Chapter 18
His voice catches me off guard, and I yelp, pressing a hand to my heaving chest. I blink a few times, catching my breath. “What the fuck, Logan?” I shout. “You can’t just sneak up on people in an empty shop!”
He offers a bemused smile, as if my fear is idle entertainment for him. “My dog is here. Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”
“No, just hoping,” I mutter, waving my crossed fingers.
I was having a perfectly lovely evening without him.
Confessing all my inner thoughts to his dog was therapeutic, almost like practice for when I inevitably have to say them to his face.
But I’m not ready yet. The possibility of rejection is too high, and the dismissal itself is too much to bear.
Oh, did you think I was actually flirting with you? he’ll ask.
Logan steps into my station and pats the dog—that was supposed to be mine—on his haunches with a couple thumps. “I was half expecting you to kidnap him while I was gone.”
“It crossed my mind,” I admit with a raised chin.
“So, what’s the name?”
I glance down at the pretty animal. “I wanted to name him Logan. Just so you would look like a jackass if you ever tried to use him as bait to pick up women . . . Also, if he ever tried to run away, the image of you jogging down the street, screaming your own name, is pure comedy. But that felt like punishing the dog, so . . .”
He crosses his arms. “Aren’t you a funny girl . . .”
“I think you should name him Odin, after the Norse god. The first tattoo you ever did was of Odin’s two wolves.”
Logan narrows his eyes curiously. He’s probably wondering how I know that. My dad took a candid photo of him tattooing his first client—he was so proud of him.
I marvel at the dog while stroking the fur behind his ears, where it’s softest. He looks so similar. “I used to have a dog like this when I was a little girl named Loki. In Norse mythology, Odin and Loki have a sort of brotherhood thing, so I figure that gives me partial custody.”
Logan raises an eyebrow. “So—just to be clear—in this scenario, you’re his mom?”
Then it hits me. I didn’t actually hear Logan come in. A wave of heat rises up my neck as the panic sets in. “How long were you standing there before you walked in?” I blurt.
He leans back onto the half wall and crosses his arms, boring his hazel eyes into mine.
My lips part at the same time my arms fall lifeless at my sides. Please, no.
“Answer me, Logan.” I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Let me live out the rest of my days among the floor joists and asbestos.
He doesn’t respond. His gaze strips me bare, and my heart gallops faster and faster. The vulnerability terrifies me, but not as much as the kernel of hope that wants to unfold in my chest. I’m not ready to do this. His continued silence transforms my fear to anger. This isn’t fair.
Logan has always been the one to think in silence, whereas I do my thinking out loud.
For our entire friendship, I’ve always given him my words.
Sarcastic ones, vulnerable ones, aimless rambling ones.
For years he’s gotten them for free, stuffing his face at Kelly’s all-you-can-eat buffet of feelings. Not anymore, the kitchen is closed.
The ones he heard tonight weren’t for him—not for free. If he wants any more, he’s going to have to earn them, and if he wants to play the quiet game, then so be it.
“I want to be alone,” I demand, standing and brushing the black dog hair off my thighs, pleased to avoid his eye contact.
“Why?”
“Because I want to!” I snap. “That’s the point. I don’t owe you any more of an explanation.”
“You do when it’s space from me.”
My palms stop swiping at my jeans and I freeze, giving him a long blink. My face reddens, this time not from embarrassment but fury. Did he really just say that?
“We”—I wag my finger between us—“need time apart.”
He has the nerve to smirk at me. “A week wasn’t enough for you?”
“No.”
He steps closer, towering over me, and I push my shoulders back.
“Why not?” he asks, again.
I scoff. “What are you, a fucking toddler? Because I said so.” I turn my back to him and busy myself with cleaning my workstation so I can get out of here.
“Look at me.”
I shake my head. I’m more than happy to sit this one out.
“Damn it, Kelly. Look at me!” he roars.
“Fine!” I yell, spinning in his direction and placing my hands on my hips, noticing that Odin is standing between us defensively. He stares Logan down, and for a brief second I relish the smug satisfaction of his protection. “What?”
