Chapter 7

7

S ince Nia and I couldn’t simply drive off the resort grounds with Logan and Tom, we met them right at the restaurant. The air hung thick with the aroma of spices and fried plantains as we stepped into the tiny restaurant, tucked away on a narrow side street in Roseau. Mismatched wooden chairs hugged tables draped in bright floral oilcloth, and a ceiling fan whirred overhead. It did little to combat the humidity.

Nia knew the owner Diego, because of course she did, so we stopped by the counter for a few bites of small talk. Then we found Logan and Tom at a table in the back, bathed in the glow of a yellowing pendant lamp.

“You made it!” Tom flashed a grin as he nudged out a chair for Nia. She sat down next to him, close enough to suggest that yes, this was a date, and no, they wouldn’t bother pretending otherwise. A quick round of greetings later, and they got right into a debate about how Dominica’s Kwéyòl, while related to French, differed in its rhythmic flow and sing-song quality. Me, I’d slid onto the chair next to Logan’s, shifting under the bright focus of his gaze.

“You cut your hair,” he said, voice low .

“It was veering into mad scientist territory.” My casual tone was belied by the warmth creeping up my neck.

“You cut your hair ,” Logan repeated, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I picked up a laminated menu for something to do with my hands. “It’s a thing people do, Logan.”

“So I’ve heard.” He paused for a beat, then leaned closer as if to share a secret. “You look good. Not that you didn’t before.”

He did, too—his usual tousled hair tamed a little, a white shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, offsetting his tan. My rumpled T-shirt and faded jeans felt abruptly inadequate.

Oh, hey, and there it was again—that gut punch of self-consciousness. Old doubts and insecurities that I’d thought I’d buried deep, rearing their ugly heads.

I inhaled, focusing on my menu. “Thanks.”

We were quiet for a few seconds as I stared at the food choices and Logan kept watching me. His small, pleased grin itched under my skin.

“ What ?” I snapped.

“Nothing. Just…” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that barely carried over the sizzle of frying fish and the soft strumming of a guitar from a hidden speaker. “You’re a bit hard to read sometimes, you know? So I’m flattered you made an effort.”

“Oh, get over yourself.” My voice came out harsh, a knee-jerk reaction to the acid burn of embarrassment in my stomach. I regretted it an instant later.

A shadow passed over Logan’s face, the playful spark in his eyes replaced by a frown. “Right, then.” Just that, said in a low, careful tone.

Fuck.

“Sorry, Logan.” I dropped my gaze to the table’s swirly flower pattern. “I’m kind of an asshole. In case it wasn’t obvious.”

A beat of silence followed before he sighed. “You know, somehow, I don’t think you really are.” The words were surprisingly gentle. “Just… oversensitive about some stuff. ”

He wasn’t wrong. It was just an overdue haircut, after all—I hadn’t twisted myself into a pretzel shape to please him, for God’s sake.

“I mean, what’s the big deal?” he echoed my thoughts. “Nothing wrong with a bit of effort. I put on a nice shirt for you, see? And some product in my hair. Hell, I even used a face mask earlier.”

Somehow, it was enough to loosen the tension in my gut. I glanced over. “Dude, that’s kinda gay.”

“Shocking,” he drawled.

I laughed, then sobered and ducked my head. “Yeah. Sorry about that minor freak out. I’m a little out of practice with…” I wiggled my fingers at him. “This.”

“Dating?” he asked, easy as you please.

“Yeah.”

“I can imagine. Not the most accepting culture, is it?”

It was a convenient excuse, and I ran with it. “Yeah, no. Being gay was considered a crime up until quite recently. Wasn’t really enforced—they don’t want a bad rep with the tourists. But the sentiment stands.”

He leaned back in his chair, openly studying me. “And still you chose this place. You could have gone anywhere.”

