“Good night, Georgia.”
His deep voice was a feather-stroke to my skin in the dark. I hugged a pillow close to my chest, squeezing hard, welcoming numbness into my fingers. “Good night, Logan.”
Chapter 9
IT WAS A LITTLE after midnight a few nights later when a knock came from downstairs. I was still up, sitting on the futon watching Love Actually. It was one of my favorite movies. Whenever it was on, I always stopped channel surfing and settled in to watch it for the umpteenth time.
I had started to nod off earlier, but something stopped me from getting up and going to bed. Okay, I knew what that something was. Logan was working tonight. I’d checked the shift schedule pinned to the wall downstairs and knew. He hadn’t worked lately, explaining the sudden end to his late-night visits. I missed our sleepovers and had been a wreck with nervous energy all day, wondering if he would put in an appearance. Okay . . . hoping. No sense lying to myself.
Hopping to my feet, I brushed my hands over my shorts and tank top like I was freeing them from wrinkles. The real clue that I was open to the possibility of seeing Logan again was the fact that I still had on a bra.
Inhaling a shuddery breath, I hurried down the steps.
“Who is it?” I called.
“Uh, this is the guitar police checking to see if you’re hiding any guitars in your closet.”
Rolling my eyes, I opened the door. “Funny.”
Logan stood there in his customary Mulvaney’s T-shirt and jeans with his customary grin. My chest squeezed and my skin pulled tighter. Every time I saw him it was like getting reacquainted with his hotness all over again. The memory and the reality of him never quite caught up.
“Hi,” he greeted, his deep voice sending a wake of goose bumps over my skin. “Would it make you totally uncomfortable if I crashed here again tonight?”
Yes. “No.”
Turning, I led him upstairs, acutely conscious of him behind me. I could feel his stare on my butt and thighs.
I motioned to the futon. “I was just watching a movie, but I can turn—”
“No. I’ll watch it with you.”
I made a face. “You sure? It’s a chick flick.”
He shrugged and dropped down on the futon, stretching his long legs out and looking relaxed and at home as he draped an arm along the back of the couch. “My best friend is a girl, remember?”
“Yeah.” Rachel. I sank down beside him. “How’d that happen anyway? You don’t seem to be the type . . .” My words faded, revealing too much. That I thought about him. That I thought I knew what type of guy he was.
He looked at me for a long moment before answering. “When her brother died, her parents kind of forgot they were a family. Their marriage fell apart. They ignored her for the most part. I understood that. My mom was dead. My dad . . .” His voice faded. “I think you know about my old man from Reece.” I nodded. He didn’t need to elaborate. “We understand each other. I try to look out for her. The kink club . . . that’s been her thing.”
I snorted.
His lips twisted. “I’m not denying I haven’t had my fun moments there, but lately . . . Well, I can’t convince her not to go anymore.”
“She’s seems like a girl who knows what she wants.”
“No. She doesn’t, but she’s stubborn. So. There it is. ” He stared at the TV, watching Hugh Grant dance across the room like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “I can’t let her go there without me.”