Between You and Me(30)

His entire core clenched miserably.

"I have to go." He pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw a few  bills on the table. He couldn't look at her. He knew it was wrong, but  he had to get out of there. "I'm sorry." Grabbing his coat from the back  of his chair, he headed for the door and stormed out into the night.

* * *

For three days, Logan stewed over Tess's unbelievable request. The first  day, he was upset and a little angry, but by that night he admitted to  himself there was no good reason to be angry. How could he be anything  other than flattered, really? The anger was misdirected. He was angry at  himself, for being a damn coward. Running out on her like that . . .  Jesus, what a dick move. He was better than that . . . or at least he  thought he was, but he'd hightailed it out of that bistro like he was  racing Usain Bolt.

He'd let her down, in more ways than one. He should have handled it so  much better. He was ashamed of his knee-jerk reaction. Tess Harrison  might be a formidable woman, but he knew it couldn't have been easy for  her to ask him what she had. She made a good case, he had to give her  that. But despite her confident voice, level gaze, and regal bearing  throughout most of it, her sad eyes and shaking hand at the end were  what he couldn't get out of his mind. Every time he replayed that moment  in his mind, he cringed. He hated that he'd hurt her in any way. It'd  been fight or flight in its purest, caveman form.

On the second day, he moved to indignation as he reminded himself he  owed her nothing. They barely knew each other, right? If she was  disappointed, that wasn't his fault. He'd told her flat out, several  times, that he didn't want a family of his own. He did not want kids. He  hadn't even gone into the depths of his reasons for this, but he'd  given her enough background that she'd had to know he'd likely turn her  down. Yet there she sat, strikingly beautiful and brave as she listed  reasons-many reasons-why she'd chosen him as the man she wanted to help  her make a baby. The gravity of that decision humbled him when he  thought about it, and by the second night, when he lay in bed unable to  sleep, it really hit him. He was honored that any woman, much less a  woman like Tess, would think highly enough of him to make such an  important, life-changing request. It was astonishing and terrifying at  the same time.

By the third day, he thought mainly of Tess herself. What a unique woman  she was. He was unbelievably flattered that of all the men she could  choose to father her child, she'd thought about it at length and chosen  him. Him. She must've known men with more money and power, higher  educations, equally attractive . . . and, not blinded by love or need,  had decided he was the one she wanted to father her child. If that  wasn't the most mind-bendingly flattering, touching thing anyone could  ever think of someone, he didn't know what could top it.

And how had he repaid her lovely desire and bravery in asking? By  blowing her off in every way. He hadn't spoken to her, texted her, not a  word to her since he'd walked out on their dinner. If he'd wanted to  prove to her he was a total fucking asshole, he was doing a fine job of  it, wasn't he.

She hadn't tried to contact him either. He didn't blame her.

But no matter what he did, he couldn't get her out of his head. He  worked every day, he hit the gym, worked some more, watched movies at  night . . . but nope, there she was, in his mind. Her presence had  infiltrated him, and he couldn't get away from it . . . from himself.

She even permeated his dreams. Not the occasional steamy, erotic dreams  that had him waking up hard and needy. No, these dreams all featured  that crushed look that had flickered in her marine-blue eyes before  she'd managed to cover. Some dreams, she was at his house, trying to  talk to him, with him rebuffing her, trying to get away from her,  feeling like shit about it even as he did so. In one dream, she rocked  in the rocking chair at his mother's house, holding a little pink bundle  in her arms. When he went over to take a peek at the baby, she glared  at him, stood up, and stalked away from him, slamming the door behind  her. That one woke him with a start, bathed in sweat. What the hell had  that woman done to him?                       
       
           



       

At the end of the third day, he knew he couldn't just avoid her forever,  and he didn't want to. He wanted to talk to her, to reach out . . . He  just had no idea what the hell to say beyond I'm sorry. And he had to go  over there that evening to take out her garbage . . . Maybe when he  did, he'd try to talk to her. If she even wanted to.

But he had dinner plans. He'd go do her trash run afterwards. By the  time he pulled into his mother's driveway at six, the stars overhead had  been twinkling for a while already. His breath came in white puffs  against the clear, frigid night air.

Annmarie looked up at him from the couch as he let himself into the  house. Her smile faded into a frown of confusion. "What happened to  you?"

"What do you mean?" Logan shrugged out of his coat and dropped it onto the armchair. "I'm fine."

"You're a rotten liar."

"Good to know."

"You look down. Or pissed off. Or both." She grabbed his shirtsleeve as he sat down beside her, and demanded, "Talk to me."

He shook his head, then mumbled, "I hurt someone's feelings. Someone I  like and respect. I've been a total jackass. So I'm just . . ."

"Mad at yourself. Stewing over it." She sighed and patted his knee. "So fix it."

"I know. I have to. I'm just not sure if I can."

"Only one way to find out."

"Yup." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "So, lady? Ready for dinner?"

"I'm not too hungry," she said. "Just something simple would be fine. I  was going to make a can of soup and tell you not to come, but I knew you  wouldn't listen."

"Got that right." He got back up and headed for the kitchen. "I'll make you something simple, and you're going to eat it."

"Yes, sir, Mister Bossman, sir," she joked, and lay down again.

He found two cans of split-pea-and-ham soup in her cupboard and heated  them, and sliced some of the thick sourdough bread she had. They enjoyed  a quiet dinner.

"Tell me something," Annmarie ventured. "Any chance the person you're beating yourself up over is a woman?"

He looked at his mother. The hope in her eyes . . . He couldn't stand to  disappoint another woman he cared about. Not this week, anyway. "Yeah.  But it's not-"

"You seeing someone?"

"No, Mom. We've . . . just spent a little time together. We talk. Went skiing a few times."

"Ah! I miss skiing. Wish I still had the energy." She ripped off a piece  of bread and dunked it lightly into her soup. "Where've you been  skiing?"

"Ajax."

"Great runs. She any good?"

"Yeah, she is, which is nice."

"Of course it is." Annmarie chewed her bread slowly, then asked, "Any chance you'll tell me who this is?"

Why not? Let his mom have her thrills. "Tess Harrison. The one who-"

"I know who that is. You went out with her on New Year's Eve. Pretty girl?"

"Stunning," he admitted. "In fact, she might be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Not kidding."

Annmarie's eyes flew wide. "I wanna see a picture then, dammit!"

Logan laughed for the first time all day. It felt good. And the spark of  excitement in his mother's eyes made him feel even better. He pulled  his phone from his jeans pocket. "Here, I'll show you, all right? Sate  your curiosity before it gets out of control." He typed in the Harrison  Foundation website on the search engine. "But Mom, she's just a friend.  Don't get too nuts, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." She waved her hand impatiently. "Gimme!"

He chuckled again and scrolled until he found the picture of Tess from  the Harrison Foundation Holiday Ball a few weeks ago. In that knockout  red dress, silk and sparkles draped over her long, willowy frame, her  long dark curls everywhere. The one that had made him lose his breath  the first time he saw it. "Here." He handed the phone to his mother.

And watched her eyes bug out of her head, making him chuckle again. She  gaped at the photo, then looked up at him. "She's gorgeous! You weren't  exaggerating."                       
       
           



       

"I rarely do, Mom."

"Is she a model? An actress?"

"No. Her mother was, but she's a businesswoman. She comes from a very  wealthy family in New York. Long Island. She runs their charity  foundation, and she's damn good at it, from what I can tell. And she's a  painter on the sly, though most people don't know that. That's her real  passion, art. She loves to paint." Logan found himself running off at  the mouth and swallowed a spoonful of soup.