Page 48 of Keeping Kasey
A silent but clear warning in itself.
“She is a guest at this base and will be treated as such. If anyone steps out of line where she is concerned, they will answer directly to me,” he says, staring down every man in the room. “This concludes our meeting. Dinner will now be served.”
The three of them reach our table just as the servers bring out the food. Logan strides to the seat next to mine, James by his side, and Matteo sits across from me.
I’ve only talked to Matteo on a few occasions. He shares the Consolis’ curly hair—even more so than Logan, James, and Damon—though his is cropped short in tight coils, framing his rectangular face and complementing his manicured beard. He has hooded eyes that are always relaxed in a bored expression.
Right now, they assess me with a question that I ignore as Logan leans in to steal my attention.
“What are you wearing?” he asks in a tight whisper, though his face remains calm aside from a tick in his jaw.
That’s what he’s mad about? My outfit?
What does he want from me? I stopped wearing the athletic sets to the base after my first day, but this bothers him, too? Since when are jeans and a cardigan inappropriate?
“Under this, nothing,” I say with a sweet smile.
“Your top might as well be lingerie. Button up your cardigan.”
I laugh but stop when his eyes narrow to thin slits.
He’s serious.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Button up your cardigan,” he repeats, enunciating each word.
I don’t bother telling him that the buttons are decorative and don’t actually function. I don’t bother arguing with him over the appropriateness of my outfit at all.
When the waiters reach our table and one reaches between Logan and me to set a plate down, I slip my arms from the cardigan and let it fall over the back of my chair.
I refuse to look at Logan when the waiter steps away.
I cut into my chicken—seasoned with a dozen herbs and served with green beans and dinner rolls—and take a bite.
Everyone at our table freezes, eyes locked on me. I feel, rather than see, the eyes of every soldier in this room trained on me, too.
They were waiting for Logan to eat first.
I expect to see a spiteful glare when I look up, but Logan’s expression is perfectly neutral. He quickly cuts into his food and takes a bite, effectively breaking the tension and giving everyone permission to eat.
I don’t see Logan’s hand drop below the table, but the second the room’s attention shifts, my chair squeaks as it’s jerked against his.
I nearly fall out of the seat, but catch my balance on Logan’s thigh at the last moment. I pull my hand back immediately, but he’s invading so much of my space that it seems like a moot point.
His lips are at my ear. “You can argue with me. You can fight me. You can even eat before me. But you cannotundress in front of my men.” He punctuates his statement by taking the cardigan from my chair and resting it over my shoulders.
His stern tone is a stark contrast to the gentle gesture.
“I’d hardly call itundressing. There’s nothing wrong with my shirt.” Despite my words, I slide my arms through the cardigan.
As satisfying as it was to make Logan squirm, I’m not a fan of the entire room looking at me now that I got his attention.
“You’ll come too, right, Kasey?” James’s question draws Logan and me out of our conversation, and I find another man whose name I haven’t bothered to learn standing between James and Matteo’s chairs.
Each of their knowing looks makes me wonder why Logan and I are bothering to keep things a secret at all. Seems like everyone already knows.
“No,” Logan says.
