Page 20 of Keeping Kasey (Love and Blood #3)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kasey

Kane runs back to me, and I take the faded tennis ball from his mouth to throw it again. He runs after it at full speed, taking advantage of the vast, perfectly manicured lawn. I’m starting to worry he’ll resent me when we go back to apartment life, with shared lawns and leashed walks.

And if he doesn’t resent me for that, he certainly won’t forgive me for taking him from James—his new favorite person.

The bond those two have formed is the strangest thing to happen since I moved into the manor—which is saying a lot.

I thought James was kidding when he texted me that Kane wouldn’t stop following him around.

It was only when I got to the manor and found Kane on the underboss’s bed that I realized he was serious.

“I hope you’re in a better mood today. Otherwise, I’m quitting,” Damon calls from the back porch.

I glare over my shoulder at him, even though a small part of me knows he’s justified.

I wasn’t the nicest travel companion.

“If you could quit, you would’ve by now. You’re stuck with me.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to put up with your irritable ass just because you don’t sleep well.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

He pulls up his sleeve to show off a barely noticeable bruise on his arm. “You punched me.”

“You wouldn’t stop talking.”

“That’s what it was?” he asks with a subtle, knowing grin. “Huh. I could’ve sworn it was because I said—”

“If you repeat it, I’ll tell Logan you were drinking in Dallas.”

He narrows his eyes. “Low blow, Goldie.”

I hardly agree, since his statement was a crude implication that I’m easier to be around after spending time with Logan.

It doesn’t matter whether or not he’s right. It was unnecessary to say.

Leaving early on Wednesday meant that I went two days without seeing Logan. I hadn’t thought going so long without him would affect me—distance never has before—but my irritation was incurable.

I’m not the easiest person to get along with on a good day, but I flat-out made enemies with the capos of the Houston base.

My agitation translated into restless sleep the entire trip, and the only thing that got me through traveling yesterday was the thought that I’d be able to take out my frustration on Logan once I got back to the manor.

But he didn’t show up.

The embarrassment I still feel over assuming Logan would come to my room last night is ludicrous. What’s even worse is that I know I would’ve gone to find him if I hadn’t fallen asleep—still fully clothed with my half-packed suitcase next to me on the bed.

Logan didn’t feel the same way.

It’s been years since I held anyone in a high enough regard to be hurt by rejection, and I’m reminded why I hate people in the first place.

They’re unpredictable, unreliable, and not worth my energy.

Still, I actually like Damon, and it isn’t in my best interests to turn him against me because of my… arrangement with his brother.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I say as I climb the porch stairs to stand by Damon. “I didn’t realize you were so sensitive. I’ll try not to hurt your feelings next time.”

“You’re insufferable,” he says with an eye roll.

I blow him a kiss and call for Kane to follow me inside.

“We’re leaving in ten.”

“We’re staying in today,” Damon says, and I faintly hear the back door close behind him.

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care.”

I turn midway down the hall and find him with his arms crossed over his broad chest—bracing for my argument.

These Consolis are quick learners.

“I want to check on the security system and make sure everything is running as it should before I continue to install it in each base.”

“You’re not confident in your work?”

“Thoroughness is half of expertise,” I say with a shrug.

Damon’s eyes take on a taunting edge. “Why didn’t you tell Logan you needed to go in today?”

“Because I don’t talk to Logan.” I turn on my heels and go to my room without giving him another second of my attention.

Even as he mutters, “Sounds like you need to do more than talk to him.”

The understanding that Damon and I have established since working together falls back into place by the time we pull into the base garage, and I’m glad for it. I don’t do the whole friend thing, but I could see myself considering the concept with someone like Damon.

He’s a light-hearted smartass and someone I find myself relaxing around.

We stop at the base’s kitchen to have one of the soldiers prepare two cups of coffee before making our way to Ford’s office.

When Damon takes his to-go cup, he doesn’t bother blowing on it or taking small sips—he chugs half the cup in one swig.

“You realize you’re not at a frat house, right? You can drink it like a normal person.”

“Self-medication,” he says. “It’s my go-to when I can’t have the drinks I actually want—which is often, since I spend most of my time with you. Plus, the caffeine is a nice kick that takes the edge off.”

“That doesn’t sound like the kind of mindset someone in recovery should have.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Until you’ve spent half your life as an addict, you don’t get to judge my guilty pleasures.”

“Fair enough,” I grant as we walk toward Ford’s office.

I bring the cup to my lips, but when the smell hits my nose, I lower it again. I’ve never been a coffee drinker—it’s always either too bitter or too sweet. I only took one because I’m so tired, but I doubt I’ll drink it.

“Besides, I have a theory that Logan instructed the kitchen to only give me decaf anyway. My brain just prefers to believe it’s caffeinated.”

“Would it bother you if he did?” I ask.

He doesn’t even think about it before shaking his head, but he doesn’t say anything.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think Logan was the oldest.”

Damon’s expression doesn’t change to reveal any particular reaction, but his lack of reaction is telling in itself. Whether it’s indicative of frustration or gratitude for his brother, I can’t decipher.

I get the feeling he’s not in the mood to share.

We round the corner, and I run into a broad body.

The crash sends me back a few feet, but not before covering me and the other person in coffee. It must not have come straight from a fresh pot because—thankfully—it’s only warm and not hot enough to burn.

I curse under my breath, my clothes soiled and clinging uncomfortably to my skin.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the low voice mutters, and I hate that my heart flips in my chest.

