Page 18 of Good Golly Miss Molly

“I can come back later, if you’re busy.”

The voice from the doorway is full of good humor, teasing Logan with a certain familiarity. Who is this VIP customer Logan was willing to postpone private time for?

Logan chuckles.

“Depends on whether you’re finally going to let me sell you one of my lovely ladies, or going to make do with your PRS.”

“I make do with my $20,000 Dragon just fine, Logan, and you know it. Not that your work isn’t wonderful. But I’ve had two guitars in my entire life, and they’re both PRS’s. If I can hit No. 1 with the PRS, I’m fine with that.”

“Good to see you, Hunter — it’s been too long,” Logan says, clapping him on the back in the standard man-hug. So this is Hunter…

“Brighid keeps saying the same thing.”

“Do you blame her? It’s almost like you’re dodging us, back here in the old homestead.”

Hunter’s expression gets serious, regretful.

“Yeah. I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for. She’s going to toss me out on my ass one of these days if I don’t make it up to her.”

“Where is she? I thought you’d be bringing her with you. We still call her the ‘Guitar Fairy’ around here, even after Mike sold me the shop.”

I give Logan a curious look, and he waves me off, which I take to mean he’ll explain later.

“I had her drop me off. I can walk back to the studio. Just needed some extra strings before we start working on the new material tomorrow. Thanks for making sure you were open.”

“Not a problem. Just good to see your ugly mug around here again. Glad you could work on the album down here and not get stuck up in NYC again.”

“Wasn’t my idea, actually. The label thought we needed the R&R — which is so true it hurts — and we’ve got enough clout with them that a full summer of working vacation seemed like a good investment and not just a reward for good behavior.”

“So you left Declan at home?” Logan chuckles.

“Don’t I wish. Most days, at least. We need him eventually.”

“I do not envy you that diva, Hunt.”

“He’s a pain, but there’s no better lead singer or frontman on the planet — except Mace Mason, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Dec’s got a creamy center under that asshole exterior. Deep down.Waydeep down. But it’s there.”

I crack up, seeing visions of bake shops and a 6-foot-tall doughnut with a creamy center and sugar sprinkles, that I just couldn’t resist. Sometimes it pays off to give in to temptation.

“Logan, I’ll see you upstairs. Soon,” I singsong at him, heading for the back door with a flirty wave behind me. I can feel his eyes on my ass as I go.

“What was that about?” Hunter asks.

“Inside joke, man. Inside joke. So let’s… uhh… Strings, you said?”

I chuckle all the way up the stairs, shedding most of my clothes as soon as I get inside the apartment. I lay back on the bed in just bra and panties, counting the seconds until he comes through that door. It won’t take long, if I know him. And I do. Pretty well by now.

“Good Golly Miss Molly” floats up the stairs, getting louder with every step Logan takes. He’s onto the second chorus as he comes through the door, catching sight of me across the room. He stops in the middle of a phrase, his face shifting from happy-go-lucky to predatory in the space of a moment.

“I’m starting to get your distinct lack of willpower where doughnuts are concerned,” he says, shedding his clothes as he crosses the room.

By the time he’s at the bed, he’s naked, all those little imperfections that make him who he is on display for my eyes alone. Amber managed to work that into her charm, so he never feels like he’s hiding himself from me. His glamour helps him navigate a human world, but between the two of us, there is no pretense, no artifice, nothing hidden.

Which isn’t to say there’s no flirting, or the little games men and women play.

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