Neat (Becker Brothers, #2)(36)

Logan Becker had nearly kissed me.

Or was it me who had nearly kissed him?

It didn’t matter, I’d decided, because either way — our lips had touched.

I shivered again at the memory, eyes glossing over that same damn sentence with my thoughts somewhere else entirely. I could still feel the coolness of his lips against mine, the warmth of his breath, the strong grip of his hands around my waist. I could see his eyes, honey gold and dilated as they searched mine before they fell to my lips. My fingers had curled where they held his face when that first bit of contact was made, and just a dip of his chin or a tip of my own would have sealed the deal, would have closed the final distance between us.

But he’d pulled away.

My stomach dropped, just like it did every time I replayed what happened in that storage closet. Logan pulling away felt like the most painful mix of relief and rejection — and I couldn’t figure out how to decipher which feeling was more prominent.

I sighed, readjusting the book in my lap and trying again to focus on what I was reading. It didn’t take longer than sixty seconds for my thoughts to float back to Logan — this time, to the box of his father’s belongings that we’d found.

We’d stashed that box away where we’d originally found it, stacking the boxes of items the distillery would keep and archive around it to hide its presence. Everything stayed in the box — except for the laptop, which I hid in my messenger bag as Logan and I walked to his truck after work. We checked to make sure no one was looking before I pulled it out, and Logan quickly placed it inside his truck and covered it with an old ratty towel.

“This is stealing,” he reminded me, his eyes darting around the employee parking lot. “If someone catches us…”

“They won’t,” I was quick to assure him.

He still looked a little worried, a little numb, a little like he was going to throw up or pass out or both when he nodded, climbing into his truck. I’d stood there like a statue when he drove away, my fingers tracing the flesh of my bottom lip as I watched him go.

I could still taste him.

I let out another huff of frustration just as my phone lit up on the coffee table. I slapped the book closed, feet hitting the floor and heart hitting the ceiling when I saw Logan’s name in a text notification.

Chris eyed me, one brow climbing. “I’ve never seen you move so fast for a text in your life,” he commented. “Who is it?”

“No one,” I murmured, but my eyes were glued to my phone now, reading and re-reading the text Logan had sent.



Logan: I got the hard drive out. It doesn’t look damaged, but after some research, I think I’ll need a USB hard drive enclosure to plug it in to my own computer and see if any of the files survived.



My fingers flew over the keys, and Chris hummed, sipping his wine with a knowing grin. “Mm-hmm. No one my ass.”



Me: Okay. This is a good thing, yes?



Logan: I guess we’ll see.



Logan: Thank you, Mallory. For helping me get the laptop out. For everything.



My stomach lurched.



Me: Of course.



I stared at the screen, waiting, hoping — for what, I had no idea. But after a moment, the little bubbles that told me he was typing something popped up. I held my breath as I watched them, but then they disappeared again. I was just about to start typing something else when they reappeared, and just as quickly, they were gone.

He didn’t know what to say any more than I did.

I wondered if he wanted to ask about the almost-kiss, if it was replaying in his mind as much as it was my own. Did he want to kiss me? Or did he want to make sure I didn’t read too much into something that was nothing?

Maybe he wanted to clear the air, to let me know that he was having an anxiety attack and didn’t actually want to hold me, or brush his lips against mine, or suck in the breath that I’d just let out.

Maybe he wanted a redo, and this time, he wanted to pull me into him instead of push me away.

Something close to a growl came from my throat when the bubbles disappeared again, and Chris paused the TV, turning where he sat on the opposite end of the couch until he faced me completely.

“Okay, enough with the animal noises. I can’t focus with all the barking and growling you’ve been doing for the past hour.” He snapped his fingers twice as he took a long sip of his red wine. “Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill.”

Chris flattened his lips, and then before I could react, he snatched my phone from me and read the screen as I wailed on him to give it back to me.

“Logan Becker,” he mused with a smirk, handing my phone back.

I huffed, pulling it into my chest like I could protect what had already been seen. “It’s just work stuff.”

“Right. And I only cross dress during Pride Week.” He rolled his eyes. “What happened? Did you get him in trouble again? Or is his grumpiness rubbing off on you?”

“I’m not grumpy,” I defended. “And neither is he.”

Chris cocked a brow. “That man has been a broody, keep-to-himself piece of eye-candy since we were teenagers. Who else do you know who sits at Buck’s alone with a scowl and a glass of whiskey.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but Chris held up his finger.