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Logan

The silver panels slid shut before he could finish asking Lori if he could make up for the unfortunate dick pic situation by buying her dinner.

Or maybe a year’s worth of dinners.

Fuck, what had he been thinking?

He hadn’t been thinking. Which was precisely the problem. He’d been near delirious from not sleeping fully for days and add in four, no five beers and he’d been blitzed out of his mind.

Stumbling back to his apartment, thinking of that little smirk Hannah had sent him before she’d gone. “Send something to relax me later.”

None of that meant a fucking picture of his cock.

With his face in it.

No, he didn’t go around sending random photographs of his private parts to women he’d just meant—or as it turned out, women he’d never met who turned out to be beautiful and funny and smelled incredible . . . and lived next door.

Fuck.

Okay, so he didn’t have a lot of experience sending dick pics. None, actually.

But even drunk, he should have had some fucking sense.

Moron.

He hit the button for the elevator, waited a godawful long time for the car to come, then got on and headed out to explore the new city that was going to be his home.

Logan was going to beat this jet-lag, dammit.

First stop was to take a Lyft down to the waterfront and see Pier 39.

He’d never been to San Francisco before, having grown up in the mid-west before joining the military and spending most of his time in Germany, Japan, and then various bases across the States.

But he’d never been to San Francisco. So, when his brother had moved out of his apartment in the city and had needed to sub-let the space, Logan had jumped on the opportunity to spend his first few months out of the military somewhere new.

Somewhere to reset.

To figure out what the fuck he was going to do with his life.

He had some technical skills, but what he actually enjoyed? He was . . . drawing a blank.

That was the confusing and frustrating part.

He’d been competent for fifteen years and now he had to figure out the next chapter of his life. No pressure, no big deal.

Sighing, Logan thanked the driver then got out of the car. Immediately, he was blasted with surprisingly cold air, the wind whipping through his coat and hair. It wasn’t as frosty as a German winter, but it was a damn lot colder than he’d expected for California.

Fog curled around the buildings, the bay was churned up into heavy waves, and even though it was relatively early on a weekday, the pier was busy.

He wove his way through the crowded boardwalk, taking in the myriad of shops with racks of sweatshirts lined up in front of their doors—a smart business move as far as he was concerned, based on the wind and fog.

But there weren’t just T-shirt and souvenir and sock shops, there were also galleries and candy shops with huge drums full of salt-water taffy and root beer barrels and ribbons of colorful, twisted sugar.

But it didn’t take long for him to reach the end of the shops and slip through an opening that led to a wooden walkway surrounding the perimeter.

Here was the part he liked.

Actually being able to hear the waves crashing against the support posts, the barking of the sea lions as they alternately lounged and jostled for prime position on the floating platforms in the water.

There were only a few other people walking or taking in the view, mostly older folks or couples sneaking in an early lunch.

Here he could smell the tang of fish.

Here he could hear the waves.

Here he could feel a bit more like himself.

Logan stood for a few moments, watching the sea lions, enjoying the breeze and the fact that he didn’t have anything pressing on his time.

He could binge bad TV all day, wander around the city for hours, go to bars, get numbers from beautiful women, and . . . send random dick pics.

Groaning, he pulled his cell from his pocket and took a photo of the sea lions, then one of fog-enshrouded Alcatraz in the distance, which made him suddenly have the urge to watch that old Nick Cage movie, The Rock.

Well, know what? Once the cable guys came that afternoon, he could watch it.

He had all day to watch. He had six months to watch it. He—

Was going to go absolutely insane unless he found something to do.

For nearly all of the last fifteen years, he’d been told when to get dressed, what job to do, when to eat, when to go to bed.

Now five days of freedom, and he was losing his mind.

But all Logan could picture were endless blank days of waking up and wandering around or watching TV until the sun set and he got tired enough to sleep.

What a prime catch he was, having this much of a pity party.

Deliberately, he pulled up the app on his phone and scheduled a ride to take him back to the apartment. It was time he pulled his shit together and began figuring out what the rest of his life would entail.

He strode to the front of the pier, just as his car pulled up, and got in, making small talk for a minute or two before the driver went quiet.

That quiet was what did him in.

Though this time, it didn’t involve nudity.

Or, well, of the human variety.

Though the object in the shot wasn’t wearing pants. Thankfully, the pant-less state wasn’t illegal, as it was a sea lion that was making a comical face as it was knocked off the platform.

He pulled up his text chain with Lori, added the photo, then sent,

Sorry I made you late.

Then he rode back to his apartment, vowed to never send another dick pic, and immersed himself in the want ads.

By that afternoon, still Lori hadn’t texted back. Not to his picture, nor the message from the night before. Which, in fairness, he hadn’t really expected, considering she was both at work and their first go at texting hadn’t exactly been great.

Well, for her.

For him , he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

She’d been so fucking cute when he’d deserved a verbal thrashing. Then funny enough to make his drunk ass laugh, then sober up rapidly when she’d rightfully called him out after that. Beyond all of that, she was gorgeous. And . . . she was his neighbor.

Fucking hell.

He’d sent a dick pic to Brandon’s neighbor.

His brother was going to kill him. Especially, when he’d gotten an email just that morning telling Logan to keep it in his pants and give Lori her distance.

Thrusting a hand through his hair, Logan pushed up from the sofa and set his laptop to the side.

He’d spent several hours going through the online classifieds, trying to find anything that might excite him enough to want to spend the second half of his life doing it.

And . . . nothing.

Plus, it wasn’t like the sniper skills he’d learned in military were particularly useful, unless he wanted to be a police officer or private security.

Did he want to be a cop? Not really. Private security? Even less appealing.

Firefighting? Maybe, but he’d need to go back to school—

School.

Maybe that was the answer.

If so, what would he study?

Another question.

Because even if he did want to be a firefighter, he didn’t think he’d pass the physical. The piece of shrapnel in his hip ensured that.

He’d recovered, mostly, but he couldn’t make a day-to-day career out of lifting people or dragging hoses around. A year ago, before the IED had gone off, then sure. Now, not so much.

Logan shook his head, not letting the memories take him back under.

He was in a good place finally. He’d been lucky when several others hadn’t.

And so he had a duty to move on.

Sighing, he continued pacing and found that the movement didn’t give him any answers.

School.

Yes. That felt right. He should focus on that.

Figure out what he should study, use it as an opportunity to move forward.

Good. Great.

But what to study?

Only one thing came to mind. One subject he’d always enjoyed. Biology.

But he was going to be downright elderly sitting in those chairs surrounded by eighteen-year-olds.

And what else did he have to do that was better?

Sit around his brother’s place for days on end brooding?

“Fucking hell, man,” he muttered, striding to the window and deliberately ignoring both the pain in his hip and his heart. Both would abate. Move on.

Move forward .

Because that was what this was about.

He needed to move forward when all he wanted to do was look back.

He went back to the computer and started filling out college applications.