“Really?”
Her question makes me reconsider my choice. “Bad idea?”
Sofia shrugs. “If he’s so different, maybe tapas isn’t your best choice. You’ll find out tomorrow, I suppose. I need another drink, and I’m not waiting for the slow-as-hell waitress. Don’t do anything ridiculous while I’m gone.”
“Of course not,” I say, my tone indignant.
I tap my phone screen as soon as Sofia struts away, and stare down at the message from Logan.
LOGANREALMANBRANTLEY: You imagining me naked?
I’m so screwed, because I’m definitely picturing him nakednow. All my resolutions about how this is supposed to be different don’t stop my thumbs from flying across my screen with the absolute alcohol-induced truth. I’ve already messed this up.And at least I’m being honest.
BANNER: Only when I come.
His reply arrives within moments.
LOGANREALMANBRANTLEY: Fuck. You shouldn’t have told me that, because now I’m thinking about you too.
BANNER: Is that a bad thing?
LOGANREALMANBRANTLEY: You tell me.
Oh. Well. Hmmm.
BANNER: I guess we’ll find out when you get here.
As soon as I hitSENDand read back over the messages, a wave of excitement washes over me that I finally get to meet him in person, but there’s a pang of regret with it. What are the chances I can break my old habits with him, and not end this with the walk of shame?
LOGANREALMANBRANTLEY: I guess we will.
Now, what does that mean? Did he just shoot me down?Gah, this man has me all over the place.
I pause, my thumbs poised above the keyboard on my phone, unsure how to reply.
Sofia returns, no doubt saving me from messing this up even further by saying something more. “Hey! I ran into a friend. She’s doing shots at the bar.”
“Shots? I could do shots.” My voice sounds unusually perky, even to me.
As we head over to join Sofia’s friend, I decide more alcohol is the perfect way to help me figure out how to deal with Logan tomorrow ...although it might not be the smartest.
* * *
I wake up in my own bed, but I’m not alone. Thankfully, the dark head on the pillow next to me belongs to Sofia. I vaguely recall her ushering us into a cab around three in the morning.
Thank God for the weekend, or I would be calling into work hung over again, which would probably result in me getting fired. And somehow that doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world, except for the fact that I’d be broke for the time being.
No, I can’t lose this job. I have to stick it out for another six months, and then I’ll be all set.
I roll and swing my legs over the side of the bed, taking my time as I stand to make sure I’m not going to land on my face. Balance acquired, I shuffle into the bathroom to find my clutch on the counter.
Out of habit more than anything else, I flip it open and pull out my phone. Two texts from Logan are waiting.
That familiar rush of excitement floods me when I see his name on the screen. Rather than unlocking my phone to read them, I force myself into the shower to rid myself of the smoke and club nastiness from last night. My hair looks like it’s been styled by a two-year-old, and my eyeliner smudges should qualify me for honorary raccoon status.
The steam from the shower melts it all away, and thankfully my stomach isn’t angry with me for whatever I put in it. I hurry through sudsing up, washing, and conditioning because I need to know what Logan said. Even now, he’s somewhere between Kentucky and Manhattan. Equal parts anticipation and apprehension battle it out in my chest.
I like this guy.