Even though it wasn’t a question, it invited me to comment. I could have taken the easy way out again, claimed it was all down to picking a familiar place. It wasn’t like I owed Logan any kind of truth—at best, this would be a summer fling, nothing serious.

The scents of the restaurant—garlic, thyme, and a hint of something sweet—wafted around us, blending with the tropical warmth. I rubbed a hand along my thigh. “Well, look. Dating was just about the furthest thing from my mind when I came here. So.”

“Ah.” Logan nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

Before the conversation could spin out further, Diego arrived to take our orders. Between Tom inquiring about ingredients and cooking methods and Diego answering in enthusiastic detail, the moment passed.

It was for the best.

“Quantum… what ?” I asked.

“Quantum topology.” Tom repeated it as though this was a commonly understood concept. Uh.

“Like…” Nia’s brows knitted together. “Something to do with small patterns and geometry?”

“ Yes .” Tom sounded way more excited than any math-related matter deserved. His voice rose clear above the rhythmic beat of Caribbean music. “Look, it’s fascinating, all right? You’re taking the crazy, wonderful principles of quantum mechanics, and then you apply them to topology. Like, how can space be twisted and knotted at the quantum level? The implications are…” He waved his hand in a wide arc, holding a forgotten, half-eaten plantain chip. “ Massive . From understanding the fabric of the universe to developing new kinds of quantum computers.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, cautiously, and turned to Nia. “That was English, right? I’m pretty sure it was.”

“I believe so,” she said, only she sounded captivated rather than daunted.

“Let me help with that.” Logan flashed his dimples. “Think of it like this: on the one hand, you’ve got these tiny particles that are kind of magic—like they can be in two places at once and stuff. And you also have spaces that bend and twist like rubber bands. So now the question is, how do these tiny magic particles act when they’re in those bendy, twisty spaces?”

Well, okay. Nia wasn’t the only one who liked smart guys.

“You do that a lot?” I asked Logan. A bead of sweat was forming on his temple. The humidity, no doubt, but fuck if I didn’t want to lean over and taste him. I was almost certain that he’d let me.

“Translate Tom to English?” Logan asked, blessedly oblivious. “Yeah—not my first time at this rodeo.”

“He’s the Watson to my Sherlock,” Tom declared grandly.

“Like in the BBC version, where they really need to shag already?” Nia asked .

“ God no.” Logan gave a dramatic shudder. “That’s my quasi-brother you’re talking about.”

“C’mon.” Tom smirked at him. “We all know you want a piece of my damn fine ass.”

Nia leaned slightly into Tom and lowered her voice, but not enough to keep it from carrying across the table. “I wouldn’t kick your ass out of bed. Just saying.”

“Have you no shame?” I asked her while Tom looked delighted.

She pretended to consider this, then shook her head. “No. You should try it sometime.”

Just then, a platter of golden bakes arrived to stall the conversation—saved by the bell. Their pillowy forms still steamed from the fryer as Logan plucked one off the shared plate and took a tentative bite.

“It’s like a savory doughnut,” he commented, which wasn’t a bad way to describe the salty, slightly sweet taste of the dough.

I realized I was staring at his mouth, shiny with oil, and looked away. “It’s a Dominican staple.”

“And the perfect hangover cure,” Nia said.

Tom chewed politely, clearly unconvinced, and settled for a neutral, “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Sound more enthusiastic, I dare you,” I told him, then turned to Logan. “So now that Tom left us both impressed and confused, what’s your thesis about?”

“Applying theoretical concepts of hospitality management to a real-world setting.” Logan sounded like he’d recited it a great many times.

“That’s generic,” I said.

His smile was quick and bright. “In practice, I’m doing an in-depth analysis of management practices at the resort here. Based on that, I’ll make strategic recommendations for how to improve things. It’s important for me to get this right.”

“And why’s that?” I asked.

He hesitated briefly. “Just family expectations, you know? My cousin’s already got his career firmly launched, and I’m trying to catch up.”

