Wild (The Ivy Chronicles #3)(47)

My eyes scanned the room, searching for anyone in a Mulvaney’s staff T-shirt. On the lookout specifically for a shirt that was filled out nicely by a body so ripped that it made me dizzy.

It might have been days since I’d last seen Logan, but he invaded my dreams. I couldn’t fall asleep without his image there, filling my head. Alone in the dark . . . thinking about him. It was a problem. It was like he flipped a switch inside me. My body ached for him, unwilling to go back to its dormant state. My hands tracked over the places he had touched and kissed and bit . . . caressing my breasts, skimming down my stomach and between my legs. It was embarrassing, this wanton creature I had become, touching myself like some kind of sex kitten who couldn’t get enough.

My hands were a pale echo of Logan’s touch, and it only made me hungrier for him.

When Annie texted me earlier in the day to see if I wanted to hang out at Mulvaney’s with her, I’d agreed. Even if I didn’t love the girl, she was single, and single girlfriends were few and far between. Suzanne was working a lot to save up money and make up for the time she was having to take off to house-sit for her parents’ cruise, so she wasn’t very available. Besides, I could just go upstairs to my room if Annie got to be too much.

We located a long stretch of table with two unoccupied chairs. A few people sat on the other end of it, drinking beer and playing dominoes.

“Want me to order us—”

She held up her hand. “Patience, grasshopper. Give it a few moments. Two girls alone in a bar . . . we won’t be alone for long. And then we can drink for free.”

Sure enough, within moments a couple guys ambled over carrying a pitcher of beer. They offered us some plastic cups and poured us drinks. Annie beamed at them and got her flirt on, beginning with the usual conversation.

Are you a student?

What’s your major?

Oooh, you have a tattoo? Show me . . .

I was bored. Neither one of them could compete with the lingering effects of Logan’s bright light. People eventually got up from the table, leaving room for the two guys to sit down beside us.

I forced the small talk, still scanning the bar. With every minute that passed, I resigned myself to the fact that he wasn’t working tonight.

“Are you looking for someone?” the guy in a knit cap beside me asked. His dark hair was long and peeked out of the sides. He was cute in a Hollister kind of way.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Then I must be boring you.”

I offered a wan smile. “Just tired. Had a long workweek.”

That sent us into a conversation about what it was I was doing over the summer. I had to hand it to him. He was polite. He seemed interested as I described the goal of Dr. Chase’s research.

My gaze still flickered around the room; I couldn’t help myself. Now that I had a taste, I was maybe addicted to Logan Mulvaney. Fine. No maybes. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t kick the habit. People overcame bigger obstacles every day. I would, too.

Of course, this conviction was blown out of the water when I suddenly spotted him across the room, standing near the bar. He didn’t look like he was working. A posse of girls surrounded him. One kept her hand planted firmly on his chest as she talked, and the totally unacceptable urge to pull her off him by her hair seized me. God. I was such a cliché. I bit the edge of my tongue, disappointed in myself.

I wasn’t the jealous type. I never had been. I hadn’t even been jealous when Harris started studying long hours in the library with the girl he left me for, and I probably should have been. I guess I hadn’t cared enough to be concerned, but I cared now and it sucked.

When her hand drifted down his stomach, pain sliced my chest. It only got worse as I watched her red fingernails stroke low, snatching hold of the hem of his shirt. He smiled. Like he used to smile at me, in the beginning when he was all teasing grins.

I wondered what she had said to make him smile. She tossed her long hair over a sleek, tanned shoulder, leaving no obstruction to the view of her ample cleavage.

Comparatively, I felt like a minister’s wife in my pink wraparound blouse with a sash that tied smartly into a bow across my midriff.

I must have been glaring holes into Logan because suddenly he lifted his head and scanned the room, promptly finding me.

I tore my gaze and looked back at the guy beside me. Knowing Logan was watching, I tried to look really interested in what he was saying. I hated that Logan caught me gawking at him. Even though I was dying to know if he was still watching me, I refused to look in his direction again.

I was in the middle of asking Knit Cap Guy a question about winters in Maine where he grew up when a pair of long legs stopped beside my table. I looked up into Logan’s impassive face.

“Hey, it’s Little Mulvaney,” Annie declared.

He flicked her a withering glance before looking back at me. “Can I see your ID, please?”

I shook my head and tucked a long strand of hair behind my ear, certain I had misheard. Of all the things I thought he might say, that was not what I expected. “Excuse me?”

“ID,” he repeated.

Now I was royally pissed. He knew I was still twenty and he was asking for my driver’s license? Jerk. I stabbed a finger where he had been standing moments ago with his little harem. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“C’mon, buddy,” the guy beside me coaxed. He rested a hand on my shoulder as if offering his support. “Be cool.”