She’d rolled that statement around in her head a million different ways tonight. And she’d been forced to realize that she’d never thought of him as her brother, either.
Which was a good thing, given how she’d reacted to his kisses earlier.
But where the hell did that leave them?
She set down her glass. She wasn’t going to find the answer at the bottom of a bottle. And her dinner wouldn’t eat itself.
“How is it?” Logan asked, glancing up.
“Delish.” She took a bite of the salad. It was, in fact. “Yours?”
He smirked. “Delish,” he said softly, mocking her word choice.
“Come all the way to the Caribbean and you go for steak and potatoes,” she teased right back. “How adventurous.”
His eyes darkened. “I had fish last night. But I usually expend all my adventurous spirit in other arenas.”
It was a total Logan thing to say, and she’d heard variations on it many times before. Tonight, though, the sexual overtones were more obvious.
How had she missed how hot he was? How casually dirty at every turn?
Although, no, she hadn’t missed that. But she’d never had first-hand knowledge of how accurate his bold statements could be. She’d always assumed he was just another player.
She frowned.
He frowned, too. “What?”
“When was the last time you dated someone?”
His mouth tightened. “Dated?”
Ew. “Don’t answer that if it was more than ten random hook-ups ago.”
“Jesus, Tori.”
And she’d ruined a perfectly good dinner in less than a minute. Her face heated up and she ducked her head. “Sorry.”
“Do we need to talk about what happened this afternoon?”
“Nope.” She speared another bite of her fish. “I was out of line.”
“The answer’s gonna surprise you. But it’s also opening Pandora’s box, too.”
She couldn’t look up at him. “I was supposed to get married two days ago.”
“I know.”
“This is my honeymoon.”
“I know.”
“It’s not appropriate—”
“Fuck what’s appropriate,” he growled. “We can just be friends, Tor. One hundred percent we can. Doesn’t matter if we kiss or anything else. I’m always gonna love you. I’m always going to be the guy who was there when you went over your handlebars when you were ten, and I cleaned gravel out of your palms and your knee. The guy who held your hair when you got piss drunk after prom. Who videotaped your graduations—all of them—and showed up to be the dude of honor at your damn wedding even though it tore me up inside. I’m that guy. Nothing can change that. So if friendship is all you want, that’s what we’ll do. But if you can’t stop think about our kiss…I think our history gives us a pass on what’s appropriate.”
She jerked her head up as he spoke, and now she was gaping at him. She swallowed hard. “It tore you up inside?”
A muscle twitched in his cheek as he stared right back. Eventually, he changed the subject. “Eat your dinner.”
She rolled her eyes. So damn bossy. And unnecessarily so. She took a bite—then returned to the question. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Because I’m not the right guy for you.” He stabbed his steak and cut off another piece.
“Says who?”
He dropped his fork and knife with a clatter and glared at her. “You.”
