“Okay,” I said, looking out the window.
“She — she’s not…” he cut himself off, and I didn’t bother asking for the rest of the sentence.
We returned to the house and put the groceries into the fridge and pantry. Logan made a cup of coffee and mumbled something about catching up on paperwork, disappearing to his home office at the back of the house. An hour before dinner time, I started cooking pasta. When it was finished, I knocked on the door of his home office and let him know the food was ready. He looked startled, like he’d momentarily forgotten I’d been in the house.
We sat at the kitchen island together.
“Wow,” he said after taking a bite. “That’s good.”
“Better than ‘fine?’”
He nodded. “Definitely.” He took another bite, swallowing quickly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a meal cooked for me. Thank you. It’s delicious.”
I spun spaghetti around my fork, seeing an opening. “You haven’t…dated?”
He shook his head. “Couldn’t, not while I was busy raising Tim.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t want to introduce him to a woman if there was a chance it wouldn’t work out.”
“But Tim’s at college now,” I pointed out.
“Guess I just haven’t had the opportunity.”
I laughed. “Are you kidding? That woman, Sheree, looked like she wanted to eat you up alive.”
“She’s just a friend.”
“Yeah, a friend who wants to fuck you.”
Logan made a startled noise.
“Come on, don’t act surprised,” I said. “You have seen yourself, right?”
He looked like he wanted to hide in his bowl of pasta. “Okay, Sheree has dropped a few hints. I’m not that oblivious. But I’m not interested in her.”
“Why not?” She was objectively pretty.Andshe was age-appropriate. I, on the other hand, was twenty-four years younger than him. The fact made me frown at my food.
“I’m just not,” he said. “I don’t want her the way I —” he cut himself off, his cheeks turning red.
It was clear he didn’t want to keep talking about it, so I let it drop, and we finished our meals in silence.
“Ice cream later?” Logan asked as he loaded all the dishes into the dishwasher.
I nodded. “Sure. I’ll just have a shower first.”
I loved the story ofVanity Fair, but that evening, I couldn’t pay attention to the film. Logan was sitting at the other end of the sofa, and I couldn’t stop watching him in the corner of my eye. I watched him lick ice-cream off his spoon and remembered the feel of his tongue against my skin. Against my clit. He’d swirled circles —
He paused the film and turned to me. “You hate the movie.”
I blinked, suddenly ripped from my thoughts. “What? No.”
“You’re frowning.”
I realized I was. “Oh. I guess I’m just distracted.”
“Distracted by what?”
I laughed softly. “You don’t want to know.”
Something in his expression changed. He inched closer. Like me, he’d showered and changed into pajamas, and the top few buttons of his top were undone, which meant I could see the hair that covered his chest. “Try me,” he said.
