Logan Kade (Fallen Crest #5.5)(22)

Shit. I let out an abrupt laugh. “Does this guy have semen made of gold or something?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” I started gathering my stuff. Staying here meant another girl might come over with questions. I didn’t want to chat. So I stood, hoisting my bag onto my back. “I have to go to class.”





YOU’RE BAD





TAYLOR


The rest of the week passed without drama. Thankfully. Classes ran on a Tuesday/Thursday or a Monday/Wednesday/Friday schedule, so I had to see Logan one more time. I expected debauchery, lecherous jokes, or a crapload of innuendos, but when he dropped into his seat Friday morning, I got none of that.

I tried to tell myself the feeling of being let down had nothing to do with him, but it did. I was disappointed. In just a few days, I’d grown accustomed to Logan’s…well, to Logan and how he was. There wasn’t a word to describe him perfectly, so I went with Loganisms to explain encounters with him. And I didn’t get any of them that morning, and I missed them. Somehow, Logan made me forget the things I needed to forget.

When class was over and he offered me a nice “see you later” as he got up to go, I almost called him out. He looked tired. He’d run his hand over his face a few times during class, and his eyes seemed heavy. Something was wrong…. But I couldn’t handle my own stuff, so how could I take on someone else’s? And Logan was gone before I could ask if he was okay or not.

In class, Jeremy, who I now tried to call Mr. Fuller because using his first name made me uncomfortable, mentioned the Honors Study Group one more time. And as I opened my mouth to tell him again that I couldn’t, he interrupted. He placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “Just think about it. It helps to have friends in high places sometimes.”

It did. I couldn’t deny that, but my dad… Finally, I nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great.”

After that I ducked out of the room, and now here I was, filling out my third job application. The first had been for the university library, the second for the coffee shop on campus. This one was for a small pub a couple of miles from my house. It was off-campus, had nothing to do with Cain University, and though the owner said she knew my dad, she didn’t seem to care one iota about him. It was perfect.

Then Logan walked in.

I looked up, my pen poised in my hand, and stared at him.

He came in with another guy, throwing the door open wide, and they sauntered like they owned the place. A week ago I would’ve hated that cockiness and the smug smirk that adorned his face, but today? I swallowed over a small ball forming in my throat.

I was not excited to see him, and I ignored the little flutter in my stomach. I was just glad to see that whatever had been bothering him was gone now. His normal flair had returned, and I held still as he scanned the room.

He found me in the corner eventually and did a little double take. His smirk grew as his eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. He said something to his friend, who nodded and headed for the bar. Then Logan came my way, sliding onto the bar stool across from me. He didn’t ask what I was doing there. He pulled the application away from me and began reading it out loud.

I grabbed it back, glaring. “That’s private.”

“Bruce.” He shook his head with a playful tsking sound. “Nothing’s private about my friends.”

I frowned. “We’re friends?”

“We haven’t had sex, and you haven’t called me an * or slapped me yet, so yeah.” He winked at me. “That classifies us as friends in my book.”

There had to be some retort for that, but it wasn’t coming to me. I just stared at him. He scooted his barstool over so he could lean against the wall and brought his legs up to rest on another stool in front of him. Everything about him was relaxed, and for a moment, a warm surge rose in me. I liked this side of him. I got the sense that Logan didn’t classify a lot of people as friends. Or maybe he had a thousand friends, and I was just one of them, but it didn’t stop the flutter inside me.

I felt included.

I had Jason and Claire, but this was different. I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t want to analyze it. I just wanted to enjoy the feeling.

Logan signaled for the guy he’d come in with and caught me staring at him. His eyes narrowed briefly. “What?”

“What?”

“You’re giving me a weird look.”

His friend placed a pitcher of beer onto the table. Logan moved his feet so the guy could sit. As he did, he nodded to me in silent greeting.

Logan snapped his fingers. “Nate Monson. Taylor Bruce. You’ve been introduced.”

Nate nodded again, asking Logan, “Bruce?”

“Mason’s coach.”

I tensed. Some guys flipped out when they found out who my dad was, but not this one. I knew Logan didn’t care either. So I relaxed. Nate had jet-black hair and features that would’ve looked at home on a runway. He wasn’t as lean as Logan, but he was a little taller. As he got comfortable and poured some beer in a glass, I glanced back and forth between the two. Nate seemed reserved, quiet, and very unlike Logan, who watched me as I sized them up.

“Bruce,” Logan started, leaning closer to me over the table, his hand wrapped around the beer. “What are you doing applying for a job here?”