Page 11 of Best Kept Secret (The New York Thunder #3)

LOGAN

I should’ve listened to my gut when it was telling me that coming to Ned’s tonight was a shitty fucking idea.

I should be at home, in bed, with a mug of heated Moon Milk reading Stephen King’s The Shining .

Instead, here I am, with a stomach like lead as I stare down at my phone, at the message from Millie.

For two months, I’ve been dreaming of the day she finally unblocked my ass, naively imagining she might realize she was wrong, tell me she’s ready to listen. But as I look down at the words illuminated on my screen, I can’t help but sniff a self-deprecating laugh at just how fucking stupid I am.

Red: Have a nice night with your girlfriend.

I can hear her snarky tone in my head at the word girlfriend .

If she’d just fucking stop to hear me out, she’d realize how stupid and unnecessary this whole mess is.

The woman is literally infuriating. Impossible in every way.

So why do I want her more than I want my name engraved on the Stanley Cup?

Of all the nights for Hannah to show up at Ned’s after a game, she chooses this night. It’s not her fault. It’s my luck. Why does it feel like my life is turning into nothing more than a series of misfortunes masquerading as one big never-ending joke?

“Everything okay?” Hannah asks, her face laced with concern as she looks from my phone to me. When her blue eyes meet mine, I can tell she knows immediately, her lips parting on a soft gasp. “Shit. I’m sorry, Loges. I didn’t know she was here.”

With a thick swallow, I shake my head, dismissing her words. She doesn’t need to apologize. She’s done nothing wrong.

Pocketing my phone, I finish the last of my Jack and Coke and stand from my stool.

As I shrug on my coat, Happy glances across the table at me, his dark eyes imploring as if to check I’m okay.

I offer him a small nod before saying my goodbyes to the group, and I leave before anyone notices my sudden shift in mood.

The night air barrels down West 49 th Street, hitting me like a bus, and with my head down, I hurry to my car parked around the corner.

Sheltering inside from the cold, I take a few centering breaths, steeling myself and counting to three, but when I close my eyes, I keep seeing the look on Millie’s face when she realized that, not only was Hannah there, but that Hannah is a part of our group.

The way her green eyes widened just a touch when she looked at me, flashing with a brutal combination of betrayal and hurt.

The way her shoulders fell, as if the weight of resignation and dejection was all too much to withstand.

She looked exactly like she did three months ago standing in my doorway, and I swear I could kick my own ass.

Tugging my phone from my pocket, I scroll to Millie’s message. The first in three months. The first amongst the, frankly, embarrassing plethora of messages I’ve sent her since December that went either unread or undelivered. Pathetic . I can’t help but shake my head at myself.

Me: Not my girlfriend. She isn’t now and she wasn’t then. But if you actually bothered to hear me out instead of being a stubborn ass, you’d know that.

As the sent sound rings through the silence of my car, I glare at my words, suddenly regretting them.

“Idiot,” I mutter on an exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing my eyes closed. She’s going to block me again, for sure.

When my phone shudders, I almost jump out of my own skin, hope surging through me. But then I see what’s on the screen, and my fist clenches.

Dad: Keep losing control of the puck like you did in the second period and you’ll end up riding the bench for the rest of the season, Son.

The longer I stare at his words, the faster my heart races, pounding hard against my ribs.

I rub at my sternum in the hope that it might ease the pain in my chest, but it’s pointless.

It doesn’t matter that I won the fucking game.

All he focuses on is the one mistake I made.

A mistake I quickly fixed by turning over the puck and taking it right back down to the zone before handing off to Rusty, who sent it straight to the back of the fucking net.

I close out of Dad’s message and check my inbox, but when I see that Millie has left me on read, it only pisses me off even more than my father already has.

Tossing my phone onto the passenger seat, I throw my head back on a groan as I grip the steering wheel tight, considering myself yet again.

And I know I should go home. Maybe get in a quick Peloton workout to clear my head.

But I’ve always been a stubborn son of a bitch; it’s probably why Millie and I get along so well.

I am officially a creep. Parked across the street, huddled down low in the driver’s seat of my car, staring out at the converted warehouse building like I’m on a fucking stakeout, I watch the big arched windows for any movement inside.

I know she’s in there; I can tell by the way light from the television flickers across the ceiling.

I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here, aside from probably breaking at least a few state and federal laws. Should I be here? Absolutely not. Am I leaving? Absolutely the fuck not.

My phone shudders from the center console, and I check it quickly.

Hap: He’s just started another game of pool with Rusty. It’s like the fucking playoffs. Best of 7. They’ll probably go all night. You know how competitive they are.

Pinching my bottom lip between my thumb and forefinger, I contemplate my next move, my gaze flitting up to the apartment again. Scrolling out of my message thread with Hap, I click on the thread with Millie, my thumb hovering a moment. What the hell? I’m here now.

Me: I’m outside.

When the delivered receipt changes to read , I look across the street in time to see a silhouette in one of the big windows that quickly ducks down. Stealth, babe .

Going back to my phone, I can’t help but snort a laugh.

Me: I see you, Red.

Read.

Me: Come down here. Or let me up. Either way, I’m not leaving. Not until we talk.

