Page 10 of Best Kept Secret (The New York Thunder #3)

MILLIE

I knew moving to New York meant that I would eventually come face-to-face with him. But I’d been planning on delaying the inevitable for as long as I could. Right here. Right now. I am nowhere near ready for this. And why does he have to look so damn good?

Stupid Emily. I mean, don’t get me wrong.

I love her. She’s adorable. Beautiful. Kind.

Selfless. Hell, I love her almost as much as my brother does.

But fuck her. Right now, my soon-to-be sister-in-law can eat a bag of dicks.

I’d been lying on the couch, blissfully watching Friday Night Lights reruns, minding my own damn business when Emily strolled in, turned off the television in the middle of a shirtless Tim Riggins scene, and told me to go get ready for the game.

I tried to play the jetlag card, but apparently a flight from Texas to New York doesn’t qualify.

But if you ask me, that cross over from Central to Eastern time really takes it out of you.

Now, here I am, in some out of the way Hell’s Kitchen dive bar, subjectively jetlagged and more than a little tipsy after a few too many draft beers, forced to stare into the same kaleidoscope eyes I’ve been trying to forget for the best part of the last few months .

Of all the shitty trades in the NHL, you’re telling me the hockey gods couldn’t have done me a solid and schlepped him off to some struggling team on the other side of the damn continent? Karma’s always been my archnemesis.

“So, when do you start your new job, Millie?” Fran asks, pulling my attention away from he whose name will never again be uttered from my lips.

“Monday. It’s been a really fast turnaround.” I smile, trying so hard to ignore my nerves.

“How exciting.” Fran grins, and it’s infectious; she’s super sweet. I only met her tonight at the game, but I really like her.

“My little sis is gonna be the next Wolf of Wall Street,” Dallas hollers.

“Dude,” the guy, Happy I think is his name, scoffs. “Did you even see that movie?”

Dallas looks thoughtful for a moment. “I mean, obviously without all the drugs and fraud and shit.”

I roll my eyes, shaking my head at my brother with a light laugh, but then I make the grave mistake of glancing left, meeting his unwavering gaze yet again, and I force myself to look down at my beer, my stomach knotting.

He shouldn’t have this effect on me. Not after everything. But he does, and I fucking hate it.

I stand and smooth down the front of the Dallas Shaw jersey I’m wearing, grabbing my purse.

“You okay?” Emily touches my arm.

I nod. “Just going to the bathroom.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You want another beer, sis?” Dallas shouts from where he’s waiting by the bar with Robbie, Fran’s boyfriend.

I throw him a thumbs up before turning and heading down the darkened hallway that leads to the restrooms .

Washing my hands, I take a look at myself in the questionably smudged mirror.

My eyes are a little bloodshot and red-rimmed, my hair is limp, and the tinted moisturizer I applied earlier is almost entirely worn off.

Of course, I look like a dog’s breakfast while in the vicinity of possibly the most attractive man ever to grace this godforsaken earth.

The same man who took my gullible heart and tore it into shreds. Love that for me.

Rolling my eyes at my own thoughts, I dig around in my purse and find a scrunchie at the bottom along with a tube of lip gloss that’s probably past it’s shelf date.

Pulling my hair back into a messy low braid, I secure it with the scrunchie before smoothing some gloss over my lips.

I mean, it’s barely an improvement, but at least my lips smell like cherry.

With one last quick assessment of myself in the mirror, I turn and walk out, but right as I the unlock the door, it opens in on me, and I’m pushed back into the rest room with such force, I almost fall on my ass, saved at the last second by a big hand grabbing my waist and holding me steady.

Catching my breath, my jaw falls open the moment my gaze meets a set of stormy eyes glowering down at me, his presence all-consuming but in the least threatening way.

It takes me a moment to come to, but when I do, I realize what’s happening, and with all the strength I can muster, I push him off me, taking a much-needed step back. Of course, he barely stumbles, but he at least has a semblance of decency to stay back, holding his hands up in surrender.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I hiss, looking around. “This is the ladies’ room.”

Logan just stares at me, his gaze scrupulous as it trails over me from head to toe, lingering a little longer on the New York Thunder logo plastered across my chest. He drags a hand down his face, his broad shoulders sagging with a racking sigh. “You blocked my number.”

I scoff, folding my arms across my chest. “Yeah, like, two months ago. ”

“Can you please just let me explain?”

I shake my head. “No.”

With all the audacity of a man, Logan huffs an exasperated breath, like I’m the one in the wrong, and I swear my palm itches with the need to leave an impression of itself across his cheek so damn bad.

Cocking his head to the side, his own arms fold across his chest, which only emphasizes his broad shoulders and the bulging biceps that strain the white cotton of his shirt.

I avert my eyes from his tauntingly delicious arms to his face.

But with the slight scruff that lines his jaw and those lips—Lord, those lips—his face is just as distracting, so I choose then to look down at the grimy floor.

“Millie, it wasn’t what you think.”

I’ve heard it all before, multiple times, but how can it not be what I think it was when I was unlucky enough to see it with my own eyes? Exactly how stupid does he think I am?

