some more.”<
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He felt like a full minute passed as she drank the last swig of her beer. Tapping an index finger against the emptied cup, her green and amber eyes flicked back up to him.
“I’ll think about it,” she finally said.
He had to make a concerted effort to keep the weariness from his expression. “Sounds good.”
Pushing herself to stand, Mariah returned the look with a faint smile and a nod. “Well, speaking of work.” She heaved a sigh and glanced to her phone. “I’d better head out. I need to grab a bite to eat before I start my shift.”
“Of course,” he replied as he rose.
At the same time she extended a hand to him, he started to lean in for a quick hug. In the dim light of the arena, he hoped she couldn’t see the slight flush of embarrassment that crept to his cheeks.
To his relief, she laughed lightly before she moved her hand to accept the parting embrace. The scent of apple and vanilla on her hair was the same as it had been four years ago.
He’d read somewhere that the sense of smell had the strongest tie to memory, but Logan was still taken aback by the intensity of the sudden rush of emotion. As much as he wanted to tighten his grasp on her, to pull her body against his, he had to force himself to keep the hug roughly the same length he would expect from a friend.
He didn’t miss the wistful edge behind her smile as she shouldered her handbag. “It was nice to see you again, Logan.”
He knew he hadn’t managed to keep the sadness off his face as he returned the look. “You, too, Mariah. Hopefully I’ll hear from you soon.”
With a short wave and a tilt of her head, she turned to pick her way back to the steps that led out of the bowl-shaped stadium.
Only when she disappeared through the covered doorway did he drop back down to his seat. Raking a hand through his hair, he let out an explosive breath.
Too strong, Logan, he thought.
He could hardly believe himself. Where had he learned to socialize? Some etiquette school for creeps?
In one fell swoop, he had gone from being determined to cut Mariah out of his life completely to a desperate grasp to keep her at his side. The second she had mentioned her financial hardship, he just had to jump in to try to save her.
The Single Daddy Situation Page 8