Page 53 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“I'll have a Sex on the Beach,” Kate says immediately, blinking seductively.

“A glass of the house white for me,” Sarah adds.

“Vodka tonic. Double,” I say, ignoring Sarah's raised eyebrow. “And maybe bring us some of those truffle fries?”

When the drinks arrive, the conversation shifts to lighter topics like Kate's upcoming art show, Sarah's adventures with her third grade class, and the latest shows we've been streaming. Logan's name disappears from the discussion, though I remainpainfully aware of his presence across the room, like an electrical current humming beneath my skin.

Despite my plan to get wasted, I barely touch my drink. I keep rolling the glass between my hands while watching Kate knock hers back, and Sarah struggles to keep up. My thoughts keep circling back to Logan, no matter how hard I try to focus on something else. What's he doing here? Is this a regular spot for him? Who's that guy he's with? Does he not care at all about what happened between us?

“Fucking asshole!” Kate exclaims, her voice slurred. She's completely wasted, her usual grace replaced by wobbly indignation.

I follow her gaze and see two women joining Logan's table. They're sleek, sophisticated types in cocktail dresses and are laughing at something he said. One of them leans in close, her hand on his arm. The knot in my stomach tightens painfully, and I have to blink back tears.

I have no right to be jealous. Logan doesn't owe me anything. What happened between us was just a hookup, nothing more. I repeat these facts to myself, but they do nothing to ease the ache in my chest. I'm so distracted that I don't notice Kate getting up until she's already several steps away.

“Where are you going?” I call after her, but she's too far away to hear me.

Sarah gives me a helpless shrug.

Horror dawns as I realize where she's headed, straight for Logan's table.

“No!” I clap my hand over my mouth, frozen for a second before jumping to my feet, nearly knocking over our table. Trying to navigate the crowded bar in these ridiculous heels is almost impossible. I have to weave through a maze of bodies to reach Kate. By the time I get there, she's already facing off with Logan's table.

“Pig,” she says, lifting a glass of what looks like whiskey.

Logan whips his head around, meeting my eyes for the first time in a week. Something flashes across his face, surprise, recognition, or maybe even guilt, before his expression hardens again. He looks away from me and back at his friend, who now has a lap full of Kate's drink.

I love Kate. She's the best friend anyone could ask for, loyal and protective to a fault. But right now, her misdirected vengeance is making everything worse. The guy she doused isn't even Logan, just some innocent bystander. He sits there stunned, his pants soaked. The woman next to him jumps up, clutching her designer purse as though Kate might attack it next.

Time seems to slow down as I take in the whole disaster: Kate swaying on her feet, defiant; the soaked guy trying to dab at his pants; the women looking outraged and confused; and Logan... his expression impossible to read. His jaw is tight, his eyes cold, but there's something else there too, something I can't quite identify.

“I think you have the wrong table,” Logan says, his voice eerily calm. He deliberately avoids looking at me.

“Oh no, I know exactly who I'm looking for,” Kate slurs, her finger wavering as she points. “You're the asshole who's been making my best friend miserable.”

“Kate, please,” I whisper, wanting to sink into the floor with embarrassment. “Let's go.”

“No, Emily,” she protests loudly. “He needs to know what a jerk he is!”

“I think we all get the point,” Logan's friend says, standing up and ineffectively dabbing at his soaked pants with a napkin. “Maybe we should take this outside before we get thrown out?”

Logan nods curtly, dropping some cash on the table. He still won't look at me. “Ladies, enjoy your evening,” he says to thewomen, who exchange glances before gathering their things and heading for the restroom.

I stand there, paralyzed with horror, as Logan and his friend make their way to the exit.

“That showed him,” Kate says triumphantly, then sways dangerously. I grab her arm to keep her from falling.

“Let's get you home,” I mutter, feeling utterly deflated. I lead Kate back to our table, where Sarah waits, eyes wide with shock.

She stands quickly. “What happened?”

“Kate decided to redecorate Logan's friend's pants.” I sigh. “They left.”

“Oh, Kate,” Sarah says, shaking her head. “Let's get our bill and go.”

While we wait for the check, I can't help but glance toward the door. Some crazy part of me hopes Logan might come back, acknowledge me, and explain what the hell is going on. But the door stays stubbornly closed, and the knot in my stomach gets tighter. This night has gone from bad to worse, and I have no idea what's waiting for me when I go back to Logan's apartment.

IfI still have a place to stay tonight.

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