Wild
Page 28I tried to cling to my outrage, but after seeing how his father treated him, I just wanted to hold him . . . bring him into my body until the only thing either one of us felt was the gratifying rush of release.
Even as tension-riddled as those nights had been with him asleep across the room, I missed it. I missed our conversations. The laughter. His scent. The physical ache of his nearness. I missed hearing him adjust his weight on the futon. The too-fresh memory of his body stripped down to his boxer briefs as he readied himself for bed made me all kinds of hot and bothered. I shifted on my feet, squeezing my thighs close together.
“Thanks again . . .” He looked like he wanted to say more, but then he pressed his lips flat and left it at that. Big hands still buried in his pockets, he turned and headed down the ramp out the back door, his tread thudding over the barroom floor. I watched him go, listening as he locked up.
I turned my attention back to the mess. Beer had settled into the wood, marking it a darker brown. It wasn’t the first beer ever spilled on the floor. Still, I hated to leave it overnight. I headed back into the kitchen for the mop and bucket. One less burden for Logan to bear—and I refused to let myself consider too closely why that mattered so much to me.
I WAS UP EARLY the following morning. I had agreed to meet Connor at the Java Hut at eight A.M. before heading over to the library. I was busy stuffing a protein bar in my bag and not really looking where I was going as I passed through the kitchen. Staff didn’t usually arrive until nine A.M., so when a voice rumbled across the air I yelped and jumped back a step.
“You cleaned up?” Logan stood near the counter leading out into the bar, looking slowly from me to the bare wood floor where shards of glass sat late last night.
My hand clutched my chest. “You gave me a heart attack.”
He pointed to the floor. “You cleaned up the broken bottle.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“You had your hands full last night.” His jaw tensed, and I got the sense he didn’t like the indirect reminder of his father.
Most nights it seemed like he had his hands full. Between work, baseball, school, his father. My gaze skimmed him. At least he looked rested. That, unaccountably, made me feel better. My chest loosened with relief for him and then tightened back up again as I studied him. He looked good—better than good—in fresh jeans and a graphic T-shirt. I inhaled and caught a faint whiff of shampoo and his deodorant.
“Well, thanks. You didn’t have to do that. It was nice of you.”
“Least I could do. Your brother is letting me stay here rent-free.”
“Your best friend is his girlfriend. I think that kind of makes you family in Reece’s book, and if you haven’t noticed, family gets to stay the night in the loft.” His mouth kicked up at one corner, and I resisted reminding him that he wasn’t spending the night in the apartment anymore.
“I’m not true family,” I mumbled. “Picking up is the least I can do.”
I flushed at the compliment and started to move around him. “You don’t know me—”
“You don’t think I see you?” His gaze cut into me. Emotion cracked through his voice that sounded suspiciously like anger. “I see you. I see you now like I saw you then. Months ago. When you were still with that asshole, I knew what kind of girl you were.”
I froze, those words sinking in. Heat crawled up my neck like swarming bees.
I gaped at him, unable to look away.
I had wondered if he’d noticed me all those times we were within each other’s radius. We spoke little, but of course I had noticed him. Just like every other red-blooded female with a pulse. I felt his energy like electricity on the air. Apparently he had noticed me.
I was almost afraid to know . . . to ask what he saw in me all those months ago when I was still with Harris. I had been a shadow of myself then, around Harris, swallowed up like a sparrow in a storm.
“I saw you.” He nodded. “At first I thought you were some princess, indifferent to the fact that your boyfriend was a dick.”
“Reece’s birthday dinner. We went to Gino’s, remember? We all sat at a big table. It was really crowded that night and they were understaffed. The waiter was stressed, trying his best to get orders out. Harris treated him like some fucking peon.” He shook his head, his lip curling. “The way he talked down to him . . . you were uncomfortable. I could see it in your face, the way you would touch his arm trying to calm him down.”
I inhaled as he painted this image, filling in my memory with strokes of color. I remembered that night as one of several uncomfortable instances when Harris’s superior attitude boiled over onto some unfortunate soul. I knew Logan had been there, but I didn’t remember him even talking to me then, much less watching me. But then I’d been preoccupied. Harris had been in a mood. He wasn’t especially a fan of my friends, and the waiter suffered for that. It embarrassed me now that I could be with anyone like that.
Logan continued, “When we got up to leave he didn’t tip him. Remember? You questioned him and he said he didn’t tip for shitty service. Right there in front everyone. No regrets for stiffing the waiter.”
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. God. Harris really was an entitled ass. I inhaled. “You must have thought I was pathetic . . . dating a guy like him.”
“Maybe for a minute there I did, but then you said you had to go back to the restroom. I had to go, too. I was a few feet behind you and I saw you”—his voice dipped to a quiet murmur—“I saw you go back and dig in your purse and drop that money on the table.”
I remembered that. I’d been relieved I had cash on me. “So you saw that. So what?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard that saying. ‘Character is what you do when no one’s looking.’ Well, I was looking, Georgia. And I’ve been looking ever since. The same girl who wouldn’t let Harris stiff that waiter is the same girl who cleaned up this mess last night. You did it for me.” His gaze locked on me then with an intensity that made my chest swell. “Because you like me.”