Chapter 6
FRANKIE
Logan kisses me again, and I chase the champagne on his tongue.
“Love that taste,” I whisper.
I mean more than the champagne. Kissing Logan is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. I would let this man do anything to me, I swear. It’s a good thing we’re going in two different directions tomorrow, because he’s the kind of bad idea I could convince myself was something special.
This needs to just be tonight.
But because it’s just for tonight…it can be everything I’ve ever wanted.
Everything I’ve tried not to indulge in for the last ten years.
And as if he can read my mind, he gives me a heated look and grabs the bottle of champagne.“Do you want more?”
“Yes.”
He takes another swig, then grips my chin and spits the very expensive champagne into my mouth.
Spits. It.
Into. My. Mouth.
Heat swarms through me as he chases it with his lips.
Sweet, tart, wild.
When he pulls back, his gaze drags across my face. “Was that okay?”
I dissolve into giggles. “Yes. Ohhh yes. But ask a girl next time.”
“I just did.” His mouth is shiny and wet as he smiles at me, champagne still clinging to his lips.
I push up on my toes and kiss him, sucking the tart wine into my mouth.
He groans and clutches me tight. “And I don’t want to ask another girl at another time,” he mumbles. “You’re fucking special, you know that, Francesca?”
My heart does a wild flippity-flop.
He’s special, too.
He takes another swig of champagne, swallows, then goes to offer me the bottle. Stops. Swears under his breath, and takes a sip—but then tips my head back and brushes his mouth against mine.
I open for him and the champagne flows over my tongue.
This should be disgusting but it’s not, it’s perfect. It’s magic.
His tongue follows, and I’m sure people having a three-way make out with a bottle of expensive champagne isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened in Vegas on New Year’s Eve, but it’s by far the most surreal thing I’ve ever done.
I cling to him as the fireworks fade.
Far below, the magic of midnight quickly dissolves into just another night on the Strip. Crowded, noisy, chaotic.
“Whelp, it’s not my birthday anymore,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “You can stop being nice to me now.”
“Never,” I say fiercely, grabbing the front of his shirt. “Let’s go find something else to do to celebrate the first day of your thirty-first year.”
“You really know how to age a guy,” he says, laughing.
“So old,” I mock.
“I don’t think we’ve hit thirty kisses yet.” He curves over me, nuzzling the tip of his nose against mine. “And we still have some wine left. Plus I have more questions for you.”
“Like what?”
“Would this champagne be better with berries?” He grins. It’s a made-up question on the spot, he’s just reaching, but whatever, we’re just playing.
It’s so fun to play with him, to tease each other.
“I do like berries. Not my favorite fruit, but…up there.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Passionfruit,” I say immediately.
His eyebrows jolt upward. “That’s specific.”
“Have you ever had an Australian pavlova?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Well, you’re missing out.”
“Let’s see if they have anything like that here.”
We end up in a semi-private booth while we wait for a bowl of passionfruit ice cream to be delivered from the kitchen.
He tells me his favorite fruit is apple.
“That feels very Midwest. Does your mom make salads that aren’t really salads?”
“Yeah. Especially for a church potluck.”
“What kind of church?”
“Literally any kind.”
I laugh out loud. “What does that mean?”
“She really just likes a potluck.” He grins shamelessly.
“We’re Catholic. My parents more than me and my siblings.
I don’t remember the last time I went to church.
My sister is getting married this summer, so…
that’ll be the next time. But my mom is big on inter-faith stuff, and growing up we travelled a lot so she would take us to random churches for Christmas and Easter services. How about you?”
I take a deep breath. “Not really religious. And very pro-choice.”
“That makes sense. And same,” he adds quickly. “My mom is, too. She’d want me to tell you that. My sister, too, although now that I’m saying that, I’m vaguely remembering a lecture once about how it shouldn’t matter if I have a sister or a mother—”
“It’s okay. I get the idea. And that’s good.” I relax again.