Any reply caught in my throat when he leaned in, adjusting the napkin on my lap before it slipped to the floor. His fingers brushed my thigh with a featherlight touch as he withdrew his hand.

I swallowed. “So, uh. Does that mean you’re not really a guest?”

“No, I am.” He speared some grilled fish. “It’s just that I’m taking the chance to combine pleasure with a bit of business.”

Nia’s eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of Richard-sanctioned exercise?”

“No.” Logan quirked a smile at her. “He’s very much a subject in my analysis.”

Nia and I exchanged a glance before I asked, “Who’ll be seeing your results?”

“Just a handful of people, I figure.” Logan lifted a shoulder and dropped it again. “My thesis supervisor, for one. A few others.”

So it wouldn’t inspire actual changes. Right—should have expected that. And in a way, it was a relief. If Logan turned out to have even more power over me than I’d thought… Yeah, no thanks.

“All right, so.” Nia executed a flawless eyebrow raise. “What will you be saying about us?”

“That you need a third person,” Logan said. “And that it shouldn’t take—how long’s it been?”

“A couple of months since Enrico left,” I supplied. He’d been a fun guy, even if our tiny apartment wasn’t truly fit to house three people and he’d considered dirty dishes an art installation.

“It shouldn’t take two months to hire a replacement,” Logan picked up where he’d left off. “And you guys need backup in case someone gets sick or wants a vacation, or even just a day off. And with two instructors plus an additional person on the boat, you could run a try dive and a normal dive group in parallel.”

“Preach it, brother,” Nia said. “This is your choir.”

I nodded. “Amen.”

Logan grinned while Tom clasped his hands, bowing his head for what seemed less Christian prayer and more yoga salutation. “The light in me honors the light in you,” he said, and yep, bingo.

“Same,” I told him.

“I call brightest bulb in the chandelier,” Nia said.

“Well, babe.” Tom’s tone was deliberately smarmy, lips quirking up. “You’ve certainly electrified my evening.”

A beat of silence followed before laughter rippled around the table.

“Wow,” Logan said. “Why do I suddenly feel transported to a Swiss chalet?”

Oh, oh, I knew how this one went!

“Must be the sudden occurrence of cheese,” I said with a sage nod.

Logan met my eyes, amusement lighting his face, just as Nia told Tom, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Tom looked intrigued. “I am?”

“If you play your cards right,” Nia said, “you might get laid.”

Okay, I was not ready to think about where this evening could lead us. Like, separately. Nia and Tom, Logan and me. Definitely no foursome, God . I needed to scrub my brain with bleach and get this conversation back onto safer ground. Quick, think.

“Wouldn’t you learn far more if you posed as an employee?” I asked Logan. “For your thesis, I mean. If you did a bit of everything—kitchen, guest service, butler…”

“Actually, that’s how the Germans train their hotel managers,” Nia said. “They make them rotate through various departments so they really get a sense of it all.”

Logan considered it around a mouthful of curry. “That’s a neat concept. I’ll look into it. Not for my thesis, but in general.”

“Like you even know how to make a bed,” Tom said.

“Dude.” Logan reached over to poke him in the sternum. “You’re supposed to make me look good in front of my date.”

“ Dude .” The mocking lilt to Tom’s voice was at odds with the open fondness in his smile. “I’m no miracle worker.”

Now, if that wasn’t my cue to step up or go home …

I nudged the side of Logan’s foot with mine and waited for him to look at me. “No miracles needed.”

His quietly pleased, “Yeah?” just about made my heart burst with stupid warmth.

This might still be a bad idea. But I didn’t care anymore.

The sticky sweetness of fried plantain still lingered on my fingers, rum punch humming warm in my veins. Ah, this was the life. Even if it came with a price tag.

I fumbled for my wallet, only for Logan to snatch up the check. “Allow me.”

It was a request rather than a statement, so I sent him a smile. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

His lips hitched up at the corners. “So I’m a bad date?”

