He strode to the front of the pier, just as his car pulled up, and got in, making small talk for a minute or two before the driver went quiet.
That quiet was what did him in.
Though this time, it didn’t involve nudity.
Or, well, of the human variety.
Though the object in the shot wasn’t wearing pants. Thankfully, the pant-less state wasn’t illegal, as it was a sea lion that was making a comical face as it was knocked off the platform.
He pulled up his text chain with Lori, added the photo, then sent,
Sorry I made you late.
Then he rode back to his apartment, vowed to never send another dick pic, and immersed himself in the want ads.
By that afternoon, still Lori hadn’t texted back. Not to his picture, nor the message from the night before. Which, in fairness, he hadn’t really expected, considering she was both at work and their first go at texting hadn’t exactly been great.
Well, for her.
For him, he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
She’d been so fucking cute when he’d deserved a verbal thrashing. Then funny enough to make his drunk ass laugh, then sober up rapidly when she’d rightfully called him out after that. Beyond all of that, she was gorgeous. And . . . she was his neighbor.
Fucking hell.
He’d sent a dick pic to Brandon’s neighbor.
His brother was going to kill him. Especially, when he’d gotten an email just that morning telling Logan to keep it in his pants and give Lori her distance.
Thrusting a hand through his hair, Logan pushed up from the sofa and set his laptop to the side.
He’d spent several hours going through the online classifieds, trying to find anything that might excite him enough to want to spend the second half of his life doing it.
And . . . nothing.
Plus, it wasn’t like the sniper skills he’d learned in military were particularly useful, unless he wanted to be a police officer or private security.
Did he want to be a cop? Not really. Private security? Even less appealing.
Firefighting? Maybe, but he’d need to go back to school—
School.
Maybe that was the answer.
If so, what would he study?
Another question.
Because even if he did want to be a firefighter, he didn’t think he’d pass the physical. The piece of shrapnel in his hip ensured that.
He’d recovered, mostly, but he couldn’t make a day-to-day career out of lifting people or dragging hoses around. A year ago, before the IED had gone off, then sure. Now, not so much.
Logan shook his head, not letting the memories take him back under.
He was in a good place finally. He’d been lucky when several others hadn’t.
And so he had a duty to move on.