Chapter 17
ROSALIE
I’m just getting home from work when my phone buzzes. I grin like a fool as I open the text message, seeing Logan’s name on the screen.
Logan: Let me take you out tonight.
I’m not sure if I should be giddy or anxious in this situation. I decide maybe a little of both as I text him back.
Me: That depends. Where are you trying to take me?
His response is almost immediate.
Logan: Somewhere dark and intimate. Trust me, you’ll love it.
Me: Cocky, much?
Logan: What’s that, you say? You’d like me to send you a dick pic?
I snort but can’t say I hate the idea.
Me: Define dark. Are we talking literal darkness, as in we won’t be able to see five feet in front of us? Or are you trying to lure me into some kind of freaky sex dungeon?
Logan: Do you WANT me to lure you into some kind of freaky sex dungeon?
I laugh.
Me: You wish, Edwards.
Logan: Hey, I’m not kink-shaming. We both know you’re into spanking, Rosie. I can’t say dungeons have ever appealed to me before, but if that’s how you want to play, I’m definitely interested.
Deliciously filthy man.
I jokingly bring up pegging and now, BDSM torture chambers—two things that have never been on my personal radar before—and he just rolls with the punches, saying if I’m into it, he’s into it.
Which then makes me think about doing those dirty things with him, wondering if that’s something I would be into.
Which then makes me think about all the other sexy things I’ve never really considered doing before.
I wouldn’t say my sex life has been entirely vanilla, but it certainly wasn’t adventurous either.
Or, you know…satisfying, considering the lack of orgasms. But if I’m going to explore my curiosities, there’s no one I trust more than Logan to do that with me.
And I know that whatever we do—even if it’s something I might not be interested in repeating—he’ll ensure I’m satisfied during the experience itself.
Man, I need to start making a list. Okay, first there’s butt stuff.
I definitely want to try that. Then, maybe some—
My phone buzzes again, jolting me out of my mental hopscotch.
Logan: Did I scare you off just now?
I smile softly, easily imagining the concerned look on his face, and how he’s probably berating himself, thinking he made me feel uncomfortable.
Deliciously filthy and respectfully sweet man, I amend.
Knowing I need to alleviate his anxiety, I hit the dial button on my phone so he can hear the sincerity in my voice.
“Hey,” he says, picking up right away. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, Logan,” I assure him, walking down the hallway toward my bathroom. “I just got sidetracked, imagining what being in a sex dungeon with you might look like. Which made me curious about other sexy things…”
“Oh yeah?” I can hear the smile in his deep voice. “Tell me more about these sexy curiosities.”
I switch my phone to speaker and set it on the vanity. “Maybe if you’re a good boy, I’ll tell you in person later.”
“Is that a yes to our date?” he asks.
I pull my blouse over my head and unclasp my bra, sighing in relief as my breasts are freed. “Of course, it is. But I’d like a little more information on where we’re going. What if we run into someone we know?”
“Rosie, I’ve got it covered. I was being literal when I said this place is dark. It’s also exclusive. None of the mutual people in our lives have access to it, as far as I know.”
“What time should I be ready? And what kind of dress code are we looking at?”
“Can you be ready by eight? And cocktail attire.”
“That works.” I unzip my pants, sliding them down my legs.
“Did I just hear a zipper? What are you doing right now?”
My panties follow. “Getting naked. I’m about to hop in the shower.”
A FaceTime notification instantly pops up, making my lips twitch.
“Accept the video request, Rosie,” Logan demands, making my toes curl.
“No can do,” I say cheekily, despite my vagina’s protest. “I have a hot date to get ready for. Gotta-go-byyeeeee!”
I end the call, laughing as I cut Logan off mid-curse. Was that a little mean? Maybe. Am I looking forward to the retribution I know he’ll deliver?
Hell, yes.
I told Logan I’d meet him in the lobby of my building, so fifteen minutes before he’s scheduled to arrive, I open my apartment door, only to jump when I see him right there, propped against the opposite wall, waiting for me.
He gives me an infuriatingly sexy smirk. “Well, at least you didn’t threaten to karate-chop my balls off this time.”
I roll my eyes, closing the door behind me. “The man thinks he’s a comedian,” I mutter.
Logan chuckles, but when I look up, the hunger in his eyes robs me of breath. “Christ, Pip. Look at you.” His voice is deeper now. Rougher. “You trying to kill me tonight?”
