Apparently that means the subject is closed. I don’t want to keep it open either, so I pull the box of pancake mix out of the grocery bag and breathe a sigh of relief when it’s one of thosejust add waterkinds. Basically less chance of me screwing something else up tonight.
I open what seems like every cabinet door on my side of the kitchen without finding a bowl before I turn to Logan.
“Do you see any mixing bowls over there? I have no idea where anything is.”
He flips a piece of bacon before opening a cabinet and pulling one out. I cross the room to take it from him, but he holds on.
“You think I would’ve fucked you in New York if I was fucking every woman in this town?” His words come out quietly, but with strength behind them.
I tug on the bowl, but he still doesn’t let go. “I’m not asking for an explanation.”
“And here I thought I gave you one before when I said I don’t take everything that’s offered. A lot of these women are looking for a man to provide, and I’m not taking the chance that I’ll knock one of them up and get trapped into being a paycheck for eighteen years.”
“And you weren’t worried about knocking me up?” The question is out before I can take it back.
He shakes his head. “City girl like you, I figured you’d have your shit in order. And I always use a condom.”
“City girl like me ...” I try the words out. “You mean the slutty kind? The kind that likes one-night stands because they’re easy, and I can get off and walk away without any complications?”
“I didn’t say any of that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
A heavy silence hangs over the kitchen, punctuated only by the popping of the bacon grease. Logan finally releases his hold on the mixing bowl, and I decide that I’m going to get drunk.Surprise, surprise.
I prepare the pancake mix on the opposite side of the kitchen, only approaching Logan to hand it off to him. As I reach for a beer, I see a container of orange juice peeking out from one of the bags. Well, hell, during the great mixing-bowl search, I found a bottle of vodka, and screwdrivers go better with breakfast than beer, in my opinion. I grab the orange juice and return to the cupboard for vodka to mix up my drink.
Logan snags a bottle of beer before he loads up another frying pan with pancakes.
“Want a screwdriver?” I ask, raising the vodka high.
He shakes his head as he pops the top off the beer and takes a swig. “No, what I want is the real story. So, get to it.”
With my screwdriver in front of me, I settle into a chair and lean it back on two legs.
“The real story ... I got fired from my job, evicted from my apartment, and when my parents wouldn’t bother themselves to help and I couldn’t bring myself to take a handout from a friend, this option came up, and I thoughtwhat the hell.”
Logan flips pancakes before glancing over his shoulder. “That’s not exactly a long story.”
“Maybe not, but those are the highlights.”
“So coming here didn’t have a thing to do with me.”
I take a long drink of my screwdriver. Even now, with the warmth of vodka filtering through my body, I’m not sure how to answer that question.
I gesture in the direction of his truck with my glass. “You need another woman after you like I need another stroke of bad luck. Because, damn, that’s a pretty impressive lineup of Suzy Homemakers looking to catch a man.”
Logan steps away from the stove and meets my gaze for a long moment. “Maybe that’s why I like you better. You’re not looking for anything but a good time, and that’s about all I’ve got in me right now.”
His words sting more than I like to admit.
I’m the good-time girl. The party girl. The queen of one-night stands. I’ve embraced the title for the last ten years and earned every bit of it. But something about sitting here in a lilac-wallpapered kitchen with this man makes me wonder if it’s time to try something different.
What the hell? Shut up, Banner. You’re thinking crazy shit.
I take another quick sip, hoping it drowns out the strange feeling, but instead I zero in on Logan’s ass and remember how big and perfect his cock was.
All the screwdrivers in the world won’t stop the freight train of lust roaring through my veins. But maybe that’s a good thing. Lust, I understand. So what if I just want to ride him like a bull?