Page 14 of Wrong Number, Right Grump
“That’s a load of crap,” she says gently.
“Maybe. But it stuck.” I let out a heavy breath, feeling a tiny bit of discomfort leave my body. But only a little. “When you hear something long enough, you start to believe it. I started thinking maybe I just... wasn’t good at it.”
“Double standards,” she says. “When men show emotion, they’re not masculine enough. If women show emotion, we’re deranged lunatics with a chemical imbalance. Too emotional. Too loud. Too everything. And never enough.”
My chest tightens. I labeled her a drama queen from the get-go. Before she was more than a voice or typed words. It’s a label I can’t take back, but I can apologize for.
“I’m sorry,” I say and sincerely mean. “I shouldn’t have called you a drama queen.”
“Oh, God, no. Don’t be.” She laughs it off as if it’s nothing, but I know it’s something.
Her laugh fades, and the air quiets around us. Her hands slide down my chest and find mine. She wraps her fingers around mine, and though they’re smaller, they ground me.
“You feel everything all at once,” I say quietly. “And I keep most of it locked down.”
“Sounds like we’d be disastrous together,” she says, her chin drooping a bit. “We’d cancel each other out.”
“Or,” I say, lifting her chin. “We’d bring out the best in each other. Checks and balances. You keep me from dying a slow, painful, mere existence with your exuberance and zest for life.”
She smiles, slow and with the glint in her eye, it feels a little wicked. Her fingers squeeze mine as she tips closer. “Kiss me again, Logan.”
I don’t need a second invitation.
I kiss her until there’s no breath between us. Her mouth parts, and the tip of her tongue curls around mine. There’s nothing delicate about the way I pull her closer, my hands at her waist, then sliding up her back, learning her shape, the curves and soft parts, the way her breath hitches. She presses into me with equal heat, kissing me like she’s been holding back too long. Desperate, without reservation.
I take all of it, every last bit she gives me.
And then, I stop. Pull back. Not because I want to. But because I crave her more than I should. More than one date should.
She blinks up at me, cheeks flushed, lips parted. “Why’d you stop?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
I rest my forehead against hers, breathless, heart pounding, sending a direct line of desire straight to my groin. “If I don’t now,” I say, “I won’t.”
She stares at me like she’s not sure whether to be flattered or frustrated. But she quickly recovers, and a sly smile spreads across her lips.
“So, Iamtoo much to handle.” Her eyes gleam, elfish and full of mischief.
“You’ll never not be enough,” I chuckle.
“Same,” she says, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. She pulls back enough to meet my eyes. “You gonna survive the walk back without jumping me?”
I grin, tug her close again, and murmur, “Doubtful.”
She laughs. Bright, reckless, and a little loud. And I grin, not minding one damn bit.
CHAPTER 8
***
Lola
It’s close to midnight by the time I get home. I pull onto Shady Lane with its canopy of trees and dimly lit twinkle lights. I unlock the front door, but before stepping inside, I sneak a peek over my shoulder.
Logan dims his headlights and parks a few houses down like he’s getting away with something. He kept his distance the whole drive, probably thinking I wouldn’t notice. But a woman notices her surroundings, especially at night.
I smirk as I step inside, locking the door behind me. He’ll never admit to trailing me home, but I see right through him. He might act aloof and unaffected, but underneath that beard and broody silence is a total cinnamon roll sweetie. He’s careful and quietly possessive, and I’m here for it.
What he doesn’t know is I’ve pretty much got my own private security force across the street. When my roommate, Gabby, and Justice got together, Justice and the Home Wreckers took it upon themselves to keep an eye on the rest of us still living in the house. If Logan had gotten any closer, someone would have interrogated him with a socket wrench.
