Page 2

TWO

LOGAN

Oh, yeah ... I fucked up.

And not just a little. Full-scale, nuclear disaster fucked up. Implying the gorgeous woman who’d been kind enough to have dinner with my grandfather was a hooker? That wasn’t just a red flag—it was an entire marching band of shame parading through my head.

To make things worse, she wasn’t just gorgeous. She was fire. And I’d basically hosed myself down in kerosene.

Based on the fact my grandfather couldn’t stop laughing, I had really fucked up.

I crossed my arms. “It’s not funny.”

My grandfather laughed again. “It’s a little funny.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No, Grandpa, it’s really not.” I gestured toward the door. “I just called that poor nurse a hooker . Twice.”

He smiled. “You’re right. That was bad. MJ is so sweet too.” He clucked his tongue.

I groaned, thinking back to the gorgeous brunette who’d been dining with my grandfather. “Don’t make me feel worse.”

He shrugged and sat in front of his dinner. “You’re the one who made assumptions before getting all the facts.”

I pulled my phone from the pocket of my jeans. “You’re the one who texted me asking how much escorts earn nowadays.”

Around a green bean, he said, “I saw a Dateline episode about sex workers.” His shoulders lifted. “I was curious.”

“Followed up by, and I quote, ‘I have a date tonight and don’t want to be rude.’ I drove over to make sure you weren’t getting taken advantage of or forking over your life savings, only to find a woman under the table .” I looked at him expectantly, and he only took another mindful bite of his dinner.

“You know what? Forget it.” I shook my head. There was no reasoning with him sometimes. Sometimes Arthur Brown just liked to be a shit-stirrer, and I should have seen this coming.

“Maybe you were just jealous I was having dinner with such a pretty girl.” Grandpa waggled his eyebrows, his grin sly.

The image of MJ—the fire in her eyes, the way her dress hugged her curves—lingered longer than it should’ve. It was annoying that my grandfather was partially correct. “That is not true.”

Okay, fine. Maybe it was a little true.

“Who was she?” I finally asked when curiosity got the best of me.

Humor danced in his eyes. “Best nurse they’ve got. She’s sweet and always genuinely interested in the folks around here.” He gestured toward the door. “Not like some of them who make me feel like they can’t wait for me to shut up. MJ’s one of the good ones.”

Guilt rolled over me. I’d been a total prick to someone who’d taken a genuine interest in my favorite person. I looked at my grandpa. “She said she works tomorrow. Maybe I can swing by to apologize.”

He shrugged and rubbed his temple. “Don’t remember. Memory isn’t what it used to be.”

I sat back on my heels and huffed. “Your memory is fine, old man.”

Grandpa winked at me. “Ah, you got me there.” He popped another green bean into his mouth. “You know ... she goes to a book club every Wednesday night. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to hunt her down to apologize tonight.”

“It sounds a lot less gentlemanly and a lot more stalkery when you use the phrase hunt her down .”

He swatted a hand at me. “They like that nowadays. My friend Greta says the bookish ones are into dark romance.”

I closed my eyes. “Please stop talking.”

He hooted a laugh. “It’s the Bluebird Book Club—downtown Outtatowner. If you hurry, you can still catch her.”

Indecision gnawed at me.

“You can sit here moping, or you can find her. Women love a man who admits he’s an idiot.”

My eyes narrowed on him. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Grandpa shrugged. “Worked on your grandmother. God rest her soul.”

I was embarrassed that I’d assumed MJ was a sex worker— and said that to her face— but who could blame me? It wouldn’t have been the first time my grandfather had pulled some wild shit because he got bored.

Still, I couldn’t get the genuine look of hurt that crossed her pretty face out of my mind. I pulled up the map app on my phone. “What was the name of it again?”

“Attaboy,” my grandfather said. “Bluebird Books.”

When the vague directions to downtown came up, I frowned.

“Go get her, son.” Grandpa chuckled.

With a shake of my head, I left my grandfather behind looking all too pleased with himself.

* * *

Outtatowner was the kind of coastal Michigan town I was familiar with. Having grown up in Western Michigan, it was the kind of place you visited in the summertime, fighting crowds of tourists for a spot on its pristine freshwater beaches.

After high school, my blossoming rugby career had taken me across the country, and it wasn’t often I found myself back in my home state. Still, Michigan had always felt like home.

It was dark, but when I crested a small hill, the downtown strip of Outtatowner came into view. My truck slowed at the four-way stop. Off in the distance, about a half mile down the road, Lake Michigan’s inky waters sparkled in the moonlit darkness. The roadway cut through the quaint little tourist town. Mom-and-pop shops dotted the sides, but nearly all the storefronts were locked up for the night. A bar on the corner had a few patrons coming in and out, but otherwise the town was quiet.

I scanned the app on my phone and noted the bookstore was just ahead. I swung my truck into a parking space, and my heartbeat ticked higher when I saw MJ, still dressed in sky-high heels and a tiny dress, stomping up the sidewalk toward the bookstore.

I didn’t want to scare her, so I called out. “Excuse me!”

Her head whipped around, and her long hair tumbled down her back. When she recognized me, her eyes rolled toward the night sky. “You have got to be kidding me ...” MJ moved to turn away.

“Wait,” I called out. “Hold up.”

She kept walking toward the bookstore. “Leave me alone.” She yanked open the door, and I caught it with my hand.

“I just want a second.” All I wanted to do was apologize, but the tiny firepot in front of me was making that all but impossible.

Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a dangerous spark in her hazel eyes. A spark I had no right liking as much as I did.

