Chapter Eleven #2
Taking another sip of champagne, I bite my lip as she looks at Matt.
I’m far enough away that I won’t be able to hear anything they’re saying because of the soft melodic music playing over the speakers, but they stare at each other for a second or two, and I wonder if they’re going to spend the entire evening just looking at each other.
“Say something, Matt,” I murmur into my champagne glass, and as if on cue, he steps forward, handing her the flowers.
She smiles wide, a little too wide, and her eyes seem to sparkle as if she’s realized something.
Crap! Maybe she knows who he is.
Her eyes enlarge, and her grin is so ridiculously wide she almost looks like a cartoon character.
With that, I watch Matt’s body visibly sink like he’s not happy.
I chew on my bottom lip, wondering what’s going on.
When she grabs his hand and attempts to pull him toward where she came in, Matt stills, tensing his body.
I sit up taller as he shakes his head, and her smile falters, but she nods, and they walk to their table to take a seat.
I try not to be obvious about watching them because I don’t want to seem like some weird stalker or anything. To distract myself, I turn and look down at my cell, realizing that Logan is now officially five minutes late. Great.
Sighing, I take another sip of my champagne.
My stomach is unsettled as Matt and Jaci start their date, and I can’t help but feel a little annoyed that Logan hasn’t arrived.
Maybe he isn’t going to show at all. As I twiddle my thumbs, I risk a glance over to Matt, who is talking with Jaci—it appears to be going okay.
She laughs, and I sink a little further into my chair.
Another ten minutes pass, and now Logan is officially fifteen minutes late. I’m a glass of champagne down, and Matt and Jaci have had bread brought to their table. Soon, the menus will come out, and I’ll be here on my own like the loner that I am.
Dammit.
This was a mistake.
My stomach’s in knots.
When I look over to Matt with Jaci, she laughs again, and I can’t take it anymore.
I stand, grab my bag, and head for the main entrance when the waiter walks in with a man.
A really attractive man. A man who looks a lot like the profile pic of Logan.
He’s looking concerned and a little sweaty as he pants out of breath.
“Ah… Alex, your date has arrived,” the waiter announces as I glance from him to Logan, who looks at me with sad eyes.
I bite my lip and nod. “Thanks.” The waiter walks off, and Logan stares at me, taking a deep breath.
His chest is rising and falling, making me aware that his body is most definitely toned under his shirt.
His jaw clenches, and the almost full beard on his face is a stark difference to Matt, but I like it.
It gives him a rougher edge, but his face still holds a boyish charm.
His lips turn up in a half-smile, and he reaches out for my hand, which I let him take. “I’m so sorry,” he simply says, and I take a deep breath and nod.
“I was just about to leave,” I reply honestly.
“I’m glad you didn’t. I’d have been a dick to have missed seeing you. You’re rocking, Alex,” he says, and I stifle a laugh.
“Thanks… I think. Well, I’m really hungry, so do you wanna…” I trail off, not knowing what else to say, as I look back at our table.
“Fuck yeah, I’m starving.” He drops my hand and walks past me toward the table.
I clear my throat and raise an eyebrow while taking a calming breath, walk over to the table where he’s already sitting, and grab my seat.
“Oh… bubbly, fuck yes,” Logan cheers, pouring himself a glass, then putting it back in the bucket without offering me any. I grit my teeth and pull the bottle out, pouring myself a drink. “So, I guess you wanna know why I was late?”
I shrug and already know Logan’s going to be taking over the conversation tonight.
“I was working in the gym, pumping iron, trying to get my body shredded for tonight. I wanna look good for you, you know what I mean?” He raises an eyebrow.
“And I lost track of time. Then, when I realized I was running late, I literally ran here. Well, from the car, anyway. You know guns get the girls and all that,” he rattles on without stopping, then raises up his arm, flexes his bicep, and kisses it.
I inwardly cringe while faking some sort of half-assed laugh—I’m sure I just threw up a little in my mouth.
“So this place is nice. Did you set up this special room for us?” he asks, then takes a long gulp of his bubbly.
“Yeah, thought it would be nice to have our own space for our first time together.”
“Wow! You went all out for me, Alex. I like that. A woman who knows how to spoil her man. Plus, you’re fucking hot as fuck! That bad girl image, fuck me. I gotta keep myself in check right now, let me tell you.”