“What? No.” I shook my head. “I came here for the company, not for a free meal. Equal enjoyment, equal contributions to the bill.”

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, considering me. “You know, most people are perfectly happy accepting a little chivalry.”

I glanced at where Tom covered his and Nia’s half of our dinner. Then I turned back to face Logan and chose to bypass any quips about how I wasn’t a girl, thank you very much. Nia had the ears of a bat and might kick my butt.

“Look, it’s bad enough you’re a guest. If I let you pay for me, that only makes it worse.”

“I’m not trying to buy sexual favors.” Logan frowned. “You know that, right?”

“I know. It’s the principle.”

“Nia doesn’t seem to mind.”

“She doesn’t have my relationship history.” I kept my tone light to avoid casting a shadow over the moment.

Logan’s gaze softened. His attention moved from me to Nia, leaning into Tom’s side while chatting with Diego about the idea of a weekly sunset-cruise-and-authentic-island-dinner excursion from the resort. When Logan’s gaze returned to me, he looked thoughtful. “Okay, yeah. I get that, I guess. But since being on equal footing really matters to you—Nia’s your boss. So how are you friends?”

“She was my peer first.” I didn’t add that she was also a woman and therefore didn’t trigger my fight-or-flight reflex. Something might have shown on my face, though, because a flicker of understanding crossed Logan’s face.

With a tiny smile, he moved the check over so I could get a proper look.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, music and laughter swirling around us, my chest oddly wide.

His smile grew, turned real. “Of course.”

I skimmed my fingers along the crook of his elbow and hoped it would compensate for words I didn’t have.

So when Nia had suggested we hit the dance floor? Logan and Tom might have expected slightly more than this ramshackle beach bar.

Behind a makeshift counter fashioned from an old wooden boat, bartenders shook up rum cocktails and served ice-cold beers to a thirsty crowd. Jerk chicken rotated above an open fire. A local band belted out reggae-infused renditions of classic calypso tunes, couples swaying under the stars, while groups of friends laughed and cheered each other on to try more daring moves.

“This counts as the epitome of island nightlife?” Logan sounded curious rather than dismissive, his gaze sweeping over the haphazard collection of driftwood, bamboo, and thatched palm leaves.

“What did you expect?” I asked him. “Coachella vibes in a town with twenty thousand inhabitants plus tourists? If it helps, the fireflies put on a pretty good light show.”

“No, it’s just that I remember this warehouse space with a DJ. From my first time here.” We got shoved closer together at the bar, a drunk dude shouting for another drink as he squeezed into the tiny gap between Nia and me .

“That got knocked down ages ago,” I told Logan. “All that’s left are tales and a pile of rubble.”

“And some fond memories of bad decisions, I bet.” He laughed, angling himself to face me. “Blame the rum.”

“Hardly.” I smiled and held his gaze. “Rumor has it alcohol doesn’t create new desires. It just gives you the guts to act on them.”

“That so?” For a hot beat, his focus dropped to my mouth. His nearness thrummed in my belly, buzzed in my bones, and I wasn’t sure whether to move closer or away. The dim glow of torches and fairy lights reduced Logan’s eyes to a stormy gray.

Jesus, I was turning into a cliche.

“So,” I said brightly. “Beer?”

Right—because I desperately needed a truth serum for my inner monologue. Before I could alter course and suggest mocktails instead, Logan grinned. “Yep. Beer is good. Beer is excellent .”

Debatable.

The drunk guy next to me had managed to snag the attention of a bartender—proof that the loudest monkey gets the banana daiquiri. I seized the chance to slip in our orders too and turned back to Logan.

Just in time to see a girl sidling up to him with a wide smile, her lips a vibrant shade of red that stood out even in the shadows. She grasped his shoulder as though to steady herself. “Sorry, sorry!” Her long lashes fluttered in a calculated display. “Got pushed, sorry. Bit of a crowd tonight.”