His voice levels out. “Talk to me.”
I laugh and throw my arms up—the audacity of this man.
“All I fucking do is talk to you, Logan! And all you do is stare back. The little you do say is stuck in my head for days while I try to make sense of what you meant. I’m tired of it!
I’m done being the one who goes first. Spill your own guts for once. ”
My chest heaves and tears rise to the surface. Somehow I got the gene that makes me cry when I get really angry. It’s so inconvenient. I don’t want him to think I’m weak, because I’m not.
His stiff jaw releases when he opens his mouth to speak, and I hold my breath.
Then he closes it. Like he always does. We stare at each other, waiting.
With every second that passes, the kernel in my chest hardens.
It will always be this way. He’s never going to let me in.
He’s never going to trust me with his thoughts and feelings.
A tear slips, and I turn away from him because tears say just as much as words do.
Odin sits, his anxiety eased by the calmer tones.
This is such a waste of time. His silence takes away some of the pain and replaces it with numbness. I’m calling in sick tomorrow.
He breaks the silence. “I like you.”
I scoff. “But?” I continue for him, moving to the counter and stuffing my tablet into my bag. Every cell in my body is yelling to flee from this humiliation.
He grabs me by the hips and spins me around, pressing my back against the counter. His hands brace the hard surface on either side of me, caging me in, and he leans down until we’re face-to-face. Odin barks, and I flinch at the deep warning growl that follows.
Logan turns his head slightly to ease the dog’s worries. “Odin, sit.” Surprisingly, he follows the command.
Cornered by him, Logan drags his attention back to me and his deliberate eyes search mine.
“If you want me to talk, then you’re going to fucking listen.”
I give a subtle nod, unsure of what’s about to happen. He has that wild look in his eyes again, the one he had after Casper and Thor hauled him off Jason.
“I’ve been your friend out of respect for Clyde, but the things I imagine doing with you are so fucking unfriendly.”
I forget how to breathe.
He releases a ragged sigh, like the words have been echoing in his chest for years. We study each other until he stands to his full height again and brings his hands to my waist, his thumbs grazing back and forth over my stomach. I can’t move.
“Inhale,” he instructs.
His command makes me suddenly aware of the way my lungs are burning for oxygen, and I suck in a breath. The silence that stretches between us might be the most we’ve ever shared.
“Since when?” I ask.
“Before Clyde died, he made me promise to let you grow up before I made any move.”
“My dad knew?”
He nods, giving a small chuckle. “Before I did.”
Something about Dad giving Logan his blessing, even if it wasn’t immediate, offers me peace. It calms the swirling chaos in my thoughts. Dad saw the good in him, and knew that it was good for me, too. My feelings aren’t as confusing as they once were, but they don’t explain where we go from here.
“So, now what?”
His grip on me tightens as he lifts me onto the edge of the countertop. My palms press to the cold surface, and I grasp the edge. He smirks and steps between my thighs, cupping my face in his hands.
My pulse roars in my ears, his woodsy scent enveloping me as he leans in and brushes his lips against mine. They curve into an arrogant smile, his movements uttering I told you so, like this kiss is everything he already knew it would be, and he just won the battle he’s been fighting for years.
Our lips fall into a perfectly matched rhythm, convincing me our mouths were made for each other; kissing him is the most natural thing in the world, and I commit every second of it to memory.
His actions are hungry and deliberate, as if after years of anticipation he’s determined to take his time with me and savor every second.
My heart hammers as he seizes my jaw, tilting my chin higher until I have no choice but to surrender to him as he deepens the kiss.
I’m intoxicated by the heady mix of raw need and adrenaline coursing through me.
His tongue teases mine, and I taste his restraint with every pass.
The more he holds back, the greedier I become, stoking the fire that licks at my core.
My fingers curl into his shirt, and I fist the material, drawing him closer.
His lips are controlled and commanding, much like him.
“Logan,” I say, catching my breath. “Be unfriendly with me.”