“Oh.” I cover one bare foot with the other, wondering how much of my rear he just saw. “What are you doing home? Didn’t you say you were working latetoday?”
Shrugging, he runs his hands through his damp hair. He smells like clean sweat and the sun. I’m guessing he changed his T-shirt before he came home, though, because it’s not soaked like he just walked out of a sweltering barn. “Thought you might want some company for lunch. Wasn’t sure how much food I had in the fridge, and I didn’t want you to starve. Brought home a few basics. Eggs. Lunch meat. Some frozenpizzas.”
It doesn’t matter that we ordered pizza last night. He’d eat that for every meal if left to his own devices. “RedBaron?”
“Of course.” He grins at me, and for a second, I’m swept up in those blueeyes.
Smiling back, because I can’t help but be pleased I know things about him other women don’t, I motion toward the kitchen. “I could make some sandwiches. You probably want something quick so you can get back to work. Or would you like some eggs andtots?”
He nods comically, and my smile widens because I know how much he loves eggs and tots. We discovered this combo the summer before I started high school. If you brown tater tots and crumble them up as you stir in the eggs, you get a delicious treat. “I would fucking lovethat.”
His exuberance makes me laugh. “Do you have anytots?”
“Oh, I have tots, baby, and I’ve been saving them foryou.”
We both freeze, like we’ve tripped an invisiblewire.
Awareness prickles myskin.
Logan has ten million nicknames for me, but he’s never, and I mean,nevercalled me “baby.”
And call me crazy, but that sounded an awful lot likeflirting.
Something warm stirs in my chest, and it battles with the cynical voice in the back of my head that says he’s so used to calling his hookups that name, it slippedout.
Rambo busts in and jumps between us, breaking the spell. Logan disappears but returns a minute later to toss me a pair of sweats. “Till your clothes dry.” He clutches his T-shirt at the neckline and pitches his voice up an octave. “So you don’t try to take advantage of myvirtue.”
“You wish.” Giggling, I shove his handsome mug away fromme.
But yeah, maybe I dowish.
9
Logan
Joey’s beenin my kitchen before, probably dozens of times, but today, for some reason, I can’t take my eyes offher.
Her hair’s piled in a knot on top of her head, and my giant T-shirt slips off her slender shoulder. My sweats, which she rolled three times around her waist, hang loose from herhips.
If I ask her, I know she’ll say she’s a hotmess.
But to me? I’ve never seen her look morebeautiful.
No makeup. No designer clothes. Just Jojo. The girl I’ve alwaysknown.
I reach down to adjust thegoods.
Chill the fuck out, man. First you flirt with her in the utility room, now you’re watching her like aperv.
I wipe my palm over my face, needing to stamp out whatever’s going on in myhead.
When she was bent over the washer, and I got an eyeful of her tight round ass in those little cheeky panties, the only thought registering in my pea-sized brain was how much I’d like to take a bite out of that. And then fuckit.
See? Pea-sized brain. Because nothing good will come from theseurges.
Hitting on Joey is the worst idea I’ve ever had. Joey’s built for happily-ever-afters and white knights and shit, and I’m a Friday night fuck against my Ford and a few goodlaughs.
I force my eyes off my best friend and grab my phone to distractmyself.
