Page 25 of Best Kept Secret (The New York Thunder #3)

LOGAN

M illie’s big green eyes widen at my confession, but she doesn’t react like I expected her to.

I expected pity. I expected forced tears.

I expected words said without meaning, spoken just to drown out the uncomfortable silence that settles in the wake of such a confession.

But there’s none of that. There’s just recognition, understanding, and the feel of her soft hand gently caressing my cheek.

Gripping the edge of the counter behind me, I find myself leaning into her touch, closing my eyes and basking in the comfort of having her here with me. And for the first time in six years, I actually feel some semblance of… relief.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I open my eyes, finding nothing but kindness in Millie’s gaze as she peers up at me. I shake my head, swallowing hard, feeling my heartbeat pick up at the thought of telling her every last part of my fucked-up life. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just… I’m-I’m not ready.”

“Hey.” She stops me by bringing her other hand up to my cheek, cupping my face and steadying me with an earnest look. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to tell me but… please know that I’m here and you can tell me anything whenever you’re ready to talk.”

I press my lips together in the semblance of a smile, nodding once. And when I look down at her dressed in a pale pink hoodie and black leggings, thick white socks covering her feet, it’s only then that I remember it’s Wednesday morning.

“You missed work,” I say, suddenly feeling bad.

Millie looks down at herself. “Oh, yeah. I said I have diarrhea.” She shrugs a shoulder like it’s no big deal.

I bite back a smirk. “For me?”

“I was worried…” She nods, looking up and meeting my eyes, the smallest hint of a smile ghosting her lips.

I stare down at her for a long moment, the energy between us shifting to something almost electric. With another thick swallow, I become momentarily lost within her pale mossy eyes, my hands itching to reach out and touch her.

Suddenly, an idea comes to me, and I stand a little taller, unable to fight my own smile. “Go get ready.”

Millie’s eyebrows bunch together with obvious confusion. “Ready? For what?”

“If you’re gonna play hooky, Red,” I say with a teasing grin, “you’re gonna do it right.”

Still clearly confused, she doesn’t move because of course she doesn’t; she’s a natural born brat. I roll my eyes. “Sneakers and a jacket. Stat.” I arch a warning brow.

With a huff, she spins around, walking out of the kitchen and, glancing over her shoulder at me, she flashes me a sweet smile, dimples popping in the most adorable way before hurrying off toward her room.

As the cab pulls up right in front of Pier 83, I hop out and wait for Millie. She’s hesitant, big eyes looking around as she climbs out after me, glancing dubiously at the terminal behind me .

“Where are we and what are we doing?” She shoves her hands in the pockets of her coat, shivering against the cold air blowing across the Hudson.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing her hand and pulling her with me toward the line of tourists waiting at the ticket booth. “We have to hurry.”

“Circle Line,” Millie reads the signage out loud, and then she gasps, her whole face lighting up as realization finally dawns. I mean, it took her long enough, but better late than never, right?

“Oh, my God, are we going on the Circle Line?” She’s practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Nah, I just thought I’d bring you here, show you the ticket line and take you back home,” I joke with a wry chuckle, tugging my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans when we reach the front of the line.

Once we make it through security and onto the boat, I look for a seat.

“Can we please go up onto the top deck?” Millie pleads.

“I mean, we can,” I say doubtfully. “But it’s cold as fuck up there.”

“Please?”

I look down at her. The last thing I want is for her to catch a chill. But she’s wearing her hoodie and a coat, along with a wool hat with a cute pompom on top. And I guess, if the wind picks up too much, I could always use it as an excuse to wrap my arms around her.

“Okay,” I relent. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Oh, spare me—” She waves a hand in the air, playfully dismissing me. “I was raised in Texas. We’re built strong down south.”

Well, that’s an I-told-you-so waiting to happen. But I say nothing, shaking my head with a smile as I follow her up the stairs to the top deck .

As expected, not even fifteen minutes later, an I-told-you-so is burning the tip of my tongue as Millie sits next to me, teeth chattering, knees bouncing in an attempt to keep herself warm.