“Hey, no worries.” He touched her elbow. “You all right, though?”

“Perfect.” She leaned into him, and was this—did he—he was gay. Right? Or did he swing both ways? He wasn’t pulling away, far as I could tell. Why wasn’t he pulling away? Just being friendly? His smile seemed more polite than inviting.

Oh, to hell with this. I pressed against him and slung an arm around his waist. “Who’s your friend?”

The way he shifted into me was deeply satisfying. The girl must have picked up on it too because her eyebrows drew together for a quick, assessing look at where my hand curled against Logan’s waist. Then she snickered. “Don’t mind me—I know when I’m beat. ”

With a wink, she melted back into the crowd.

“Well,” I said blithely. “That was interesting.”

Logan grinned at me. “Sure was.”

As luck would have it, the bartender chose that moment to slide two cold beers across the counter, the bottles damp when I clasped them. I paid before Logan could try to do the same.

His smile flashed like fireworks, fleeting warmth in the velvet shadows. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Our fingers brushed when I handed over his beer, the contact lingering for a second longer than necessary. Pleasant tension quivered in my stomach as Logan leaned in, stopping an inch shy of his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. “See,” he said, just loud enough to be heard. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

Again—debatable. I bypassed the quip about how he was welcome to check for himself. “If you want to be more specific? That’d be helpful, thanks.”

“Letting you pay for me.” He pulled back just a hint, mischief tucked into the corners of his eyes. “Just don’t expect me to put out. I’m a classy date.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” I kept watching him as I took a long pull from my beer. His attention dropped to my mouth and remained there when I released the bottle with a pop and licked my lips. It was… fun . God, yeah. I’d never really learned how to flirt, awkward teenage years blending into Michael interrogating me for hours if I even glanced at another human being. Followed by Dominica’s subtlety clause when it came to same-sex interest—well, it was safe to say I wasn’t Don Juan.

But Logan made me want to try.

His mouth hitched into a playful curve. “Such flattery.”

“Hey, you love a challenge. Or you wouldn’t be friends with Tom.”

“Touché. Speaking of...” Logan scanned the crowd behind me. “I think we’ve lost them.”

I turned around to take it all in—a mix of locals and tourists, young and old, reggae beat pulsing through the sand. Ah, Nia and Tom were cheering on the band, right next to where a dreadlocked surfer chatted up a couple of giggling American girls in their college T-shirts. The day’s warmth lingered.

“Over there,” I said, pointing.

“Right.” Logan took a swig from his beer as I was jostled by someone desperate for a Mojito. Time to make a move. I snatched Logan’s arm to pull him along—not towards the other two but to the edge of the makeshift dance floor, sand dissolving into velvety darkness as night reclaimed its territory. I felt safer here, shrouded against the risk of a familiar face spotting me with Logan.

I faced him with a smile. “Wanna dance?”

“Sure. But fair warning, I’m pretty damn terrible.” His tone was light, and I liked that about him—how he laughed off what others would treat as a source of embarrassment. It couldn’t be more different from Michael, who’d have spent the night nursing his beer and critiquing others. Jesus, I must have been fucked in the head to mistake that guy for my destiny.

Done and dusted.

Logan was right—he was no Fred Astaire, his attempts to match the music marked by clumsy enthusiasm. But then I was no Ginger Rogers either. When I shared this thought, Logan ducked down for a laugh that feathered over my cheek.

“I’d say I’ve got more rhythm in the bedroom, but that’d be cheesy.”

“Extremely so.” I hooked a thumb into the waistband of his jeans and tugged him closer. His eyes locked onto mine.

Someone bumped into me.

I twisted around and found a guy right up in my space. A sloppy grin hinted that the drink he clasped like a champagne flute wasn’t his first. His gaze raked me from head to toe. “Sorry, mate,” he slurred. “Didn’t see you there.”

He made no effort to move away so I shifted back just slightly, Logan’s chest solid against my back. “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“How about—,” the dude started.

