Page 160 of Keeping Kasey
“No, he didn’t—”
“He got in my way,” he repeats, and something in his earnest gaze tugs at me. There’s a shadow of something primal barely hiding behind his eyes, and it’s a look I’ve only seen on him one other time—the club after family dinner.
Logan isn’t making up an excuse to justify what he did.
He’s telling me the raw, messy, bare-bones truth—he was jealous.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” I remind him.
“I didn’t ask for one,” he says, lifting and dropping a shoulder. “But that wasn’t the only reason I shot him.”
“Enlighten me.”
“You needed to see me the same way everyone else does.” His lip tugs up in a hollow smile. “Thevile, cruel monster.”
I meant the words when I said them, but do I still think that about Logan?
I should. He’s given me no reason to see him in any better light, and he said himself that hewantedme to know that side of him.
“Was it worth it?” I ask.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” he says, his tone casual, but I get stuck on the words.
Does he mean having me in Chicago, giving him the list, or having mehere, sitting across from him in a booth at a dingy burger joint?
I ponder that as we eat, but I don’t have it in me to ask.
We finish our food in silence, and I’m inexplicably relieved that the weariness in Logan’s face has eased, even if the dark circles beneath his eyes are still firmly in place. Only a good night’s sleep will fix that.
Logan pays the bill, and when we drive back to the hotel, the silence in the car is different—lighter. The thick tension is gone, and I feel more relaxed than I have in weeks.
It’s the first time I’ve felt any semblance of peace in Logan’s presence, and it feels good.
Too good.
I force myself to read every button’s label on the car’s dashboard, then I do it again and again. Anything to avoid the avenue my brain is begging to wander down.
When we get to the hotel, we climb the stairs to our floor, but we stop when we reach our doors.
I pull out my keycard.
He pulls out his.
Neither of us moves to unlock the doors.
“I don’t remember the last time I went so long without wanting to kill you,” I say, a sardonic smile just barely lifting my lips.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be back before you know it,” he says, and his green eyes crease with amusement.
Even in this zombified state, Logan is hopelessly attractive. It’s the kind of tragic beauty that makes a person lose their inhibitions, especially when he smiles at me—reallysmiles at me—like he is now. Being the object of his attention is like taking a hit of a drug I just recovered from—only, I never recovered from Logan.
I’m starting to think I never will.
I hold my hand out. “I believe you owe me something.”
“Your gun is at the manor. I’ll give it to you when we go tomorrow.”
I hate having to wait, but since I’m not in any real danger, I suppose the extra day won’t kill me.
