Wild(31)
“Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked tired. “Reece and Pepper moved into the new house . . . I just assumed it was empty up here.”
I nodded, my face still burning even though I knew this was a simple misunderstanding. Reece was busy with the move, his relationship with Pepper, running two bars now—and I had sprung it on him that I would accept his offer to move into the loft. No surprise he hadn’t mentioned me moving in here to his brother. The fact that Logan and I had kissed, that not a night went by without my touching myself and thinking about him didn’t make this awkward. Not at all.
Okay, it was awkward, but it didn’t have to be. I could be an adult about this.
He turned to leave, his hand going to the switch to turn the light back off. “Sorry,” he repeated.
“Wait.”
He stopped and turned.
I swallowed. “It’s late. Your brother wouldn’t want you driving back this time of night.” I sucked in a breath. “And neither do I.”
He leaned a shoulder on the wall again, crossing his arms over that broad chest of his. “I’m not angling for an invite to stay the night—”
“I didn’t say you were.”
He continued to stare, his keen eyes discerning in a way that made me want to fidget.
“Look, you stay on the futon like usual. I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t,” he returned.
I blinked.
“You shouldn’t trust me,” he repeated, looking me up and down slowly. “I’m not like the guys you’re used to.”
What guys were those? Harris barely touched me by the end of our relationship. And the last couple of guys I dated pawed at me and slobbered over me and then broke up with me when I didn’t jump into bed with them. I didn’t want Logan to be like those guys.
My mind made up, I turned and plucked a pillow off the bed. Grabbing my fuzzy blanket from the foot of the bed, I marched to the futon and dropped both items, suddenly annoyed enough not to care that I was in my underwear just a few feet away from him. “There you go.”
A corner of his mouth lifted and he shoved off the wall. My heart dropped into my stomach at the sound of his footsteps on the hardwood floor, coming closer.
Suddenly I felt so . . . alone with him. Acutely aware that we were the only two people inside the building.
“You sure about this?” He walked toward me with measured steps and I wasn’t so clear what it was he was asking me anymore.
I pointed. “The couch,” I clarified—maybe just as much for myself as for him. “Yeah, I’m sure you can spend the night there.”
“Thanks.” He stopped before reaching the couch, looking me up and down again in my scanty attire. The sweep of his gaze caught on my guitar where I’d tucked it between the futon and side table. “This yours?” He sank down on the futon and picked up my guitar, settling it on his lap.
I took a protective step forward, my hand reaching out before I could stop myself. He looked up, lifting his eyebrows, not missing my involuntary move, “I’ll be careful,” he murmured, a smile playing about his lips. “You play?”
I shrugged uncomfortably. “A little. I used to. N-not really.” God. I was babbling.
“No?” He plucked at a few of the strings. “Then why do you have it?”
I lifted the guitar from his hands. “I used to keep it in the back of my closet. Just haven’t gotten around to putting it away yet.”