I clear my throat, feeling extremely uncomfortable about how open Logan is being. It’s nice he finds me attractive, but there’s no way I’m sleeping with him tonight. He can get that idea right out of his head, and unless he reins himself in, we may not even make it to dessert.
“So, ah… why internet dating?” I ask.
“I can never keep a woman, and I don’t know why. They always seem to think I’m too enthusiastic or something. I don’t know where they get that idea. I think I’m pretty calm, actually.”
All I can do is smirk.
He tilts his head, giving me that smug little half-smile. “Why are you even on here? You seriously can’t find someone the regular way?”
I exhale slowly through my nose. “It’s been a while. Took a break from dating. Trust issues.”
He leans in a little, all confidence and cologne. “Well, you can trust me, babe. I’m blunt, yeah, but I treat my girl right.”
I raise a brow. “Cool. Just so we’re clear… I’m not your girl.”
He winks like I didn’t say anything. “Not yet, sweetheart… but we’ll get there.”
I chuckle under my breath. “You’ve got a lot of confidence. You know that?”
He shrugs like it’s a flex. “Gotta have it in my line of work. I deal with some pretty hardcore people. You don’t show up with confidence, they’ll walk all over you.”
I raise a brow. “You ever think maybe you’re overcompensating?”
He laughs like I just flirted with him. “I like you, Alex. You’ve got fire. And no, babe, I talk big, I look big…” He leans in with a smirk. “I’m big in every department.”
I smirk. “Including your ego.”
“Especially my ego,” he says, waggling his brows.
I roll my eyes and take a sip of my drink. He’s cocky. Completely full of himself. Probably terrible in a relationship. Definitely terrible in bed.
But I’ll give him this—he’s at least entertaining.
“You’re a tattoo artist, right? Can’t imagine too many badasses come in for butterfly ankle ink.”
His grin sharpens. “I work out of a biker club’s tattoo shop. So yeah, we get some serious types.”
I stiffen my posture. “Wait, are you, like… a biker?”
He laughs a belly laugh that is way too loud for this quiet space. I grimace as Jaci glances over with a furrowed brow. “Nah, don’t stress. I’m not patched. I just work there. That’s it. No club ties beyond that.”
“Holy shit,” I mutter, mostly to myself. But his smile slips a little.
“They’re not bad guys, Alex,” he says, more serious now.
“They helped my mom out when she was struggling. I basically grew up around them. They’ve always treated me like family.
” I don’t say anything, but he keeps going.
“They’d never hurt anyone I cared about.
They look out for their own. Honestly? They’re solid guys.
Better than most of the assholes walking around free.
You don’t have to be scared of them just because someone with a badge tells you to be.
That’s some pretty self-righteous thinking, don’t you think? ”
I clear my throat and nod. That’s true. I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. People judge me for the way I look, so I shouldn’t judge his friends for the patch they wear. I know bikers are all about family, and it means everything to them.
“Okay, fair call. Maybe I’ll come in and get a tatt from you one day.”
“I’d love that, I really would.” His smile is genuine, and I see he truly loves his job and that slinging some ink into my skin would give him some honest pleasure. I figure this is a safe zone—tattoos are something we both know about, and they give us a great place to start.
“Can you show me some of your work?” I ask, and his face lights up.
“Sure.” Logan pulls up his sleeve and rests his arm on the table, showing me his forearm, which is covered in a complete sleeve.
The artwork contains every tattoo style imaginable, not artistic like mine, but very old school and mostly black and gray.
Not my style—it has no vibrancy, no life.
The portraits and symbols are a mishmash, as if someone threw random pieces together.
It hasn’t been planned out at all. For an artist like me, it’s a nightmare, but of course, I would never say anything.
“So, this right here…” He points to what I’m assuming is Donald Duck. It sort of like the character, but the likeness isn’t quite there. “This was the first tattoo I ever did. That’s why it’s so shit,” he says with a slight chuckle.
Ah, that explains it.
I smile and nod. “The first one you ever did was on yourself?”
“Yeah, didn’t wanna fuck up anyone else’s skin, so I thought I’d better do it on myself. Thank fuck I did, ’cause Donald is a piece of shit. But in my defense, I was only sixteen.”
“You started tattooing at sixteen?”