Page 7 of Best Kept Secret (The New York Thunder #3)

MILLIE

W hy now, after more than three years of countless nights spent in this exact spot, at this exact table, am I suddenly realizing just how cavernous the library is.

Maybe it’s because it’s pouring rain out, and the occasional flicker of lightning flashing through the windows adds a serious slasher movie vibe to the scene.

Or maybe it’s because it’s Thanksgiving weekend, and the place is even emptier than it usually is at this time of night.

Whatever it is, as I look up from my laptop and take in my surroundings, I can’t help but wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me, or if there really is a spindly shadow figure lurking in the stacks.

I really need to stop watching scary movies.

I shouldn’t be here. I should be in Summer, Texas, lapping up my mother’s attention, annoying my older brother, Austin, at any and every opportunity, and listening to my father grumble at whatever football game is playing on the TV.

But I’m not there. I’m here. In the stupid, creepy library about to be hacked to death by some masked psychopath (probably) while trying to finish my senior thesis that I’ve been putting off for months.

My phone vibrates next to me, and I groan when I see Parker’s name flashing on the screen.

Just like I do every other time he tries to call me, I decline it.

Honestly, he calls daily. Sometimes twice.

And he leaves voice messages too. Long ones.

I don’t listen to them. I’m honestly just waiting for him to get a clue.

For someone on his way to Harvard Law, he’s not very bright.

When I finally submit my thesis with a muttered fuck you , I close my laptop and pack my things into my bag, heading out of the library.

It’s still raining out, but thankfully it’s eased to a light drizzle, so I’m not completely soaked by the time I make it into the safety of my car.

But just as I turn the key in the ignition, my phone rings again , the trill deafening as it connects to the stereo, reverberating through the silence at full volume.

“Fuck my life,” I mutter before answering the call with an exasperated, “What?”

I’m met with silence, and my eyes flit to the screen in the center console to see that it isn’t Parker at all.

“Red?” The low voice rasps in a way that makes my tummy flutter. “Is everything all right? Are—are you okay?” he asks after a few seconds, the concern in his tone enough to make my heart skip.

“Yeah, sorry. I thought you were… a spam caller,” I lie with a light laugh I hope he believes. “They keep calling me, asking if I want to switch over to some other mobile plan, and I just…” I trail off when I realize I’m rambling. “Sorry.”

“Did you get your thesis finished?” Logan asks, and I can’t hide my smile at the thought that he’s actually calling to ask me, because not only does he care, but he listens when we talk.

Logan and I have been talking non-stop since our night together.

Late night phone calls, never-ending text message marathons, even the occasional FaceTime.

And in the weeks that we’ve been talking, we’ve gotten to know one another.

In fact, I think I know Logan better than I know anyone.

Logan is nothing like my brother, and even less like Parker.

He’s caring and attentive, he listens and doesn’t judge, and no matter what he’s doing, whether it’s cooking dinner or packing for a road trip, when Logan’s on the phone with me, he can hold an actual conversation.

I like talking to him. I feel like I can talk to him about anything.

I’ve never met a guy like him before, and…

if I’m being honest, I really like him. He’s fast becoming my favorite person.

Which is terrifying and exciting all at the same time.

“I did.” I beam, heaving a relieved sigh. “Finally.”

“I’m proud of you, babe.”

My body involuntarily shivers at the way he says that. Babe . No one has ever called me babe before Logan. I never thought I’d like it. I always imagined it would sound condescending or misogynistic. But Logan’s low voice calling me babe makes me openly swoon. God, I’m in trouble.

“Only a few more weeks left before I’m done with college.” I look out at the big library complex, taking it all in.

“Texas,” is all he says in response after a long pause, the same hint of consternation in his voice I hear every time we talk about me graduating and moving to Fort Worth.

“Yep…” I sigh, my shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the crushing resignation. It’s not that I was expecting to get the position at Hyde and Mercer. I knew I didn’t stand a chance with the caliber of applicants I was up against. But not hearing back at all sucks.

