Page 68 of Wylder and the Almost Rockstar
“It makes me extra sweet on the inside.” She batted her eyelashes, and Logan snorted.
“Hey, I’m sweet.”
“And a little salty too.” Logan sat her hot chocolate on the table beside her along with the bag of marshmallows. He sat next to her and twisted her foot to rest on his lap.
“I am not salty.” Wylder scowled at him.
“Lift your foot, grumpy girl.” Logan scooted a pillow under her foot and placed the icepack on her giant toe.
“Now I’m grumpy?”
“You, Wylder Anderson, are not just sweet, or salty, or grumpy or any other adjective you can think of. You’re all of it rolled into one.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.” She stared down into her mug, swirling marshmallows with her spoon and trying not to lose herself in Logan’s brown eyes.
“It’s a compliment. Life would be boring without some variety to spice things up.”
“Are you saying I’m spicy?”
“You’re an acquired taste.”
“I’ll have to agree with you there.” She snorted into her cocoa. “Most people don’t stick around long enough to find that out.”
“Their loss.”
“Shhh!” Wylder leaned forward. “Someone’s coming down.” She shot up and hobbled behind the sofa.
“Are you hiding?” Logan chuckled.
“Yes, pretend like you’re sleeping.” She peeked over the edge of the couch. “Seriously, lay down, Logan.”
“Wylder?” Beckett called as he crept down the stairs. “You better not be down there.”
“It’s just me and the shadows,” Logan called back.
“Ouch!” Becks hollered, hopping on one foot. “Stupid curved railing. I swear I’m going to take an axe to it one of these days.” Becks limped into the living room.
“Do you even own an axe?” Logan stirred his hot chocolate, clinking his spoon against the mug.
“No. Nicky won’t let me have one.” Becks limped into the kitchen, and Wylder shifted farther into the shadows of her hiding spot.
“Can’t sleep either?” Logan leaned back, sounding cool and at ease, while Wylder squirmed, her heart pounding. All she needed was Becks finding her here with Logan, and she’d never hear the end of it.
“Thirsty.” Becks reached for the tower of hot chocolate. “Hey, someone took my last cocoa.” Becks darted a glare at Logan.
“Oh, was that yours?” Logan’s voice held a hint of his laughter.
“Yes, it was mine. It had my friggin name on it, Cook.” He snapped one of the other flavors into the machine, grumbling about not refilling the water.
“Sorry about that.” Logan sipped his white hot chocolate, and Wylder hoped her brother wouldn’t notice the two missing K-Cups from the tower.
“Where are the marshmallows?” Becks opened and closed half the kitchen cabinets until he finally realized Logan had them. As he moved into the living room, Wylder caught his frown, she could just barely see him from her hiding place. “My sister likes these in her cocoa.” He picked up the container of melty mints.
“Oh yeah.” Logan leaned forward. “I picked that up from her at school. Love those things.”
He hated them. He’d tried them once and said they tasted like cough syrup masquerading as pink and green chocolate chips.
“Me too.” Becks scooped up a handful of mints and popped them into his mug. “I like them with regular hot cocoa.” He lifted the mug to his lips.
