Logan Kade (Fallen Crest #5.5)(28)

That sounded accurate. “I look forward to the margaritas.”

He laughed. “You and me both.”

We got mad. We got sad. Now we were laughing. All in all, this had gone better than I expected.

Then Jason sighed. “Don’t fall in love with him.” His eyes were solemn, almost sad again. “Don’t, Taylor.”

“I’m not—” I started to argue.

“You’re hurting.” He waved my words away. “I don’t know what happened with Eric, but you were with him for years, and then you weren’t, and you still won’t talk about it. I know you’re trying to put on a brave face and march on, like you always do, but I know you. I see you.” His voice softened once more. “A guy like Logan Kade is very dangerous to a girl like you.”

My eyes closed. Everything he’d said was true.





#CHEFLOGAN


LOGAN


Cheese—check.

Eggs—check.

Vegetables—check.

I stood back and perused the ingredients on the counter. I had everything…wait, I didn’t. Bacon—and double-check. We were good to go. Mission To-Build-The-Best-Omelet-Ever was about to commence.

“What are you doing?” Nate came in behind me, opening the fridge.

I blocked him and swatted his arm. “No juice for you.”

He moved back, sending me a frown. “I was reaching for the milk.”

“No milk for you.” I pointed the spatula at him and motioned to the table. “Sit. I am Chef Logan this morning.”

“Oh God.” He groaned, but sat. “What the hell is that?”

He was looking at the pile of fruit sitting next to the juicer. “That’s for the wide receiver when he wakes up.”

“Since no one else in this house plays football, I’m assuming you’re talking about me, and yes, he’s awake,” Mason said, coming into the kitchen. He stopped, gave the pile of fruit a lifted eyebrow, then ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, Logan. I said to grab a few pieces of fruit. You got the entire produce section.”

I smirked. “You don’t know. That could be my new pet name for Nate’s *. Wide receiver—”

Nate yelled, “Shut the f*ck up!”

Laughing, I waved the spatula at both of them. “Calm your tits, Monson. I’m fooling, and yes, I meant my big badass brother, but no hate, Mase, on the fruit. I’m following Mama Malinda’s rules: Go big or go home.”

“My stepmother would not buy the entire fruit section at the grocery store,” Sam said as she followed Mason into the kitchen. But when she saw the fruit piled high on a platter, she sighed. “Never mind. She’d totally do that.”

I raised my finger and pretended to add a number to the air. “Score one for me and a big fat zero for the rest of you. As it should be in Logan Land.” I turned to my brother. “For real, though. I got all that shit for you. Don’t make me regret it.”

Today was Mason’s first home game. He asked the night before if I could get the fruit and juicer for him. Mason was always one for training, but since he decided to stay at school the last two years and get his degree before going pro, he was extra careful about his body—what he put into it and avoiding injury for the next two years. It was becoming rare to go to college all four years before the NFL. I knew Mason wanted to get a college degree no matter what, but as he started the juicer, I watched him glance over his shoulder at Sam. She was the other reason he had stayed.

I thought I loved Tate. That ended horribly. Then Sam came into our lives, literally moving in with us with her psychotic mother, and now Sam was family. Then there was my last girlfriend, Kris. She’d been young, with some of her own problems and an overprotective sister. I cared about Kris. I was with her for almost a year, and I was faithful. A lot of people assumed I was unfaithful, but f*ck that. I wasn’t a weak-ass coward—not like my dad. I cared about Kris, but I knew I didn’t love her. Maybe that’s why Mason and Sam’s love was a bit much for me sometimes.

I loved vagina. That was what I loved, and I knew it would be a long-lasting relationship. No matter what, I would never stray from *. That sweetest part of the female anatomy was my soulmate.

“What are you thinking about, Logan?”

Nate had been watching me. “If I could marry vagina—not a particular person’s, but vagina in general—I think I could call myself happy in love.”

There was silence.

Nate coughed. “I’m not even touching that one.” He lifted his hand. “Can I get a glass of juice, Mason?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Mason made the juice. I did the omelets, and everyone got one, even Sam. Hers was double-stuffed with everything. She started to protest when I gave it to her, but I fixed her with a firm look. “You’re going to have all of that worked off within an hour when you go running. Deal with it, and eat it.”

No one else jumped in to support her, so she lowered her head, lifted her fork, and dug in. After a bite, she gave me a warm smile. Around a mouthful, she said, “Stho goo, Loganth.”

I grabbed my own plate and sat in the last open spot at the table. “Damn straight it’s good. I made it. It’s Logan approved.”

“When did you get all this stuff?” Nate reached for his glass. “It wasn’t in the fridge last night. I would’ve eaten it if it were, and I came in after you.”