“How was your game?” I ask, trying to shift the conversation to something a little more upbeat since I know from the running commentary in the Shaw family group chat that the Thunder won their game tonight against Halifax.

“I scored a goal and an assist.”

“Good job.” I smile, although I have no idea what that even means.

Hockey is not my strong suit. Football, yes, since I grew up around it.

The Texas panhandle is football country; whether you like it or not, you can’t grow up not knowing everything there is to know about the game.

Hockey is just some foreign ice sport my brother randomly chose to play after watching The Mighty Ducks a few too many times when he was a kid.

“Did you go out after the game?” I ask, trying hard to sound casual, all while holding my breath waiting for his response .

“Nah, it’s way too cold up here,” Logan says. “A few of the guys went down to the bar in the lobby, but me and Hap decided to stay in and play Call of Duty .”

Why is that so adorable? My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

“I wanna see you again,” Logan whispers after another pause, shocking me. “I miss you.”

I close my eyes at the sound of his voice, all throaty and gruff and sexy, saying words I never thought I’d hear.

“You do?” I squeak.

“Of course, I do, Red,” he says on a chuckle. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m, like, borderline obsessed with you.”

It takes all I have not to kick my feet.

“Well, I suppose now that I’ve submitted my thesis, maybe I could come out there?”

“For real?” The smile in Logan’s voice is palpable through the phone, and it warms me from the inside, his excitement contagious.

My cheeks flush. “Yeah.”

I hear shuffling through the phone, and I’m imagining him in bed, shirtless, wondering what, if anything, he wears between the sheets, and my thighs press together trying to quell the sudden ache that blooms between them.

I’ve never felt this way. I worried after what happened with Parker that I would be averse to all men.

But that night with Logan changed everything. I want him. In every way.

“Would you… uh… would you want to—” He pauses to clear his throat. “Would you want to stay at, um, my p-place… or—” Another throat clear. “I can book you a hotel room, if you’d prefer.”

My skin heats, and I bite down hard on my thumb nail. “I think I’d want to stay at your place. I mean, only if that’s okay… with you?”

“Hell yeah!” Logan exclaims. But then he clears his throat yet again, reigning in his excitement. “I mean… yes. That’s more than okay with me, Red.”

I cover my flaming face with my hand, overwhelmed with nerves and anticipation and straight-up giddiness because I’m not an idiot. We’ve been flirting constantly since that night. I know what me flying out to see Logan means. And, if I’m being honest, I can’t wait.

L: Have a safe flight babe x

I’m grinning at my phone like an absolute lunatic, but I don’t care. The babe . The kiss . God, I’m so far gone for this boy, I should be ashamed of myself.

L: Text me when you land.

Looking up from my phone, I bite back my smirk as I catch a glimpse of the Manhattan skyline coming into view through the windshield as the cab cruises toward the bridge.

Logan had arranged a flight for me later this morning, and I was scheduled to land while he was at practice.

But after getting to the airport way earlier than necessary, the woman at check-in was able to bump me up to the first flight of the day.

So, I may be a few hours earlier than expected, but I’m here and I’m so ready to see the look of surprise on Logan’s face when I show up at his door before he leaves.

Me: I can’t wait.

L: To see me, right?

Me: I mean, yeah, I guess.

Me: But also… a New York slice. Yummm.

L: I guess if I have to come second best, it’s okay to lose to pizza.

Thirty minutes later, I’m standing on a sidewalk in Lenox Hill, toying nervously with the scrunchie on my wrist, staring up at the looming skyscraper that disappears into the low-hanging clouds.

I check the number of the building against the address Logan sent me the other day, and butterflies the size of bulldozers start to wreak havoc in my belly.

I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been this nervous.

I feel like I know Logan inside and out, yet this is the first time I’m seeing him since our one and only night together in my bedroom back in Ann Arbor.