“You asked me if I was an asshole. In the bar.” Logan tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his gaze soft. “Is this related to that?”
I nod. “My father and I don’t see eye to eye on almost anything. He argues with my mother, too, but it’s not arguing, it’s just…yelling. I hate it.”
He cups my face in his hands and kisses me. And kisses and kisses, until I’ve softened completely.
“My sister is a trained chef,” he murmurs against my lips.
“What?”
“Just telling you something more about my family so you don’t think we’re only Catholic potlucks.”
I laugh at how silly he is. I ignore the desperate pulse inside me to know more. He tells me more anyway.
“She loves passionfruit, probably. And her salads are all vegetable based.”
“You’re really doing a good job selling your sister.” I smile at him.
“She’s fiery, too. I think she did get out the vote stuff on campus?”
“Is that a question?” I stare at him and start laughing. Our conversation is veering pretty wildly now, but I like that he’s trying to impress me.
I like it way too much.
“I’d ask her but she’s pregnant and asleep.”
I take his face in my hands and make serious eye contact. “Okay, I believe that you’re not an asshole and you come from a good family.”
“I donate money to good causes,” he adds quickly before I try to kiss him, but we’re both laughing again. This time we just don’t stop. It has to be the champagne. I lean against him, wrapping his suit jacket tight around me, and I give myself over to the giggles.
“Your laugh turns me on,” he murmurs against my hair. “Give me another kiss.”
“Can’t. Laughing too hard.”
“You’re a very smart girl, Dr. Francesca.” he drops his voice lower. “I bet you can find a way to kiss me while we’re laughing.”
And we do.
We make out until the ice cream arrives, and then we sober up enough to have a sweet treat.
Or maybe we aren’t sober at all, because when Logan confesses that he wants to get me all alone, I don’t blink.
“Every time you moan with champagne on your tongue like that, all I can think about is getting a room at this hotel.” He gives me a hooded, inviting stare.
I shove a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. “Where is your hotel?”
It turns out it’s not that far from where I’m staying. Probably an hour’s walk with the crowd. But maybe a walk would be good. “So is mine. Why don’t we see if we still want to be alone when we get there?”
“You’re a sensible girl, too. Smart. Sexy. Sensible. The complete package.”
“I’m going to make that my Tinder bio.”
“You’re going to delete Tinder, because you don’t need it anymore.” He groans and pulls me in close. “Fuck, the things I want with you…”
“Let’s go.” Because I want him, too.
Down at street level, I offer him his jacket back.
“Keep it for now.” He twirls around, his arms stretched wide. “I’m on top of the world. Not cold at all!”
“That’s the champagne.”
“It’s the company.” He holds out his hand, and I take it, letting him spin me around and around, until I collapse into the tight circle of his arms. “Best birthday ever. Nothing could top this. Absolutely nothing.”
Then he looks down at me and gets a funny, curious look on his face.
“What is it?”
“Unless,” he says slowly, sliding his hand inside where his jacket is wrapped around me. His fingers feel so good against my satin-clad skin, inside the warm confines of his suit jacket.
My heart starts pounding. “Unless what?”
He pulls out the marriage license he tucked into the inside pocket. “Unless we used this.”
I stare at him. At the license pinched between his fingers, then back to his earnest face.
“You’re joking,” I say, even though I know he’s not. I feel faint. I feel…giddy.
“I’m completely serious. Francesca, I think we’re meant to be.
” He says my name with such reverence that I know I’m going to say yes, even though this is absolutely not sensible at all.
“I met the smartest, prettiest, funniest girl I’ve ever met on New Year’s Eve, in Vegas, and I’m not supposed to marry her? I don’t think so.”
“Logan…“ But I don’t have a response to that. Not one I can say out loud. And the one that’s hammering in my heart is so dangerous.
Yes, yes, yes.
He’s convinced. “It would be the most epic thing either of us has ever done.”
I’ve known this man for less than four hours.
But deep down, I’m a reckless girl who does reckless things.