Page 32 of Bulletproof Weeks

He dragged his suitcase behind and hooked her bag over his shoulder. “No.”

“You’re a rockstar, for God’s sake. Where’s the ostentatious spending?”

He shook his head. “Weirdo.”

She skipped ahead wearing another filched shirt, this time a Cowboys sweatshirt that went to her damn knees. She spotted his truck and turned around to walk backwards. “Really?”

He shrugged. “I can’t quit her.”

Izzy rolled her eyes. “I guess not.” She waited patiently as he opened the storage compartment in the back and they stowed their luggage. Then got in on his side and slid over the bench seat.

She looked good there. All buckled in, fingers flying over her phone. “At least you have an auxiliary jack.”

“We are not listening to your music.”

“Oh, yes we are.”

“Driver picks the music.”

“Not this time, buddy.”

He switched on the ignition and Katy Perry came screaming through his speakers. “Hell no.”

She grinned. “Just kidding. I do like her, I can’t tell a lie.” She flicked through her files. “Don’t give me that face.”

“What face?”

“That judgy face.”

“I don’t have a judgy face.” He pulled out of the garage and onto the cobblestone of Mercer. But then the cab of the truck was full of the howls of a crowd and acoustic strains of “One Week” from Barenaked Ladies and he decided he was pretty much going to marry her. They spent the next hour in the truck singing along to them as she tried to spit out the rapid-fire lyrics that were a hallmark of the band.

She was a terrible singer.

But, overall she made a great traveling companion. A little chatter, more than a few teasing remarks, and lots of music.

By the time they pulled into the long driveway of his cabin, she was fast asleep against the door, Mumford and Sons blaring away. The familiar pop and tick of gravel under his tires evened him out.

He didn’t realize just how much he’d needed this place. The A-frame front was dark save for a dim light above the door and strategically placed solar lights along the path. Instead of waking her, he circled the truck and lifted her out of the truck. Their bags could wait. With a jaw-popping yawn of his own, he carried her to the front door. She stirred slightly when he had to jostle her to get his hand on the palm plate, but four in the morning was more than his girl could deal with, power nap or not.

She woke halfway up the stairs, her arms tightening around his neck. “Hey, I’m missing out on the romantic stuff.”

He snuffed out a half-laugh. “I’ll make a repeat performance when you’re more coherent.”

“You better.” Her voice was sleepy against his neck.

He set her on the bed and flipped off her little travel shoes, helped her out of her yoga pants, then rolled her into his bed. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he shucked his clothes and followed her.

There would be no restless staring at the ceiling tonight. An armful of Izzy and the familiar scents of home dragged him under. Finally, he was where he belonged.

Thirteen

A light buzz against her hip pushed Bella from sleep to wake. Opening one eye, she took a look around the familiar, and yet still strange space. She’d only spent a few days with Logan at his house, but she definitely remembered the bedroom.

She was also getting used to their odd sleeping arrangement. They usually started out wrapped around each other, but by morning, Logan was on his stomach with an arm flung over her middle. Like he needed his space, but needed to know she was beside him too.

It was sweet. And she had to admit she was getting used to it far too easily.

Again, her hip buzzed. She fished under her for the pocket of the hoodie. Somehow her phone still had a charge.

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