Then Logan walked in.
I looked up, my pen poised in my hand, and stared at him.
He came in with another guy, throwing the door open wide, and they sauntered like they owned the place. A week ago I would’ve hated that cockiness and the smug smirk that adorned his face, but today? I swallowed over a small ball forming in my throat.
I was not excited to see him, and I ignored the little flutter in my stomach. I was just glad to see that whatever had been bothering him was gone now. His normal flair had returned, and I held still as he scanned the room.
He found me in the corner eventually and did a little double take. His smirk grew as his eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. He said something to his friend, who nodded and headed for the bar. Then Logan came my way, sliding onto the bar stool across from me. He didn’t ask what I was doing there. He pulled the application away from me and began reading it out loud.
I grabbed it back, glaring. “That’s private.”
“Bruce.” He shook his head with a playful tsking sound. “Nothing’s private about my friends.”
I frowned. “We’re friends?”
“We haven’t had sex, and you haven’t called me an asshole or slapped me yet, so yeah.” He winked at me. “That classifies us as friends in my book.”
There had to be some retort for that, but it wasn’t coming to me. I just stared at him. He scooted his barstool over so he could lean against the wall and brought his legs up to rest on another stool in front of him. Everything about him was relaxed, and for a moment, a warm surge rose in me. I liked this side of him. I got the sense that Logan didn’t classify a lot of people as friends. Or maybe he had a thousand friends, and I was just one of them, but it didn’t stop the flutter inside me.
I felt included.
I had Jason and Claire, but this was different. I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t want to analyze it. I just wanted to enjoy the feeling.
Logan signaled for the guy he’d come in with and caught me staring at him. His eyes narrowed briefly. “What?”
“What?”
“You’re giving me a weird look.”
His friend placed a pitcher of beer onto the table. Logan moved his feet so the guy could sit. As he did, he nodded to me in silent greeting.
Logan snapped his fingers. “Nate Monson. Taylor Bruce. You’ve been introduced.”
Nate nodded again, asking Logan, “Bruce?”
“Mason’s coach.”
I tensed. Some guys flipped out when they found out who my dad was, but not this one. I knew Logan didn’t care either. So I relaxed. Nate had jet-black hair and features that would’ve looked at home on a runway. He wasn’t as lean as Logan, but he was a little taller. As he got comfortable and poured some beer in a glass, I glanced back and forth between the two. Nate seemed reserved, quiet, and very unlike Logan, who watched me as I sized them up.
“Bruce,” Logan started, leaning closer to me over the table, his hand wrapped around the beer. “What are you doing applying for a job here?”
I glanced at Nate. Was he going to chime in? But he just lifted his beer to take a sip and turned to watch the bar. He didn’t seem to care about Logan’s question.
I shrugged. “I need a job.”
“Bullshit. I’ve seen that house you live in. You guys have money.”
Nate glanced at Logan then, a small smile on his face. Logan saw it, and his own lips curved, but neither said a word to the other.
Logan arched an eyebrow at me.
I shook my head. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I need a job. That’s it.”
I needed something to do outside of school and my studies. I didn’t want to depend on Jason and Claire to always be there to entertain me, and I didn’t want any other friends. I wasn’t ready to wade into the drama friendships sometimes brought.
Logan leaned back, raising his beer again. “I call bullshit, but whatever.” He glanced around. “This is a good place to work. Beer isn’t too watered down. We get free snacks.” He gestured to the popcorn machine. “And good tunes.” He nodded to the stage where a band was setting up, then to the jukebox.
Nate chimed in, a low, smooth baritone, “It’s far enough from school that you don’t get a lot of sorority chicks either.”
Logan nodded in agreement.
“Is that normally a problem?”
Both guys looked at me.
I shrugged, feeling a little intimidated. “I mean, don’t guys want drunk sorority girls at a bar?”
Nate grunted. “Sure, if you want a cheap lay. I’d rather have a sober girl at the end of the night, or at least one who knows who she is, not someone so insecure she’ll do anything I ask of her.”
“You guys are reverse snobs.”
They both frowned at me, confused.
“What do you mean?” Logan asked.
“Guys like wasted girls.”
Logan shook his head. “Insecure guys want wasted girls. I’ve got a rep. I know that. But none of those girls were wasted. No way.”
Eric always liked getting me tipsy. He didn’t care if I was drunk or not. This made me look at Logan a little differently. Something close to respect had started to form in me.
I needed to go. That was dangerous. I already looked forward to his jokes, but if I respected him, too? That was just bad all around. Those things could lead to something more, something deep, so I had to go.
I grabbed my purse and slid off my stool.
