“Same old Logan.” Her eyes slid down me and back up, a soft sigh leaving her. “Screwing girls, partying, and,” her eyes fell back to my hand and lingered there. She touched my red knuckles. “still fighting.”
I pulled my hand away. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She sighed, touching the corner of my mouth before letting her hand fall back to her side. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I know I did.”
She was sincere and I frowned at that. “That was a long time ago. I got you back. We made your life hell in school afterwards.”
She groaned, grinning up at me. “You did. Holy shit, you and Mason both did, but I still want to apologize for what I did. I did you wrong, and I’m sorry for that.”
“Apology accepted.” I waited. Tate didn’t do anything without reason. She probably did come out here to proposition me for one more night, and if this had been two years ago, I would’ve taken her up on that, but she hurt my family. There was no going back from that. “What’s going on with you, Tate? Why’d you really come out here?”
“I really did come out to get in your pants, but I know that’s not going to happen.” She lifted up her slim shoulders. “I came to this party to find you and to apologize again. I heard through the grapevine that what I said to Sam had hurt you too. I’m off to my college tomorrow, too, so who knows the next time I’ll get the opportunity to do this in person again.”
I nodded, my suspicions still clouded in my mind. “Okay. Thank you for apologizing again.”
“Logan!”
Tate glanced over her shoulder, seeing the real reason I’d come out to this parking lot, and she rolled her eyes before meeting mine. The girl didn’t matter. She had a good rack, and I loved how she gave blow jobs, but who she was wasn’t important. Both Tate and I knew that even if the girl thought she was, I never lied to them. I never made promises where they’d be my girlfriends. On the rare occasion, I’d have to hurt their feelings, but more often than not, they accepted what I offered. A good time. That was all, and with this girl, I’d forget her name in the morning, or even in an hour depending how good she was. For once, a shadow of doubt crossed my mind. I had loved Tate, or I thought I had. She was my first serious girlfriend and I only had one other since her. I loved sex. I loved to party. And yes, I loved to fight, too, but I never considered changing...until I saw the disappointment in my first ex.
Then I shrugged that off. That was crazy.
“Okay. Well, see you, Logan.”
I nodded. “See you, Tate.”
She turned, one hand hooked in her jean pocket as the other girl slowed, passing her by. Tate ignored the girl and said, “Give me a call if you ever change your ways.”
My side-grin turned cocky. “Tate, if that ever happens, you’d be the last girl I’d fall for.”
She laughed. “And there’s the asshole again. Thanks. I almost forgot for a second there.”
“No problem. I’m here if you need an asshole.”
She shook her head and sauntered away, holding two fingers up over her shoulder. “Deuces, Kade. I never thought I’d be saying this, but I really do hope your next year is a great one.” She paused, glancing back, and her voice came out softly, “I hope you fall in love. You can feel what the rest of us feel.”
She left after that, and I shook my head, before pulling the girl against me. That was never going to happen, and then I lowered my head, my lips finding hers, and I stopped thinking altogether.
BEEEEP YOURSELF
TAYLOR
“Broozer! You’re hilarious. Why didn’t I know this?”
Listening from around the corner, my nails sank farther into my palms. That woman had been saying that same phrase over and over for the last thirty minutes. Even though I was in college, I felt some middle-school tendencies rearing up. I wanted to get up from my perch on the stairs, march in there, and do something I’d regret later.
“Broozer!” She laughed, and her hand pounded the table. “You are too funny.”
Okay. That was it. I stood up, but the gods shined their favor on me. My friend’s headlights lit up the house.
“Bruce,” a male voice from the dining room said, “I think someone just pulled up in your driveway.”
“Oh.” A chair scraped over the floor. “That must be Taylor or her friends. I didn’t know she was here.”
That wasn’t surprising. There was a lot he seemed not to know anymore.
“Taylor?”
I was at the door and reaching for the door handle when he came around the corner. I paused and glanced back. I loved my dad. I had moved back almost nine months ago to be here with him, but we were roommates. The father/daughter dynamic wasn’t there anymore. It hadn’t been since my mother died and we dealt with her loss in two different ways. He became engrossed in his job as one of the coaches for Cain University among some other activities. If he wasn’t thinking about football, he was watching tapes, he was planning plays, he was on the phone with a player, he was on the phone with a coach, he was—the list went on and on. He’d been promoted to defensive coordinator last spring, and I knew it was a product of all his extra work.
I didn’t recognize this man who let some woman call him Broozer, like that was his name. He was known as Coach Broozer, but his name was Hank. Hank Bruce. Coach Broozer had always been his alter ego. Wild. Yelling. Passionate. That was Broozer. Hank was quiet, kind, loving to my mother. Hank was my father. But Coach Broozer stood in front of me now, looking like he regretted coming out to check because now he actually had to talk to me.