He takes a step closer, and I know I should move away, but I’ve been rendered frozen. I hate how my brain is telling me one thing, but my body is telling my brain to shut the fuck up.

“You know what Parker did to me,” I whisper, against my better judgement. “You know everything, Logan.” I look up at him then, frustrating tears stinging my eyes.

Logan rubs his stubbled chin while his intense gaze bores into mine.

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

I’ve wasted enough tears over this man.

“You should probably get out,” I say with a thick swallow. Arching a brow, I practically seethe as I say, “Wouldn’t want my brother to find you in here, now, would we?”

Logan stares at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. But finally, he turns and heads for the door.

Just when I’m about to release the breath I’ve been holding, he stops and glances at me over his shoulder, forcing me to involuntarily stiffen.

“Unblock my number,” he demands with a gruff, yet slightly hopeful tone. “ Please .”

He walks out, and I’m left alone with nothing but the sound of the dripping faucet and the residual pain Logan Cullen caused me, my chest aching in the space where my intact heart sat before I made the biggest mistake of my life and gave it to him.

When I walk back out to the bar, it’s suddenly a whole lot busier than it was when I ran off to the ladies’ room like a coward.

I make sure to keep my head down as I snake my way through the throng to our table.

Thankfully, everyone is talking about the game tonight against Miami, and no one seems to acknowledge how long I took in the bathroom.

But when I look up, I notice Logan is no longer sitting in his spot.

And I should be relieved not to have to deal with him or his impenetrable gaze set on me, but instead, I find myself searching the crowded space for him. Pathetic .

“Are you okay?” Emily asks me as I slide in next to her. Her smile is casual and her eyes are soft, and I love her; she’s the big sister I always wanted. But right now, I just need to be left alone.

I nod, picking up the glass of beer sitting in front of me.

But just as I take a sip, my gaze settles on Logan as he shoulders his way through the crowd, an emotionless veil masking his face.

He didn’t leave. I don’t miss the flare of relief that sparks somewhere deep inside of me.

But that relief is quickly quashed when I notice he isn’t alone; a beautiful yet devastatingly familiar brunette is following closely behind him.

As they stop by the table, I watch on as Logan keeps his head down, pulling his stool out for her, and she offers him a smile, her big, blue eyes sparkling as she sits down.

My hand trembles from the emotion coursing through me, so much that I’m forced to place my beer onto the table before I drop it .

“Mils, have you met Hannah?”

I snap myself from my daze, glancing at Fran. She smiles from me to the brunette and back again, which is when Hannah suddenly seems to notice that I’m right here, her smile faltering momentarily before reappearing with a lot less conviction.

“Mils is my little sister!” Dallas boasts, appearing behind me, hand ruffling my hair like I’m twelve.

Hannah stands, reaching over the table. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says, the look in her gaze uncertain. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

I’m sure you have, Hannah . I glance at Logan, who won’t meet my eyes. Forcing a smile as I accept Hannah’s hand, I squeeze it a little tighter than necessary and relish in the slight grimace she makes at the contact as I shake it.

“ So nice to meet you,” I say with a beaming and entirely disingenuous smile.

As Hannah sits back down, she casts a sideways glance at Logan, still standing right there by her side, and I hitch the strap of my purse onto my shoulder.

“Actually, I’m not feeling great,” I announce to no one in particular. I look at Emily and my brother, grabbing my jacket from the back of my stool. “If it’s okay with you guys, I might just head back to the apartment.”

Dallas’s eyebrows bunch together with genuine concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just my stomach,” I lie, clutching my middle for effect.

Emily stands. “I’ll go with you.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. You stay. I’m just going to go home, take a shower, and fall into bed.”

“How are you going to get home?” Dallas asks, panicked.

“Uber,” I say as if it’s obvious.

“I don’t want you taking an Uber on your own.”

“You do realize millions of people in this city and the rest of the world take Ubers every minute of every day without issue, right? ”

“Yeah, but none of them are my little sister,” Dallas argues.

“I’m twenty-two years old,” I retort with gritted teeth.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Let me know as soon as your home.”

I glance at Emily, and she gives me a knowing wink.

“Have a good night, you guys,” I say to the group on my way to the door, my gaze landing on Logan long enough to see a flicker of regret flash in his eyes.

Thankfully, the Uber takes less than a few minutes to arrive, and as I sit in the back seat, staring out as the city lights whizz past in a blur, my mind wanders back to Logan, to the look in his eyes when he pleaded me to hear him out, and how fraught with desperation he seemed when he told me it wasn’t what I thought it was.

I almost laugh. Not what I thought it was, huh?

Well, he sure proved himself a lying sack of shit with her there by his side tonight, guilt evident in his eyes as he watched me leave.

Muttering a curse, I pull my phone from my purse and unlock it, scrolling through my contacts to L for liar, apparently.

And, sure, I consider myself for a split second, but fuck it.

I huff an exasperated sigh as I unblock the number and then, without a second thought, I tap out a message I’ll probably regret in less than five seconds, but that’s the thing about heartache; it makes you do some really dumb things sometimes.

Me: Have a nice night with your girlfriend.

Switching my phone to Do Not Disturb, I drop it into my purse and sag back against the seat as I stare out at the city.