6. Logan

6

LOGAN

This is . . . refreshing .

Though “refreshing” isn’t quite the right word.

Refreshing is a drink of water after a hard run.

A healthy salad after a few days of pizza.

This date is not a salad.

But it is refreshing as hell to talk to a woman like Bryn.

She’s sexy and direct. She’s flirty and bold. And most of all, she seems honest.

Or honest enough for a night or two of fun.

And that works for me, since I’m not looking for more. Honesty, though, is a prerequisite. Without it, I’m outta there.

The guy on the piano taps out a crooner tune. As the notes wrap around us, Bryn and I chat about music. She tells me she loves pop, from Greyson Chance to 5 Seconds of Summer, and I tell her I dig old standards like Gin Joint plays. Still, I admit that I’m also that wannabe hip guy who loves to find obscure new bands on Spotify that no one has heard of, like Daredevil Pigeons Circle My Sidewalk.

“And their names must be intensely weird and make little sense, clearly,” Bryn says darkly.

“Of course. That’s a given. Also, on this channel, there are no band names fewer than five words long permitted. Though, in all fairness, I did listen to a new punk band called The Incident and Accident, and that was four words. But I was so irritated over the lack of a ‘the’ before ‘Accident’ that I turned it off.”

“It really would have sounded better with a ‘the.’ It needed symmetry. I support your decision to tune it out.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re in the same camp,” I say with a laugh.

We talk about the city next, and the best drinks in Manhattan, till the server brings us another round.

After we toast again, I ask Bryn something I’ve been curious about. “So, the lunch box thing. What’s that all about?”

“I like kitsch . . .”

Her sentence comes out unfinished. Is there more to it?

I push a little bit, eager to understand her. “Any reason?”

“Ah, but isn’t there always a reason?” She doesn’t continue the thought, and something about the set of her shoulders tells me that we might be treading on ground she doesn’t want to walk across right now.

Fine by me. I back off. “Listen, let’s not make this hard. Let’s just have fun. We don’t have to talk about it.”

She smiles softly. “It was my mom’s thing. Vintage kitsch. That’s why I like it. She had a lot of retro stuff, and we used to visit garage sales and pick things out together.”

We used to.

That tells me something about her mom, but maybe something Bryn doesn’t want to share in any more detail. “It’s a connection to her, then,” I say, keeping it simple.

“Yes, it is. Were you worried that it might mean I had a little-girl complex?” She asks it a bit coy and flirty.

“Now that you mention that,” I say, scratching my jaw as if I’m just considering this possibility, “I am glad you didn’t skip in here sporting pigtails.”

“And licking a big rainbow lollipop while using my lunch box as my purse,” she says in a singsong tone.

“Nothing against pigtails and lollipops.” I let my eyes travel up and down her frame. “But I like the grown-up Bryn look.” Since we aren’t mincing words, I go for the full truth, making a circle in the air around her. “I am digging the whole sexy vibe you have going on. The way you dress. The way you flirt. It’s all working.”

She dips her face, then whispers an incredibly sexy thank you . “Same to you, Logan.”

Lust sparks across my skin. I lift a hand and reach toward her hair, fingering the soft chestnut strands. “And I like the way your hair falls over your shoulder.”

Shuddering, she lets her gaze drift to my hair. “I like the way yours invites my fingers to run through it.”

Holy fuck.

This woman is on fire.

Sure, it’s been a while. Yes, I haven’t had a date like this in ages. But some things are indeed like riding a bike. Talking to an interesting woman, telling her you want her? Turns out that’s easy.

And I’m going to have to revise my definition of “refreshing,” because this is absolutely fucking refreshing.

It’s energizing. It’s thrilling. It’s all I want to do tonight. I run my finger across her collarbone. “Another thing I like is the way your shirt falls off your shoulder and shows off that little bit of skin that I just want to kiss.”

“Is that all you want to do to it?”

I inch closer, whispering near her ear, “I’d like to bite that skin, nibble on your shoulder. Use my teeth.”

A soft moan floats past her lips. I let my eyes travel along her body. “One more thing. I like the sneak peek of your legs,” I say, gesturing to the flesh of her thighs, then to her mouth. “And I like your lips. I’d like to know how they feel on mine.”

“Would you now?” She runs a finger across her lower lip, then stretches her arm to me, brushing that finger across my lips.

I bite it.

She gasps.

I am officially a furnace, and I need to get out of here with this woman ASAP. “But you know why I like all of that, Bryn?” Our faces are inches apart as the music plays and glasses clatter, and heat wraps around me. “I like the things you say. I like the way I feel with you. And I’d like to ask you that question again.”

“Ask me that question.” Her eyes darken, locking with mine.

“Would you like to go home with me right now?”

I wait.

But not for long.

She parts her lips, runs her tongue over her teeth, then nods. “Yes.”

I’m ready to leap from the chair and jetpack to my place.

“But there’s something I want to tell you,” she adds.

I tense. Shit. This is the moment. I should have prepped. Should have girded myself for every damn thing that could go wrong. Because that’s what happens with relationships—they go south, they go sour, they curl up and die.

I do my best to brace for whatever’s coming. “Sure. Tell me.”

In a soft but certain voice, she says, “I’m not into missionary position.”

I blink. I was not expecting that little nugget of sexiness to fall into my lap.

But it’s here. And I like it. And my dick loves it too. “Duly noted. There are plenty of other positions,” I say, grinning wildly because we are already talking about how we like it, something my ex never wanted to discuss, but something I’ve very much wanted to put on the table. “Any in particular that you do like? Or do you want me to discover them?” I ask, and I hope she wants the same things I do.

Her eyes twinkle. “Let’s see if this aids in your discovery. I don’t like missionary, and I don’t like being on top.”

I believe I know what’s behind door number three.

Bryn wants to be dominated.

And that’s what I want to do to her.

I pay the bill, take her hand, and speak softly in her ear as I walk her out of Gin Joint. “I’d like to put you on your hands and knees.”

“And will you do bad things to me?”

“Bad things that make you feel very, very good.”

She shivers, sliding closer to me, giving her yes to all the good and bad things with her body sealed to mine.