Bad Intentions (Bad Love #2)(17)

“I have a thing for hands and forearms, for one.”

“That’s specific,” I say. Logan’s tiny hand reaches toward mine, peeling my fingers off the bottle before laying it flat on top of her palm. She uses her other hand to ghost her fingertips over the ink on my arm. She grabbed me with the familiarity of an old friend or a lover, and the way she traces the lines of my ink is almost…reverent.

“Do these have a special meaning?” she asks, her curious eyes lifting to mine.

“Nope. I just like them.”

“Good a reason as any. They’re beautiful.” Logan seems to realize she’s still holding on with one hand and stroking me with the other, and she pulls away, sitting a little straighter, and my palm drops, slapping against the wooden table.

I’m so focused on Logan that I don’t even notice Briar and Asher approaching until they’re already sitting at the table next to us.

Briar rolls her eyes, looking in her brother’s direction. “It’s like they don’t even try to hide it anymore.”

“What’s the point? Everyone knows.” Ash shrugs.

“The point is that he’s my brother, and Adrian’s practically related to us, too. I don’t want to know about their sex lives. And I still can’t believe you knew and never told me.”

Asher shoots me a baffled look, and I just smirk.

“You just said you didn’t want to know,” he points out.

“Well, yeah, but she doesn’t want you to keep things from her, either,” Logan chimes in.

“Exactly,” Briar says, pointing a finger at her. “I like her.”

“Fucking girl logic,” Ash says, shaking his head. “I thought Nat and Adrian had something going on. Or was it Dash? Or both?”

Nat is Briar’s friend. I met her a couple of times—all sarcasm and dark, red hair—but she doesn’t come around much. Adrian, on the other hand? Can’t get rid of him. And Dash comes up on the odd holiday or three-day weekend.

“Don’t even ask. All three of them get weird whenever it comes up, and Nat has a boyfriend now. She was going to come up, actually, but she ended up having to work.”

Sutton walks away from Dash and Adrian and comes to stand in toward Logan. “You ready to go home?”

Adrian shakes his head behind her, and Logan goes along with it.

“I’m good,” she says, lifting the beer that she’s been nursing.

“Are you sure?”

“You guys can stay here,” Briar offers.

“I should get home to my little brother at some point.”

“I can give you a ride, if you want,” I say, leaning closer to Logan. I don’t know why I offer. I don’t usually go out of my way to be near anyone. Even with the girls I do hook up with, the conversation is always kept to a minimum. But here I am, doing the exact opposite of what I know I should be doing.

“Thanks,” Logan says, a smile spreading across her face. “But I’m going to call my brother for a ride.”

I notice that the purple around her eye has all but disappeared, leaving only a faint trace of yellow near the inner corner. It makes me wonder how she got it in the first place. My hand tightens around my bottle of beer as my mind runs wild with different scenarios.

“Suit yourself. I’m going to take off soon, if you change your mind.”

She gives me a nod.

A few minutes later, she says her goodbyes, then she’s gone. I wait a few minutes, not wanting it to seem like I’m only leaving because she did, but when I finally walk outside, she’s still here. She’s sitting cross-legged at the foot of the driveway, hands braced on the cracked asphalt behind her, chin tipped toward the night sky.

I kick around the idea of joining her in my mind, and the thought surprises me. I don’t know what makes this girl any different from anyone else, but she piques my curiosity. Ultimately, I decide against it, but for some reason, I don’t get into my truck and leave, either. Instead, I hang back in the shadows near the porch while she waits for her ride, oblivious to my presence.

The shitty Toyota pulls up and Logan stands, wiping her hands off on her thighs. She rounds the vehicle and gets into the passenger side, and I watch as they speed away before making my way to my truck.





* * *





“HOW OLD IS YOUR SISTER, Sutton? Seven?” I ask as I stand in front of her full-length mirror, trying to stretch the material of the tattered, patchwork dress that fits more like a miniskirt past my ass cheeks. If I had known I’d end up in a dress the size of a Band-Aid, I would’ve worn underwear today. When I tug it down, it shows more boob. When I pull it up, it shows more butt. See my conundrum?

“She’s nine,” she says with a straight face.

“Are you kidding me?” I whip around. “Why would you think that I could fit into a nine-year-old’s clothes?” When she told me that I could wear her sister’s costume, I didn’t think she was talking about a child.

“Well, I was right.” She laughs with a shrug. “Besides, it’s sexier this way.”

“And colder,” I point out.

“Throw these on. Problem solved.”

She balls something up and flings it toward me. I catch it with one hand, letting it unravel. It’s a pair of fishnets.