Page 39 of Neat
“There’s nothing to spill.”
Chris flattened his lips, and then before I could react, he snatched my phone from me and read the screen as I wailed on him to give it back to me.
“Logan Becker,” he mused with a smirk, handing my phone back.
I huffed, pulling it into my chest like I could protect what had already been seen. “It’s just work stuff.”
“Right. And I only cross dress during Pride Week.” He rolled his eyes. “What happened? Did you get him in trouble again? Or is his grumpiness rubbing off on you?”
“I’m not grumpy,” I defended. “And neither is he.”
Chris cocked a brow. “That man has been a broody, keep-to-himself piece of eye-candy since we were teenagers. Who else do you know who sits at Buck’s alone with a scowl and a glass of whiskey.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but Chris held up his finger.
“Besideshis brothers, because that will only prove my point further.”
I shut my mouth again.
Chris chuckled. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on so I can stop bugging you and get back to my show.”
I covered my face with my hands, blowing a hot breath through the fingers. “I don’t know,” I groaned out. Then, I peeked through my fingers at Chris. “There may or may not have been lip contact.”
“Lip contact? As in,kissing?!”
“No.” I bit my lip. “Well… maybe kind of?”
Chris filled his glass of wine before topping off mine, and then he kicked back, making himself comfortable on the couch. “Tell meeverything.”
So, I did. I told him how Logan and I had started getting along, how I’d brought him into my studio that night after our walk, how we’d found a rhythm at work. I told him about my firstrealtour, how it had felt so good before we realized we’d forgotten the no photos allowed speech. I told him about Mac, about our punishment, about Logan’s surprising taste in music and how his nerdiness somehow made me like him more. I told him about the box we found, the laptop, the hard drive.
And finally, the almost-kiss.
Chris was giddy the entire time, smiling like a loon and completely unable to keep still the longer I talked. By the time I finished, I thought he was going to squeal or giggle or jump up and down.
“This isbad, Chris,” I pointed out. “We almost kissed. Or… at least… Ithinkwe almost kissed.”
“Oh, you definitely almost kissed,” Chris agreed. “Honestly, I’d say lip contact classifies, but since there was lack of embrace or tongue, we can file it as an almost.”
I sighed.
“Why are you acting like he kicked your cat?”
Dalí croaked out a meow from where he was curled up under the coffee table.
“Lip-locking isfun, Mallory — especially with a Becker boy.” Chris waggled his brows.
“Did you hear what you just said? He’s aBecker. His entire family hatesmyentire family — and honestly, if you ask me, it’s for good reason. Plus, we work together. Plus, my father wouldmurderme.”
Chris scoffed. “And? Like pissing off your dad isn’t your favorite pastime.”
“It’s different this time. He has me by the balls with this building being in his name,” I said, gesturing to the studio apartment we were sitting in above the shop.
“Fine,” Chris conceded. “But, does he even need to know? I mean, it’s not like it has to be anything serious. It sounds like you like him, and from what you’ve told me, he likes you, too. Why not have a little fun?” He tipped his glass toward me before taking a sip. “From what I know of the guy, he could use it.” Chris grimaced. “Who watchesspace documentariesfor joy?”
I chuckled, flying through the list of reasons why entertaining any kind of feelings for Logan Becker — whetherjust for funor otherwise — was a terrible idea. Still, just a centimeter of his skin on mine had sent me into this spiral, and now that I’d had a taste, I couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to dip the whole spoon in and take a full bite.
My phone vibrated, and Chris eyed me with a smirk. Before I could even think to reach for the phone, it was in his hands, unlocked with Logan’s newest text pulled up — since I shared everything with my best friend.
