“The Navy has already approached me for an instructor position. My rank would go up, which means better pay, and I could apply for a permanent post wherever I wanted to live.” He paused. “Maybe near San Diego.”
Was I imagining that look? I tried not to overanalyze the San Diego comment. Even as a vague possibility, planning his career around me would be truly weird to bring up on a first date. It was probably a coincidence. His family lived nearby, or he ironically enjoyed Christmas lights on palm trees, or he wanted to stay near his friends—as difficult as it was to believe that anybody could like Nixon that much.
Goddammit, I'm thinking about him again! I forced myself to smile at Logan. “I guess you've got things all planned out, huh?” Taking a chance, I reached out one hand to rest my fingers on his. “I think it's good that you know what you want.”
Logan blinked, then smiled and rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. “Nothing wrong with not knowing, is there?”
“Well, no, and it's … refreshing. To hear a guy under thirty talk about his future like that, I mean.” Although it seems like he's in a pretty big hurry about settling down. Even though I found Logan's serious, domestic side endearing, it was still a little too intense for my life right now. If I wanted to survive in fashion journalism, I had a ton of work ahead of me.
But hey, so what if we had one measly incompatibility? No big deal. It wasn't like I was marrying him at the stroke of midnight. This date was just for fun. Trying each other on to see if we fit. And it really was great to finally interact with an adult man—instead of an overgrown boy who just wanted to drink and screw and blow things up, as if his life were all a game.
Almost sheepishly, Logan pulled his hand away to rub the back of his neck. “So you said you studied abroad? What was that like?”
“London was amazing,” I sighed. “I got to take classes with all these famous professors, and I even went to a few Fashion Week events… ”
We went on talking about my schoolwork and aspirations as we finished our main course. Unsurprisingly, Logan didn't know much about fashion. But he paid close attention to whatever I said, responding every so often with well-considered questions and remarks, encouraging me toward greater detail. In the face of his seemingly genuine interest, it was impossible to worry that I was talking about myself too much. I had probably never been on a nicer date.
But “nice” was all it was. I felt none of the spark—the intense heat—that hummed between Nixon and I whenever our eyes met. And the harder I tried to concentrate on Logan, the more I found my mind wandering to Nixon. The man sitting across our candlelit seaside table, with his mild smile and inviting hazel eyes, felt like nothing more than a brother—all while I hungered for my stepbrother. What was wrong with me? How fucked up could I get?
My distracted frustration grew until I had to stand up from my seat. “Could you hold that thought?” I asked, having only a vague idea what we'd been talking about. “I'll be right back. I need to visit the ladies’ room.” Too frazzled to wait for Logan's reply, I hurried back into the restaurant.
Thankfully, there was no one else in the restroom. Hands braced on either side of the black marble sink, I stared into the mirror, trying my best to compose myself. I had to breathe. Get a grip. Admire how put together I looked, regain my rightful pride, remember what Nixon had done and why I was here with Logan and how much better I was than that lying bastard. But no matter how many times I silently repeated I am a motherfucking goddess, it didn't stick. Beneath this glamorous dress, this painstakingly made-up face, I knew there was nothing right now but a sad, confused little girl.
Apparently, though, all that pretty bullshit was still enough to fool men. Back at the apartment, Nixon had stopped in his tracks and gazed at me like water in the desert. Well, that was just too damn bad for him. I was unattainable now. If he wanted me, he should've thought of that before he lied to me about Navy business and met up for a weekend fucking Pam in Vegas.
But … dammit, in that one tiny moment, I had wanted Nixon right back. And I hated us both for it. We'd known each other for less than a month, and he had already left his greasy little fingerprints all over my heart. Even when I was at a romantic dinner in a beautiful five-star restaurant with another man, I couldn't stop thinking about that prick. What more did I want, for Christ's sake? Logan was fucking perfect. Handsome, warmhearted, thoughtful, mature. He had his life together. Clearly, though, I couldn't say the same for myself. Here I was, hiding in the bathroom like a high schooler whose boyfriend had dumped her right before prom.