With that, she slammed the door behind her … leaving me in stunned silence, reeling for some kind of response. She had to be fucking with me. Because … I had no other explanation for what just happened.
What the fuck had just happened? Slowly, I walked to the living room and sank onto the couch. The TV was off, but I stared at it anyway. This feeling was worse than your chopper going down over enemy territory. At least I'd be prepared for that situation. None of my training had ever covered anything about women. What to do when your girlfriend froze you out and your own place suddenly felt like a stranger's house.
It was unsettling, how the meanings of “home” and “Avery” had already started to bleed into each other. Before Avery moved in, I'd never been particularly attached to my condo; it was just where I hung my hat when I didn't have anything better to do. It only became special because she was there. And when she'd left, something had gone with her. Something I could only feel by the empty chill it left behind.
I'd thought I missed Avery before, when I'd known—no, when I'd assumed—she was waiting for me. That was nothing compared to what I felt right now. The need to chase her down and drag her back here clawed through me. But it was more than some possessive reaction—I was absolutely fucking mystified by what had just happened. There was no rational explanation for it. I’d been so fucking excited to get home to just be with her. What the hell had happened in two damn days? I needed to call Logan, or better yet, drive over to his apartment and punch him right in the goddamn face. And if I missed him there, I should track them down and demand to know what the hell was going on.
But even I knew a stupid idea when I saw one. Stalking Avery and then beating the shit out of one of my closest friends would only lose me points. I needed to calm the fuck down and get a handle on my emotions before I let myself go near either of them. I was in the kind of mood to say things I could never take back. I was missing something—that was clear. So I would wait. Maybe Avery would lower herself to give me a goddamn explanation for what the hell was going on when she got back. If she still wouldn’t talk, I would grill Logan. He had no idea what kind of territory he’d stepped into because I hadn’t wanted to share with my friends. Either way, I needed to cool down and get some perspective before taking another crack at this situation. There had to be some sort of explanation and flying off the handle would only fuck things up with Avery more.
But I still couldn't resist texting Logan: Don't forget she's my stepsister. If any part of you touches her, I'll cut it right the fuck off.
A moment later, my phone beeped with Logan's reply: 10-4.
Chapter 16
Avery
That evening I had carefully dressed to kill, wanting to impress myself as much as Logan. Nixon had been nothing more than a lapse in judgment. I was already moving on from this bad dream, and soon, I would forget all about Nixon and how stupid I'd been. Believing all that got harder, though, when he came home early. Just the sound of his voice had rattled me. Who did he hope to fool with that fake innocent act? Did he really think I was that stupid? Maybe he did—after all, I'd been stupid enough to trust him in the first place. But my recovery had been swift and sure. Now that I knew he'd take a mile, I hadn't given him an inch. That was worth being proud of, right? Standing firm?
As I drove to The Pointe, I told myself that I was a strong, awe-inspiring queen and Nixon was totally beneath my notice. Not even worth staying mad over. I pulled up to the front entrance, handed my key to the valet, and tried to walk in like I owned the joint.
But even a queen would slow down to admire this place. It was gorgeous—one of the most upscale restaurants I'd ever been in. Small crystal chandeliers dotted the ceiling in blazes of golden light. The walnut floors and paneling, weathered into ashy mellowness, created an atmosphere of comfortable intimacy. Bay windows on two walls offered an incredible ocean view from almost anywhere in the restaurant. Each table had a snowy linen tablecloth, a tea candle, and a single scarlet rose.
I gave my name and Logan's to the hostess, and she guided me out to the balcony. Not far below us, black waves sparkled in the moonlight, their quiet, soothing rush filling the air. I spotted Logan at a table near the railing, with a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. He was just sitting down—and he stood up again at the sight of me, eyes widening.
“Your waiter will be with your shortly,” the hostess said with a smile. “Please enjoy your evening.”
As she bustled back to her station at the entrance, Logan pulled out my chair. I settled into the low, plush seat and he sat back down.