I looked up, my pen poised in my hand, and stared at him.
He came in with another guy, throwing the door open wide, and they sauntered like they owned the place. A week ago I would’ve hated that cockiness and the smug smirk that adorned his face, but today? I swallowed over a small ball forming in my throat.
I was not excited to see him, and I ignored the little flutter in my stomach. I was just glad to see that whatever had been bothering him was gone now. His normal flair had returned, and I held still as he scanned the room.
He found me in the corner eventually and did a little double take. His smirk grew as his eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. He said something to his friend, who nodded and headed for the bar. Then Logan came my way, sliding onto the bar stool across from me. He didn’t ask what I was doing there. He pulled the application away from me and began reading it out loud.
I grabbed it back, glaring. “That’s private.”
“Bruce.” He shook his head with a playful tsking sound. “Nothing’s private about my friends.”
I frowned. “We’re friends?”
“We haven’t had sex, and you haven’t called me an asshole or slapped me yet, so yeah.” He winked at me. “That classifies us as friends in my book.”
There had to be some retort for that, but it wasn’t coming to me. I just stared at him. He scooted his barstool over so he could lean against the wall and brought his legs up to rest on another stool in front of him. Everything about him was relaxed, and for a moment, a warm surge rose in me. I liked this side of him. I got the sense that Logan didn’t classify a lot of people as friends. Or maybe he had a thousand friends, and I was just one of them, but it didn’t stop the flutter inside me.
I felt included.
I had Jason and Claire, but this was different. I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t want to analyze it. I just wanted to enjoy the feeling.
Logan signaled for the guy he’d come in with and caught me staring at him. His eyes narrowed briefly. “What?”
“What?”
“You’re giving me a weird look.”
His friend placed a pitcher of beer onto the table. Logan moved his feet so the guy could sit. As he did, he nodded to me in silent greeting.
Logan snapped his fingers. “Nate Monson. Taylor Bruce. You’ve been introduced.”
Nate nodded again, asking Logan, “Bruce?”
“Mason’s coach.”
I tensed. Some guys flipped out when they found out who my dad was, but not this one. I knew Logan didn’t care either. So I relaxed. Nate had jet-black hair and features that would’ve looked at home on a runway. He wasn’t as lean as Logan, but he was a little taller. As he got comfortable and poured some beer in a glass, I glanced back and forth between the two. Nate seemed reserved, quiet, and very unlike Logan, who watched me as I sized them up.
“Bruce,” Logan started, leaning closer to me over the table, his hand wrapped around the beer. “What are you doing applying for a job here?”
I glanced at Nate. Was he going to chime in? But he just lifted his beer to take a sip and turned to watch the bar. He didn’t seem to care about Logan’s question.
I shrugged. “I need a job.”
“Bullshit. I’ve seen that house you live in. You guys have money.”
Nate glanced at Logan then, a small smile on his face. Logan saw it, and his own lips curved, but neither said a word to the other.
Logan arched an eyebrow at me.
I shook my head. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I need a job. That’s it.”
I needed something to do outside of school and my studies. I didn’t want to depend on Jason and Claire to always be there to entertain me, and I didn’t want any other friends. I wasn’t ready to wade into the drama friendships sometimes brought.
Logan leaned back, raising his beer again. “I call bullshit, but whatever.” He glanced around. “This is a good place to work. Beer isn’t too watered down. We get free snacks.” He gestured to the popcorn machine. “And good tunes.” He nodded to the stage where a band was setting up, then to the jukebox.
Nate chimed in, a low, smooth baritone, “It’s far enough from school that you don’t get a lot of sorority chicks either.”
Logan nodded in agreement.
“Is that normally a problem?”
Both guys looked at me.
I shrugged, feeling a little intimidated. “I mean, don’t guys want drunk sorority girls at a bar?”
Nate grunted. “Sure, if you want a cheap lay. I’d rather have a sober girl at the end of the night, or at least one who knows who she is, not someone so insecure she’ll do anything I ask of her.”
“You guys are reverse snobs.”
They both frowned at me, confused.
“What do you mean?” Logan asked.
“Guys like wasted girls.”
Logan shook his head. “Insecure guys want wasted girls. I’ve got a rep. I know that. But none of those girls were wasted. No way.”
Eric always liked getting me tipsy. He didn’t care if I was drunk or not. This made me look at Logan a little differently. Something close to respect had started to form in me.
I needed to go. That was dangerous. I already looked forward to his jokes, but if I respected him, too? That was just bad all around. Those things could lead to something more, something deep, so I had to go.
I grabbed my purse and slid off my stool.