From behind me, Logan cut him off. “Answer’s no. ”

Uh?

The drunk guy blinked, his gaze shifting to Logan’s sudden grip on my waist before he raised his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

He saluted us and staggered away, leaving behind a strange knot of tension behind my ribs. I turned, Logan’s touch falling away at the sight of my frown. “You know,” I told him, “I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself.”

Logan opened his mouth, then hesitated. “Yeah,” he said, a bit delayed. “I know. I just...” He trailed off, brows knitting together as he watched me, shadows sapping all color from his eyes.

“You’re not the boss of me.” I tried and failed to keep my tone light.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Jesus, I didn’t mean it like that. How was this different from what you did with that chick at the bar earlier?”

I huffed. “For one, I didn’t presume to speak for you.”

“You want me to call him back?” Voice tight, Logan waved a hand towards where the guy had vanished. “Didn’t think ‘drunk off his fucking ass’ was your type, but I guess I shouldn’t”—a short, acidic pause—“presume.”

He sounded hurt , and it sliced through my emotional hijack. I took a breath. “I’m sorry. Again.”

“As in ‘I’m sorry, this isn’t gonna work’ or ‘I'm sorry for kinda running hot and cold’?”

“The second.” I scrubbed a hand down my face and sighed. “This may sound like a line, but it truly isn’t you. I’m just a bit...”

“Cautious?” Logan suggested, his tone gentler now. Night tangled in his hair and dripped along the curves of his cheekbones, eyes focused on me.

“Scarred,” I said.

And reached for him.

My fingers caught in the soft strands of his hair, slightly tacky with product. He tilted into my touch, waiting, so fucking close that I could just about taste him.

Hot breath. The crackle of electricity down my spine. I brushed our mouths together, tongue flicking out just to test him, and he opened for me—drew me right in, our tongues sliding together. Easy, wet tangle, both of us breathing out hard through our noses. I cupped my free hand around his jaw and drew him further into the kiss, tongue painting a circle, then sucking lightly.

He kissed me back like there was nothing else, no one else, and God, I felt almost dizzy with it, drunk on the sheer promise. Reggae beats washed against the inside of my mind and thrummed along my spine, voices and laughter a backdrop to the rush of blood in my ears. Our beer bottles were squashed between us, cool through the fabric of my T-shirt.

Logan pulled away with a soft bite to my lower lip, his fingertips gliding up my arms. “Okay, um. Wow?”

True. I exhaled a breathy laugh, heart fluttering against my ribcage. “Such eloquence.”

“Most of my blood’s gone south.” A tiny smirk colored his voice, flickering light reflecting in his eyes as his attention dropped back to my mouth. “My point stands, though.”

“It’s a good point.” I set down my beer and did the same with his bottle. Then I tugged him back to me.

His lips parted easily, hot and sweet as our tongues met. I moved my hands to sketch twin lines up the sides of his throat, his pulse fast under my touch, skin soft as my fingers bloomed out across his cheeks. He eased away to let his teeth catch on my bottom lip, licking along the edge, before he pushed back in to taste me with a thoroughness that was almost lazy. Heady and natural, like everyone before had been a trial run.

“Why did we wait so long to do this?” I shaped the question against his lips and felt them curve into a smile.

“Beats me.”

One of his hands slid under my T-shirt to trace my spine. I arched closer without thought. Wasn’t like we were the only couple making out, night bleeding shadows to protect us. I nudged a leg between his thighs and felt him hot against my hip. Heat snapped through me, bright like lightning .

“Let’s leave,” I managed to get out.

“Yeah.” His voice came out like sun-kissed gravel. “Let’s. I’ve got the car key.”

”Good. Tom can get a ride from Nia.” I clamped a hand around Logan’s wrist, his pulse hot and fast under my touch. Sand shifted beneath our feet, darkness clinging to our bodies.

I pulled, and he followed.