I pressed a hand to the flat of his chest, noticing how much softer it felt compared to Logan’s. And not nearly so broad. “Connor, I can’t . . .”
He sighed and shook his head. “Friend zone, huh? Not the first time it’s happened.”
I winced. “I enjoy hanging out with you . . . and working together.”
Nodding, he held up a hand. “I get it. Don’t worry. I’m not going to turn into a bastard when we work together. You’re still a hell of a lot better than Gillian.”
I snorted. “Not much of a compliment, but I’ll take it. We can still hang out, right? We can be friends. Our relationship doesn’t have to be strictly work.” I’d enjoyed being around him so far this summer. It was nice to have someone to catch a movie or bite to eat with. Pepper and Emerson were busy with their relationships and work.
“Sure.” He flashed me a smile that didn’t look too pained. “Like I’m going to say no to hanging out with a cute girl. Besides, you can always change your mind. Especially once you realize how much I enjoy to shop.”
I wasn’t going to change my mind, but I just laughed lightly and smiled at him. It was kinder than digging the blade in deeper and insisting that I wouldn’t change my mind.
“And I couldn’t help noticing your friend Suzanne,” he added. “She’s cute . . . and single, I gathered?”
I patted his shoulder. “I’ll let you know about that.” I wasn’t about to toss Suzanne at him until I asked her if she was even interested.
I walked Connor back down and said good night. Closing the door after him, I locked it and sighed, falling back against the flat expanse. For several long moments, I just stared unseeingly ahead. Then with another sigh, I shoved off the door and ascended the steps. Once in the loft, I kicked off one heeled wedge and then another.
A knock on the door below had me turning around. Walking back down stairs, I opened the door, expecting to find Connor there. Maybe he had changed his mind about those pickle chips.
Instead Logan stood there, one hand resting on the edge of the doorjamb, his blue eyes dark and avid in a way that made my chest squeeze to the point of pain.
I stepped back up on the stairs like his presence was too much, his nearness a flame, burning hot and bright. He lowered that arm and I couldn’t help noticing the way the sleeve bunched, hugging the nicely muscled bicep.
He stepped up on the top step and shut the door after him. It felt like the stairwell was closing in on us. Our proximity was too much. Turning, I hurried up into the loft.
Maybe I shouldn’t have. Naturally, he followed me. But my brain only half functioned around him. My body did all the thinking, reacting on its own. My skin tightened, every nerve ending tingling and prickling in a way that made me want to puke or dance for joy. It was pretty much the same sensation.
“You invited him up here.” The words fell on the air like an accusation, but there was a tightness to his jaw that told me he hated even uttering the words . . . like it pained him to get them past his lips.
“You told me to fuck him.” For once the profanity slid easily off my tongue. It’s what he had said to me and I wasn’t even going to try to paraphrase. He hadn’t cared. I blinked suddenly burning eyes. Treacherously burning eyes. After kissing me and . . . and all the rest, he hadn’t cared what I did with another guy. It shouldn’t have stung. He wasn’t my boyfriend. But it had stung. It still did.
“Did you?”
I opened my mouth and then shut it with a snap. I didn’t owe him an explanation.
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving my face. He started to move again, stalking me. I backed up into the kitchen area, deliberating avoiding the bed and futon. He followed.