Blow(8)

I never really cared.

It was better that way.

If there had been, I would have fought it.

But, right now, I couldn’t.

Ignoring my intuition, I took off my hat. I immediately regretted it. The bottom half of my hair hung sodden against my partially unbuttoned flimsy raincoat while the top half sprang to life. I was certain my normally ginger-colored locks looked tangerine.

The younger McPherson didn’t seem to care. He stood and pulled out the empty bar stool next to his, motioning me toward him.

While my body urged me forward, my mind fought it every step of the way.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and the sound of his voice made my spine tingle.

I wanted to be offended, but his tone wasn’t in the least bit harsh. “Following you.” I tried to sound nonchalant but I think my voice was more raspy than matter-of-fact, and I let out a slight laugh.

He didn’t seem to notice that I was joking and I saw his jaw tense.

I sat down. “Relax. I’m kidding, just kidding.”

Relief softened his features and he offered me his hand. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Logan.”

Logan. The young McPherson had a nice name. It suited him. He seemed formal in his choice of words but informal in his dress. And the hard lines of his body contradicted the softness of his voice.

I shook his hand. “Elle.”

“So, Elle, where are O’Shea and the baby?”

Odd question, I thought, but answered anyway. “They went home.”

With a raised brow, he asked, “What brings you into Molly’s?” He paused for a second and the corners of his mouth quirked. “Besides following me,” he said with a slight laugh of his own.

I withheld my laughter and frowned instead. “Flat tire.” I pointed out the wall of glass to the pretentious white Mercedes SUV parked out front that I had yet to get used to and noticed a second door. Interesting—what I’d thought was a remodel might actually have been an addition.

Logan looked out the window and then glanced around. When he noticed I was watching him he said, “That really sucks.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I can change it for you,” he offered.

I looked at him. His face was as breathtaking as he was charming. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I already called Triple-A.”

Logan glanced around again and finally leaned against the bar. “Then I’ll buy you a drink while you wait.”

His confidence turned me on.

My eyes slid down his body. I shivered—cold to the bone and more aware of his movements than I should have been.

In what seemed like a lifetime ago, when the rare urge for male companionship would strike, I’d simply go into a bar and pick up a man. It was easy. An art learned over years—lipstick bold, skirt short, heels high. Men liked women who looked sexy. They flirted with me. Bought me a drink. Complimented me on my eyes, my hair, my body. They didn’t know they didn’t have to—that was why I was there, after all. To have sex. No questions. No repeats. And even better, on my terms, which meant little conversation and no phone numbers. Relationships just weren’t in the cards for me.

I wasn’t certain Logan McPherson met those no-strings-attached criteria, but then again, my life was different now. And that’s why I needed to leave. My resolve wasn’t as strong as it had once been. My emotional blockade had been slowly crumbling since Clementine entered my life. I had to leave. Yet, I didn’t.

He continued to gaze at me, waiting for me to respond to his offer.

I knew I shouldn’t give in, but I didn’t have the willpower to turn him down. Words eased out of my mouth that shouldn’t have. “Sure. Something to warm me up,” I answered, rubbing my hands together.

With a single nod of his chin, he looked down at me for a beat or maybe two. Then he scanned the bar again. Even distracted, he was mesmerizing. After a few moments, he turned around and motioned for the female bartender he had been chatting with when I first arrived.

Although the other side of the bar was packed, this side wasn’t quite so crazy. However, the tables were completely occupied. As soon as she slid two plates of burgers and fries to a waitress, she hurried toward him. “What can I get you?”

I swiveled around in my seat and noticed a cup of coffee in front of him and another in front of me with a red lipstick stain on it. I wondered if that was why he was searching the bar.

Was the person who had been sitting here returning?

A girlfriend perhaps?

“Two shots of Jameson,” he said.

“Coming up.” The bartender’s smile was wide when she looked at Logan, like she thought she might just hit the jackpot later. It irritated me. She stretched and her flat belly visibly reflected in the mirror in front of her. I caught Logan’s gaze tracing the lines of her body as she reached higher, exposing more skin, and that irritated me more. But then I realized it was my gaze he was watching.

Our connection wasn’t broken as the bartender set two shot glasses between us and slowly began to pour the amber-colored liquid.

When she finished, I broke our gaze with a laugh. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t seem to mind that he’d gotten caught. “How about you take your coat off.”

Again, not a question.