What do I do when he opens the door? Do I hug him?

Kiss him? Will he grab me and throw me against the wall in a fit of passion?

Oh, my God. I roll my eyes at myself. I really need to get a grip; this is real life, not one of those Harlequin romance novels I used to sneak from my grandma’s bookshelf when she wasn’t looking.

Gripping the handle of my case, I take a big fortifying breath and walk inside the lobby where I’m met with a grouchy looking man in uniform perched at a desk.

“Name?” he practically barks without looking up from his newspaper.

I eye the New York Times in his meaty hands, offering a wavering smile. “Um, Millie Shaw.”

His eyes lift, one of his bushy brows arching slightly higher. “The name of the person you’re here to see,” he says as if I should have known that.

“Oh.” I huff an embarrassed laugh. “Um, I’m here to see—” I cast a furtive glance around the lobby to find it thankfully empty, save for an older woman walking out from one of the elevators with a fluffy dog on a leash.

Lowering my voice, I lean in a little closer over the desk as I say, “Logan Cullen.”

A smirk tugs at the man’s lips. “Is that so?”

I smile. “Yes, sir.”

With a harsh sigh, the man places his newspaper down onto the desk next to a coffee flask. Leaning back in his chair, he folds his arms across his chest, staring at me long and hard.

A thick swallow works down my throat. Did I say something wrong?

“Missy,” he begins, and I try not to take offense to his sardonic tone. “You think you’re the first cute little twenty-something who’s tried to sweet-talk her way up to Logan Cullen’s apartment?”

Confused, my brows knit together. “I-I’m not trying to sweet talk my way anywhere,” I say, trying to rein in my frustration because honestly, Missy ?

My gaze flits to the computer on the desk next to him. “If you’ll please check, I’m sure you’ll see Logan added my name to the visitor list.”

With a click of his teeth, the man eyes me suspiciously, spinning in his chair with another sigh, as if I’ve just asked him to drive me to the airport during rush hour. Thick fingers click a few keys before the screen comes to life in front of him, illuminating his face with a blue tinge.

“What’d you say your name was?”

“Millie Shaw,” I say through gritted teeth.

His lips purse together and he huffs a breath of air through his nose that sounds like it gets caught up in his nostril hairs, his dark gaze flicking to me and back to the screen with an unimpressed frown.

“I’ll just call up and let him know you’re here,” he gruffs, reaching for the phone next to the computer.

“Can you not?” I interject, forcing a saccharine smile I know doesn’t meet the steely glare in my eyes when he glances at me again. “I’m earlier than expected, and I’d really like to surprise him.”

The man stares at me for a long moment, hand poised over the phone.

With another huff, he hefts himself up out of his chair and rounds the desk, ambling toward the elevators, and I follow quickly, scared I’ll be chastised if I don’t keep up.

He presses the call button, and the doors to the first elevator glide open.

Taking a key card from the pocket of his pants, he reaches in and swipes the panel, jabbing the number thirty-eight button with his stubby index finger.

“Thank you.” I nod, stepping onto the elevator.

The man’s scowl is the last thing I see before the doors close, and I’m suddenly met with my own reflection looking back at me instead.

I release the breath I’ve been holding as the elevator begins climbing, and I take the chance to smooth the flyaway strands of hair that have come loose from my slicked back bun.

I’m second guessing my pale pink sweat suit and sneakers, but it was early when I left home, and I dress for comfort when flying.

Besides, Logan likes me. He’s had his fingers inside of me, for God’s sake.

I’m sure he won’t care what I’m wearing.

The elevator chimes, and I look up to see that I’ve arrived on the thirty-eighth floor, and as the doors open and I step off, I suddenly feel sick.

Like I’m about to throw up or shit myself, I can’t be too sure.

But, with another deep breath and mental kick to my own ass, I turn to the right, to apartment B, and with a slightly tremulous hand, I knock.