Wild (The Ivy Chronicles #3)(48)

Logan’s eyes settled on that hand on my shoulder for a moment before sliding his blue eyes to Knit Cap Guy’s face. “Stay out of this, and I’m not your buddy.”

My would-be savior’s smile faltered.

“You got to be kidding me, Mulvaney. Her best friend is together with your brother and you’re carding her?” Annie’s voice was loud enough to draw stares. “And she’s living in the loft upstairs. That’s just dick of you.”

“Be quiet, Annie,” I ordered without looking at her. I didn’t look at anyone except Logan. Even as I dug around inside my handbag for my fake ID, I kept my glare trained firmly on him, positive that steam was escaping my ears. He glared right back at me, his jaw locked hard, arms crossed over his chest.

Finding the ID, I extended it to him with one angry flip of my wrist.

When he took it from me our fingers brushed and it was like a spark of heat flew up my arm from the touch. My body remembered him even though my mind was trying to forget. Even if my mind wanted to introduce him to my fist right now. I hated my body right then.

“Marianne Allison Kellog?” He read my cousin’s name in a deadpan voice. I’d used her ID for the last two years without issue. We bore a resemblance.

“Who’s she?” he asked.

“Me.” I lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

Annie giggled. “That’s right, Jack-off. She’s Marianne.”

He ignored Annie. “When’s your birthday?”

My mind blanked. I hadn’t been carded in a while, and even then no one had grilled me. “October eleven . . . no, seventeenth.”

He grinned then. It was a nasty smile. Slow and satisfied. I felt it slither through me like a snake winding its way home. “Sorry, sweetheart. October seventh. I’ll have to confiscate this, Marianne. And get rid of the beer.”

I shot to my feet. “You . . .”

He clucked his tongue. “Careful or I’ll have to escort you out. It’s protocol for me to give anyone flashing a bogus ID the boot, but I’m feeling generous.”

I quivered with indignation. “I live here!”

“Then maybe you need to go on home for the night.”

I was so mad I saw red. How dare he interfere after I slept with him? Was this his MO? To punish the girls he slept with?

Without thinking, I reached for my half cup of beer and splashed it in his face.

You could have heard a pin drop. The bar went silent. The only sound was the rush of blood in my ears. Even Annie watched with her mouth gaping. The guy I had been talking to looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. He inched back in his chair as if he wanted to distance himself from the crazy beer-tossing girl.

Crap. What did I do?

A nerve ticked beside Logan’s right eye and I knew he was pissed. Even more pissed than when he first walked over here and demanded my ID. He was a bomb and I had just lit the fuse.

What was happening to me? I was normally a polite, drama-free girl. But there was nothing normal about this. About me and Logan. The air was charged, sparking with suppressed energy.

“It’s time to go,” Logan said, his voice lethally quiet.

“Hey . . .” Knit Cap Guy started to stand in one last effort at heroism on my behalf.

Logan swung his gaze to him. “Sit the f*ck back down.”

The guy sank down in his chair, avoiding my gaze. I rolled my eyes. Good to know he wasn’t easily intimidated.

Taking my arm, Logan led me through the bar. Bodies parted liked the Red Sea. I could smell the beer on him and that only kept the moment I splashed beer over him on instant replay in my head.

As we entered the kitchen he grabbed a dishtowel off the counter and wiped it over his face and then tossed it down without a glance.

“Just what in the hell was that about?”

“You’re not twenty-one.”

“Oh, come off it! Like you give a . . . a . . . shit.”

He tsked. “My, my, Pearls cursing? What would your mother say?”

“Fuck you!” This fell easily even as the thought flashed through me that my mother would be horrified. Being a lady was right up there with eating your vegetables in my house. It didn’t matter how provoked you were. Staying composed under fire was a true testament to one’s character.

He smiled, looking both dangerous and excited. “Oh, there she is. The real Georgia.”

No. I wasn’t this wild thing he made me out to be. He brought out this ugly in me. This beer-tossing, foul-mouthed, hot-for-his-body girl. I shook my head and bit my lip, bewildered. No. This wasn’t me at all. It couldn’t be.

I headed for my apartment door, tossing over my shoulder, “Why don’t you head back to your little bar groupies?”

“Jealous?” His hand clamped on my arm, forcing me around.

“Ha. As if. I don’t care who paws you, Logan. We’re not even friends.”

“No . . . we’re more than friends. And you know that.”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “No.”

He took my face in both of his hands then, holding me still as his gaze scoured me like hot coals. “What are you so afraid of?”

You. Me. How I am with you . . . Us being something more, something real, and then facing the world . . . My mother, enduring her disappointment by becoming all her worst fears.