Page 45 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

Logan steps forward, the short gap between us made even narrower. His lip curls in a delicate smirk that sends a shiver through my stomach.

“Thatwasfun, wasn’t it?”

My smile is inevitable. “Yes,” I answer, the performance’s adrenaline still lingering in my veins. “It was fun.”

Logan grins, looking very pleased with my response as he points toward our escape route. “Off we go, then,” he says.

We head into the back hallway together and exit into the alleyway behind the bar. I poke my head out first, checking for people. There usually are one or two, but it’s still early enough that no one’s snuck back here to cut off our route. I give Logan an all-clear nod and we step outside. The early autumn air is crisp but not fresh given the state of the dumpsters nearby, so I hold my breath until we reach the sidewalk.

I go to breathe, to fill my lungs with relief that we got away with no one noticing—especially not the groupies lingering outside The Electrics’ bus on the other end of the lot. I know from personal experience how crazed certain fans can get (Knox has a few interesting scars that prove it), but I can only imagine what they may permanently etch into Logan given the chance.

We walk down the block, silently checking over our shoulders until we’re a safe distance away. After crossing the street and rounding a corner, I release my breath, letting another fill my lungs.

Crisp. Fresh.

Logan.

I glance at him to find him already staring at me as we walk.

“What?” I ask.

“Why?”

“Why what?” I ask, looking down, wondering if my choice of incognito hoodie was a touch too…unstylish.

But Logan swivels his head, glancing around the increasingly empty streets as we drift further away from the bar. “You live here?” he asks. “In this neighborhood?”

“Another few blocks over,” I confirm, then frown. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” he answers. “It’s actually quite... nice.”

“And that’s bad?”

“No, just surprising.”

I pause my stride, forcing him to do the same. “Surprising?”

“Well, I just expected... you know,” he mutters, his smile digging in. “A luxury high rise above The Strip or something.”

“Ah,” I say, nodding as we resuming forward, Logan moving in sync with me. “No. That’s not really my style.”

“It’s not?”

“I mean... sure, I can afford it. Hell, I could live in the Botsford Plaza permanently if I really wanted to.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“I like the quiet,” I say after a moment’s thought. “And it’s just me. I don’t need much. And there’s something to be said about simplicity. About living in a friendly neighborhood on a block surrounded by houses that look just like yours.” I roll my eyes. “Sounds real dorky out loud, I know.”

“No,” Logan says. “Not dorky at all, actually. In fact, I agree with you.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a privilege to have a place to call your own. Somewhere untainted by others, by the constant interruption of housekeepers or room service carts.”

“Traffic and honking horns.”

“Exactly.”

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