Logan’s suit is ruined just as much as my clothes, but that’s the only thing about him that isn’t pristine.

He trimmed his stubble while I was gone, and the neat cut emphasizes his sharp jawline.

His hair is styled to its usual perfection, and I catch a whiff of his scent—which is somehow even better mixed with coffee.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in a scolding tone that snaps me back to reality.

The accusatory question bothers me more than I care to admit. I was actually excited to see him, but obviously, he doesn’t feel the same.

I shouldn’t be surprised. If he wanted to see me, he would’ve last night.

I match his glare the same way I always do. “Checking the security system. What’s your problem?”

“I didn’t have a problem before you ruined my suit.”

“You’re telling me you don’t have two extras in your office?”

“Three,” Damon says through a cough.

“I’m the one without a change of clothes,” I finish.

Logan looks exasperated when he regards his brother, like somehow this is Damon’s fault. “Get her a change of clothes. I’ll stay with her until you’re back.”

“I don’t need a babysitter to sit in Ford’s office.”

Logan looks down. “If you ask me, you still need a sippy cup.”

“You’re just as much to blame for this.”

“And how the—”

“Yeah,” Damon says, cutting in with a bored expression. “I’m leaving. I’ll be back in an hour.”

He walks in the direction of the garage.

“Sweatpants and a crop top,” I call after him.

“Jeans and a T-shirt,” Logan corrects, but Damon only waves us off as he goes.

“You don’t get to dictate what I wear,” I tell him.

His eyes scan my attire, stopping where the tank top clings to my chest, even more now that it’s wet. After a deep sigh, he shrugs his stained jacket off and drapes it over my shoulders.

“It’s wet,” I protest, trying to push it away.

“Your shirt is practically see-through,” he says through gritted teeth.

His words aren’t gentle by any means, but the protective sentiment isn’t lost on me. After a stare-off that lasts several seconds, I accept the jacket.

Logan pulls out his phone. “What kind of coffee was it? I’ll have Caleb bring you a new one.”

“Don’t bother,” I tell him, and we start in the direction of his office. “I don’t even like coffee.”

He lifts an eyebrow.

“I don’t like the taste,” I explain. “I only drink it when I’m exhausted.”

“You realize there are a million other drinks that have caffeine, right?”

“Not in the kitchen. I took what I had to.”

“And here I thought you got plenty of rest,” he mutters as he types out a message, then shoves his phone into his pocket.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The slightest twitch in his features is the only hint that he might regret the words. He doesn’t say anything.

“Did you come to my room last night?” I ask, and I’m careful to keep condescension from my tone. For once, I don’t want Logan to feel attacked.

I’m sure the softness of my voice is what gives him pause. He sees it as the white flag that it is.

We reach the door of his office, but he doesn’t open it. He scans me with an expression that I can’t read, and I wish I could.

Because there’s a silly part of me that hopes he did come to my room last night.

That I wasn’t the only one who felt the effects of being apart.

That he missed me.

“Something came up yesterday that kept me here,” he says in no particular tone. “I’d planned on being home earlier.”

It’s not a confession, but it’s not a denial, either.

It’s just enough for me to offer a bit of honesty myself.

I open the door and step into his office. “I didn’t sleep well in Texas—I fell asleep halfway through unpacking last night.”

He doesn’t follow me right away, and I can’t bring myself to look back at him.

Why is my heart beating so fast?

Several seconds pass before the door closes, and I hear his footsteps.

“Did you sleep better last night?”

“Did you get all your work done?”

In one fast motion, Logan takes my shoulders and spins me around, holding me at arm’s length.

His voice might’ve been all business, but his sharp eyes bore into mine like he can see straight into my soul.

His features are as hard as stone, but there’s something wild trapped just beneath the surface.

“You didn’t wait up for me,” he accuses.

“You didn’t wake me.”

“Work got in the way.”

“So did sleep.”

“You could’ve sent a text.”

“You could’ve called.”

With his hands on my waist, he tugs me into him. Our foreheads press together, and his scent suffocates me. My heart pounds so hard it’s almost painful.

His eyes hold mine, and the raw truth in them is impossible to ignore.

“I went to your room,” he admits.

“I left the door unlocked.”

And then, he’s kissing me.

A feeling I can only describe as relief tingles from my chest and spreads to the tips of my fingers. Logan lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, anchoring my hands behind his neck as he moves us across the room.

When my back hits the wooden desk, I expect Logan to start taking my clothes off, but he doesn’t.

Instead, his lips take mine again, slower this time, like he’s savoring me.

It’s still frenzied—as crazed as the rest—but it’s deeper . It’s like he’s committing my taste and feel to memory, like he can lock it away for when I leave again.

When his lips release mine, it’s only to trail kisses up my jaw, beneath my ear, down my throat, and over my collar. He usually only goes there to leave hickeys, but each kiss is feather-light and sends shudders through me.

I exhale a shaky breath, and Logan pulls back to look at me.

Although I’m not sure look is the right word.

It’s like I’m being burned alive under his gaze, and I relish the flames.

Something happens in that moment—something I have no idea how to put into words.

By the time I get to Ford’s office—in clean clothes, with three different flavors of energy drinks waiting at my desk—a few things become clear.

Logan doesn’t hate me.

I don’t hate Logan.

And this fling is going to be harder to walk away from than either of us anticipated.