His golden-green gaze blazes a slow path over me, starting at my Ruby Woo red lips, drifting to my bare shoulders, then lingering for a moment over my breasts.
His teeth graze his knuckles, like he’s physically restraining himself, as my nipples pebble, making it painfully obvious I’m not wearing a bra.
Once he sees the low back of the dress, he’ll understand why.
His gaze slides down my bare legs, tracing every inch until it lands on my bright red heels, then slowly makes its way back up.
With the unseasonably warm weather, I figured it was the perfect excuse to wear my favorite mini.
Judging by the way Logan looks one strong breeze away from combustion, I’d say I made the right call.
A little edging never hurt anyone, right?
I take a moment for my own perusal, and heat floods through me, pooling low in my stomach.
Logan is a thirst trap on any given day, but this is something else entirely.
His dusty lavender button-up clings in all the right places, the top two buttons undone just enough to tease at the sculpted ridges of his chest. The sleeves are rolled up, exposing the dark, intricate designs winding over his forearms, each line and shadow adding to the quiet confidence he wears like a second skin.
A flat silver chain glints on his wrist, subtle yet intentional, in direct contrast to the bold edges of his ink.
His black slacks are tailored to perfection, hugging his strong thighs and long legs in a way that should be criminal.
They end in polished black boots, sleek and expensive, with just the slightest scuff marks, probably from riding his motorcycle.
The whole look is sophisticated and sexy, but with an edge.
It’s so quintessentially Logan that it causes a fluttering sensation deep in my belly.
Looks like I’m not the only one who’ll be hanging from a cliff all night.
“Rosie, if you keep looking at me like that, we’re never leaving your apartment.”
I bite my lip as our eyes meet, silently telling him I’d be more than okay with that.
He groans, then tugs on my hand. “C’mon, woman. I’m taking you on a proper date. Lock the door.”
“Party pooper,” I say, sticking my tongue out as I hit the lock button on the keypad.
We take the crowded elevator down to the street level, and as we all spill out, Logan laces our fingers together, his grip warm and steady as he leads me outside.
I expect us to head toward his Range Rover parked along the street, but instead, he veers deeper into the neighborhood.
“We’re hoofing it?” I ask.
“Yup.”
I glance down at my strappy sandals and cringe. “But…”
Logan chuckles, already anticipating my complaint. “Don’t worry, Rosie. It’s not far.”
I sigh, pretending to be put out, but the truth is, I’ll walk as far as I need to, blisters be damned.
I want this—a night out, where we can just be two people out on a date, not Logan and his best friend’s little sister, doing something they shouldn’t.
I know I should be worried about holding his hand in public.
Someone could see us. Word could get back to Ryan.
But there are a lot of people in LA, and the odds of blending in are in our favor.
Besides, Logan doesn’t seem concerned. And I like holding his hand.
“Any updates on your work thing?” I ask him.
Logan ran into some major problems with a business deal, and he’s been really stressed about it. If he can’t turn it around, it’ll be a massive loss for BetMasters.
He shakes his head. “Not since I told you about it. But we’re still a go for our meeting on Monday, so that’s a good sign.”
I squeeze his hand. “Well, I’m keeping all my fingers and toes crossed for you.”
With our hands still clasped, he pulls my arm closer, kissing the underside of my wrist. “Thanks, Pip.”
I can’t help it. The moment his lips touch my skin, my eyes dart around nervously, expecting my brother—or even my parents—to pop out of the crowd like a whack-a-mole.
The side street we’re walking down pulses with life, like a secret world tucked inside the city.
Overhead, strands of warm Edison bulbs crisscross between buildings, casting a golden glow that makes everything feel a little more alive, a little more intimate, a little more romantic.
The sidewalks are packed with couples giving each other heart eyes while stealing kisses, and groups of friends clustering around outdoor pub tables under flickering heat lamps.
Voices rise and fall with easy-going conversation.
Cocktail glasses clink while carefree laughter rings through the air.
With the distant sounds of traffic, it’s an urban symphony, one that normally makes me feel at home.
Tonight, though, my nerves won’t let me settle into it.
I breathe in deeply, hoping the familiar scents will ground me. Smoky carne asada sizzling from the taco place, the bold aroma of espresso wafting from my favorite coffee shop, the unmistakable scent of burgers and fries drifting from a crowded gastropub.
This is exactly why I chose to live in the Arts District—the energy, the vibrancy, the overflowing sense of community—but tonight, my mind is too restless to enjoy it.