“How dare you follow me!” MJ’s chin was high and her fists were clenched, like she was ready for a fight.

Inside the bookstore the lighting was dim. I followed MJ through the low stacks of books toward the back, where her book club seemed to be meeting. Women of varying ages were sitting in an eclectic assortment of plush seating arrangements.

Their jaws hung open as they watched me follow MJ deeper into the store.

“Relax, Thunder.” A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. “You might hurt yourself if you keep stomping around like that.”

“Thunder?” she shouted, stepping forward. Because I was so much taller, her chin lifted higher, but she didn’t back down.

Oh, I like that.

From the corner of my vision, I noted curious eyes peeking from behind the high backs of the chairs, staring directly at us and soaking up our interaction.

I scoffed and settled on my heels. “Yeah.” I gestured toward her small frame. “You’ve got this whole storm-cloud vibe happening. It’s cute.”

When my gaze floated over her face, I licked my lip.

“Cute?” Fire danced in MJ’s eyes. “You are absolutely unreal. Do you know that? First you skulk around an assisted-living facility— after hours , let me remind you—then you have the balls to insinuate that I’m a—a—a lady of the night!”

I was suddenly tickled by her account of what had happened tonight.

“You been thinking about my balls, Thunder?” Goading her was probably a mistake, but my grandfather’s sense of humor was something I came by honestly. I shifted my stance as a few giggles tittered through the crowd of curious onlookers.

MJ threw her hands in the air with a frustrated growl. “You think this is funny?”

“Not funny. Amusing. There’s a difference.” I sighed. “I came to apologize.” My voice was thick, but I hoped it sounded as sincere as I’d intended.

It was enough to stop MJ mid-rant. Her mouth hung open for a second before she snapped it shut.

Seizing the opportunity, I continued: “I had just gotten into town and wanted to say hello to my grandfather. The girl at the front desk said a quick visit wouldn’t be a problem.”

Her hazel eyes gazed up at me, and I stepped forward, drawn into her space. “Safe to say I was surprised to see a woman who looks like you having a candlelit dinner with my eighty-six-year-old grandfather.”

MJ’s fists clenched again, but the fire in her eyes had dimmed to a low smolder.

“You said your piece then.” An older woman stepped beside MJ, placing a supportive hand between her shoulder blades. “You’ve disrupted our evening enough. Good night.”

I looked around, and a sea of wide eyeballs were staring at us.

My grin widened as I raised my hand. “Hi.” I chuckled and shook my head. The night could not have been more of a disaster. “Bye.”

A few of the women waved back, stunned into a disbelieving stupor.

Before I walked out the front door of the bookstore, something stopped me. I looked back at MJ, who was still as pissed off as ever. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Thunder.”

MJ rolled her eyes with a huff and turned her back to me, walking straight toward her book club friends. “I need a drink.”

You and me both, lady.

Amused, I made my way back to my apartment but couldn’t shake the image of the pink in MJ’s cheeks and the fire in her eyes. That tiny little spitfire was a lot less like a thundercloud and more like a tsunami.

I dropped my keys on the entryway table and plopped myself onto the couch with a huff. My temporary apartment was a few miles from Outtatowner, nestled between it and Star Harbor, another tourist town up the coast. As a kid from a no-name town in Michigan, when my star rose quickly in high school, my mom eagerly followed her only kid around the country. In fact, she and I had moved so much, it was hard to consider anywhere home. Somewhere along the line Mom had gotten tired of all the moving and settled back into our hometown.

I looked around the quiet, lonely apartment.

Just as good a place as any, I guess.

Fuck, I wanted a beer, but the image of my coach frowning popped into my mind. Only a few weeks off our recently successful Olympic run and I was still carrying around his voice in my head.

Apparently, even a gold medal didn’t earn you a break.

A few of my teammates planned to keep up with their training in the World Rugby Sevens—international tournaments used to promote the sport. I’d had every intention to play, but one nasty concussion and a tweaked knee had pulled the plug on that plan. I needed the fall months to focus on a full recovery so I was prepared to show up in February at peak performance.

At thirty-four, I was already hearing the whispers—too old, too broken. Another bad injury and I’d be watching matches from the stands.

I needed focus. Recovery. Quiet.

Instead, I’d gotten thunder in stilettos, glaring at me like I was the worst thing to ever happen to her. And the part that irritated me most? I couldn’t get her out of my head.

All I needed was to focus—any slip could mean losing everything I’d worked for.

Spending the fall and winter in Michigan with my grandfather and playing in a handful of exhibition games would be my life for the next few months until the real season started back up in the spring.

I stared at the clock as a minute, then two, ticked by.

“Fuck it.” I pulled myself up from the couch and padded to the kitchen. When I yanked open the fridge, I made a mental note to head to the grocery store—wilted lettuce and a dozen eggs weren’t going to cut it. I pulled a beer from the untouched six-pack and popped the cap.

With a deep pull and audible exhale, I closed my eyes.

Immediately the image of MJ flashed in my mind. She hovered above me, eyes glazed, mouth lax. Her lush lips taunted me as she looked down at me, her hands bracing her weight on my shoulders.

Damn, that’s good.

I’m pretty sure I was referencing the beer and not the feisty brunette who was haunting my thoughts, but based on the way my dick was joining the conversation, I wasn’t so sure.

I scraped a hand over my face.

I need a shave ... and a life. Goddamn, dude.

Fantasizing about a woman I’d just met—a woman who hated me, nonetheless—was new.

What was it about her that I couldn’t get past? In a few more chugs, I finished the beer and dropped the bottle in the recycling bin.

I could always find out tomorrow ...