Red: I’m calling the police.

I bite back my smirk, not doubting that for a second.

Me: Tell them I say hi.

Red: You do realize Dallas is on his way home. He’ll literally be here any minute.

Me: Nice try babe. But your brother is currently playing pool back at Ned’s.

Red: OMG you’re so annoying.

Me: You call it annoying. I call it persistent.

When the message is left on read again , I watch the apartment, waiting with bated breath.

For a long moment there’s no movement, and my stomach knots with panic, thinking she’s turned off her phone and gone to bed.

I briefly consider a way to get into the building, because what’s a little break and entering on top of straight-up stalking?

But then, suddenly, the metal door to the building flies open, and Millie storms out into the street like a goddamn bat out of hell.

My victorious grin falls the second I see what’s she’s wearing.

As if the white cowboy boots aren’t bad enough, she wears a coat I assume is her brothers, one that hangs off one shoulder and flaps open with the breeze, showing off possibly the world’s skimpiest fucking pajamas.

Not even pajamas. Literally panties and a tank top.

With what appears to be goddamn cherries printed all over them. What in the ever-loving fuck?

With a low growl, I hop out of my car like my ass in on fire, eyeing the group of New York City sanitation workers collecting the trash bags from the sidewalk down on the corner, one of them pointing in Millie’s direction, another letting out an ear-slipping wolf whistle.

I point a warning finger down at the men who quickly turn away, and when she’s within arms’ reach, I grab the lapels of her coat and tug her flush to me.

With a gasp, she gapes up at me, mouth hanging open as I turn us so she’s pinned against my car, my body pressing up against her, shielding her as best as I can.

“You trying to get me into a fuckin’ fight, Red?”

Her brows draw together as she looks down at herself, her resolve slipping somewhat as if she’s just realized. Shoving me off her, she buttons the coat, covering herself, and the tension in my shoulders eases some, but I remain close, ensnared by the scent wafting up from her hair.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her words spoken with a lot less confidence than she had storming out here.

When I look into her big eyes, I’m at a loss for words because fuck she’s beautiful. Even when she’s pissed off, she takes my breath away. I push my hair back from my face, my eyes bouncing between hers when I realize she’s rendered me fucking speechless.

Millie arches one brow slightly higher. “Hurry up. I’m cold.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh. Since when did she get so goddamn bratty. It’s both hot as hell and adorable, and right now, it’s taking everything I have not to press her hard against my car and claim her smart fucking mouth with mine.

“What are you doing here?” I throw her question back in her face. “In New York?”

She just stares at me.

“You didn’t think to tell me?”

“Tell you? Since when did you become the New York City Comptroller?” Millie scoffs then, looking away.

I soften, rolling my eyes at her sassiness, but when I see a wayward lock of her red hair fall from the messy pile on top of her head, my fingers itch to tuck it behind her ear, maybe trace the gentle curve of her soft neck.

“You got the internship,” I say after a moment, my voice low, almost a whisper. When her eyes flit back to mine, I offer her a small smile. “I’m proud of you.”

And I am proud of her. Because I know how much she wanted to make it out here on her own merit. And she did it. She’s here.

In a flash, I almost see her veil of indifference thaw, but as if she catches herself, she rolls her eyes, shrugging a shoulder. “Yeah, whatever...”

I stare at her, my gaze bouncing between hers, trying to see through her wall, because I know she’s there. This isn’t her. Yes, she’s mad at me, but I know that same girl I was falling for is there behind the armor she’s wearing.

“Hannah and I aren’t…” I trail off, shaking my head. “It’s not what you think.”

Millie’s eyes narrow with a sneer. “So, what? She just happened to be at your apartment first thing in the morning with sex hair, wearing nothing but your hockey jersey because—” She shrugs. “What?”

I drag my teeth over my bottom lip, my gaze dipping from her pretty eyes to her perfect fucking mouth. Man, I want to kiss her so bad it hurts.

“She stayed the night.”

Millie blinks. “No shit.”

“She—” I snap my mouth shut when I realize I can’t tell her.

“Millie, I… I can’t tell you. I promised Hannah, and I keep my promises.

And… I promise you it was nothing. She crashed at my place, in my spare bedroom.

She had nothing to wear to bed, so I gave her one of my old jerseys.

That’s it. Hannah’s… a friend. Nothing more. ”

She averts her gaze, looking down.

“I know what it looked like. And it looked really fucking bad. But, Millie—” I tug on the back of my neck, considering my words. “Millie, I’m not Parker.”

At that, she snaps her head up, her eyes wide and full of unexpected tears, and it’s only then that I realize I’ve said the wrong fucking thing.

“No, you’re not,” she snaps. “Because at least when I caught Parker red-handed, he didn’t lie to my face.” And, with that, she shoves me in my chest and storms back across the street.

I turn, watching her walk away, my brain screaming at me to go after her, but my feet are rooted to the pavement.

When the heavy metal door slams shut, and it’s just me and my thoughts left in the cold, dark street, I tear my fingers through my hair with a muttered, “Fuck’s sake,” before getting back into my car.

The last thing I need right now is for Dallas to pull up and find my sorry ass standing outside his apartment after making his little sister cry.