I bite back my told-you-so smirk. “You know we can go inside if you want.”

She looks at me like I just told her I kill cats in my spare time. “I am not going inside until I see the Statue of motherfucking Liberty.”

“You should petition to rename her,” I quip.

“Besides, it’s not even that cold,” she adds with a distinct tremble in her voice.

I roll my eyes. What a stubborn ass.

“C’mere, Red.” Throwing my arm around her shoulders, I pull her in close, holding her.

I feel her sag against me, still shivering, but relaxing into my warmth, and for a long moment, as the boat putters down the Hudson, we sit in a companionable silence as the tour guide’s voice crackles over the speaker, the tourists behind us talking in their native language, pointing in wonder at One World Trade Center and snapping photos, and the small group of kindergartners wearing bright yellow safety vests over their coats on some field trip squeal with glee.

And, this moment right here, with Millie pressed against me, as the sun shines down from a bright blue sky with Manhattan providing a pretty impressive backdrop, this is my favorite moment.

I know I need to tell her what last night was about.

She deserves to know. Hell, as far as I’m concerned, she saved my life last night.

And she’s the first person I’ve ever told about Levi.

Of course, people know about my brother—he was one of the top college hockey players destined for the drafts—but they don’t know the truth.

No one does. And I want to tell her. I do.

I’m just scared. I’m scared to let anyone into that part of my life because, frankly, it’s a shit show, and the last person I want to wind up as collateral damage is Millie.

“There she is!” Millie squeals, sitting up higher, startling me .

I track her gaze to see that we’re approaching the Statue of Liberty, the excitement from the people on the top deck of the boat ramping up.

“Will you take a photo of me?” She hands me her phone, turning to me, so the statue is just over her left shoulder.

I click a few snaps, smiling as she makes a few silly poses, and when I see the images on the screen, I can’t help but grin.

But then I’m interrupted by a tap on my shoulder and I stiffen, immediately assuming I’ve been recognized.

When I turn to see one of the Asian tourists smiling at me, pointing from me to Millie to the statue, I heave a relieved sigh.

“Hey,” I say with a curious smile.

“I take photo? For you and… wife?”

Wife? Holy shit. Who knew that word could sound so… hot?

“Oh, um, I-I—” Unable to find the words I need, I fumble with Millie’s phone, feeling my cheeks flame.

“That would be amazing .” Millie swoops in, snatching her phone from my hands and passing it to the tourist. She looks at me, wrapping her arms around my neck, a goofy smile curling her lips. “Come on, honey .” She winks at me. “Take a cute photo with your wife .”

And my dick’s hard. Cool.

I turn, smiling probably awkward as hell at the woman holding Millie’s phone, just as Millie takes a seat directly on my lap, right where my dick is standing to attention.

I will the big guy to deflate, thinking of the most disgusting things I can possibly imagine.

Rusty’s hairy ass. Rusty’s hairy ass. Rusty’s hairy ass .

But it’s no use. Not even the thick carpet of fuzz covering Rusty’s ass cheeks is enough to dispel my erection.

With Millie’s ass rubbing up against it, with her curves literally in the palm of my hand, her sweet scent swirling around me, I’m basically twelve-year-old Logan again, witnessing his first pair of boobs bouncing in his poor, unsuspecting face during co-ed gym class.

Before I know it, the tourist hands Millie back her phone and the moment is over, Millie sliding off my lap and settling in next to me again.

She moves my arm and wraps it around her shoulders, and I shift in my seat, readjusting myself as inconspicuously as I can.

Glancing sideways, I find her smiling down at her phone, thankfully none the wiser to my boner and so goddamn adorable it should be illegal.

“We look so cute together,” Millie coos, holding her phone up so I can see a photo of the two of us in front of the Statue of Liberty, Millie in my lap smiling at the camera, me looking at her like she’s the only woman in the world.

“Yeah.” I nod. Because we do look cute together. In fact, I’d say Millie and I look pretty fucking perfect together.