Page 21

Chapter 21

Evie

It's the end of the work day and I'm itching to leave. I want to run home, take a bath, lick my wounds, and forget that Logan remembers we had sex. That he's known this whole time.

I never forgot about you.

Fuck.

One minute. I can afford one minute to collapse before I go home.

I'm at my desk. I place both elbows on the wooden surface, rest my head in my hands, and groan. My screen is still on, the window with the email I sent Logan still open. He's going to hate it but, as long as he doesn't ignore it, I can live with it.

I got invited to the team's holiday gala. Things are going so well with the Logan project, the boss wants to maximize on the success and have it be the strongest first year a Strike quarterback has ever had. Selena wants me to push harder, and the fundraising party is part of that. But attending the gala will require a new dress and new shoes I can't afford, and possibly having to spend money on an auction and related donations .

In my world, that's a crisis. That's why I ran to Logan after the call with Selena and his agent. I needed his help.

Silly me, honestly. Reason number one hundred and three why I don't get close to people. It makes me believe I could ask for help and it wouldn't get me in trouble. Thinking I could rely on him threw a bomb between us instead. Now my one night with Logan is out between us, and handling whatever comes next is an extra thing on my plate.

"Seriously? All I get is an email?"

I jump in my chair. Logan stands at my door. I keep it ajar in between meetings, according to the organization's open door policy for us mid-level folk. He only had to push it with a finger to see me slumped over my desk.

I purse my lips. "All you need to know is written there."

"It's written in point form." His voice makes it an accusation.

"And broken down into a minimal outline to keep things clear and concise."

"Oh, I noticed." He comes into the room and stands right in the middle of my office, in all his height and wide shoulders. "One heading reads 'facts'. The other says, 'tasks'. You highlighted 'I'm not going to the gala' in orange. It's underlined ."

I turn off my computer and stand. He tracks me from his place, dark gray eyes fixed on my movements.

My purse hangs from the back of my chair and I grab it. "All I need is a good reason to decline the invitation. Whoever has an idea first can email the other. My only request is that we coordinate the story, so they don't decide I'm not doing my part in the project."

I round my desk and make for the door, but Logan doesn't move. To go past him, I'd have to squeeze through the small space behind him. I'm too proud to do that.

"I'm going home now, if you don't mind," I say.

He scrutinizes me with those shark eyes of his as he steps to the side. "Is this because we've had sex?"

"Logan! "

"You send me a curt email. Refuse to go to the gala with me, even though Selena and my agent would love to see it happen. What's next? No more dates? Just because I know you have a tattoo? I know we had incredible chemistry together, but I didn't expect that giving me a few hours in a college dorm would change everything between us six years later."

"That's not— I just—" I cut myself off. "Fuck."

I close the door and lean back on it. Logan faces me, one of his epic frowns in place and his arms crossed.

"That's only part of it." I clench my jaw. "You didn't tell me you remembered!"

"You didn't either, Evie." He takes a step closer. "Neither of us lied. This wasn't miscommunication, if we both chose to say nothing. But it also means we both did this, so how am I the bad guy here?"

I hate that he's right.

"Will you ever, just once," I say, "fall for one of my distraction techniques?"

"Why do you need distraction techniques? Jesus, Evie. Tell me the truth. I know you're angry, but why?"

"I try not to lie. Distraction is all I have left when I don't want to answer, in an industry of pleasantries and networking."

"You're doing it again. You're answering that question so I forget the second."

I purse my lips. He pins me with the intensity of his eyes. I want to look away, hide from his inspection, but I don't. My hands are at my back, and I dig my nails into the door. They don't go far.

He takes another step towards me. "Why are you angry, Evie?"

We're close. His arms are an inch away from my breasts, and my nipples harden like they want to reach for his warmth. My body is a traitor, much more concerned with how this moment echoes that time at the bar, when he sauntered to me and told me we should test our chemistry before leaving the place together.

I could ask him now if he remembers like I do. If there are nights when he thinks of it and wonders what it would take to feel like that again .

My lungs work fast. Our eyes remain locked, and he's looking into mine with that lie-detector energy.

"Tell me," he says.

It's that voice that breaks my defenses. It's a request, the kind that pains him to ask for.

"I'm angry…" I gulp. "I'm angry because I'm scared."

His frown deepens. His eyes shift between mine, thoughts running through his mind. I let him study me, but I don't say anything else.

Eventually, his features relax. A notch still marks his brow, but it's not the killer frown he had until thirty seconds ago. My heart mirrors him, and it slows down, too.

A corner of his lips curls up. "Let me help you, Mystery Girl."

"What?"

He uncrosses his arms. One hand goes into his joggers' pocket. The other comes to me.

He tips my chin up with a finger. "Mystery Girl. That's what I called you in my head for years. You're still a mystery to me, Evie. One I want to unravel. Until then… the least I can do is prove you can rely on me."

"What if that scares me, too?"

My voice comes out thin. His thumb makes a pass over the curve of my jaw.

"Then I'll move real slow," he says.

We're walking out of the building together, on the way to the parking lot. I'm still a bit shaken from his declaration, and my stomach clenches in a mix of hunger and nerves.

"We need to talk," he says. "Let's go out for dinner tonight."

He wants me to trust him. I'm not sure yet I can do that, but we do need to talk .

I wear my jacket. The hoodie he let me borrow hangs from his arm.

"I don't know if that's a good idea." I stop with him, next to which I assume is his car. "People figured out my name on social media. It's one of the things I'm worried about."

"If they know your name, more content can't make it worse, right?"

"This is precisely why we need to talk. There's a lot to unpack, Logan."

He purses his lips. "All right. Come to my place, then. We'll order something. Talk in private."

I bite the inside of my cheek. I'm not sure that's better.

"Mystery Girl." His eyes twinkle with suppressed humor. "You're safe. I'm not going to jump you— unless you ask me to."

I tsk. "Don't call me that in public!"

"Only in private, then?" He chuckles. It's a good sound.

"Stop. I don't think we need to go anywhere. We can make it a quick chat."

He gives me a long suffering sigh. "Fine. At least it's not raining anymore."

We make it to my car, and he leans on my door. It's a modest, older silver sedan, and he makes no mention of it, despite being surrounded by sleek models and fashionable SUVs made to look like tanks.

I step closer, only to make the conversation a bit easier. With him resting on the metal door, I don't have to look up too high.

"So what did Selena and my agent say, exactly?" he asks.

"They're ecstatic with everything we're doing. That the fans and the press are obsessed with you, with the team. New fans are coming in, your agent is getting more inquiries for sponsorships— all the fun stuff."

His brows quirk. It's good news, and he doesn't understand my fears.

"Selena is excited," I add. "She said that the mix of great interviews with the TV crew, strong social media presence, and your social appearances outside of the weekly team responsibilities, are headlining the kind of season she wanted for you. That if I kept it up, she could see me getting everything I wanted."

"Evie— how is this a problem? "

"They said they want to support our efforts. That's why they're inviting me to the gala. I reminded them you and I are not dating, and they reassured me that they don't have an opinion on that either way. That they only want to give us more opportunities to keep doing what we're doing."

"I like to think I'm a smart man, but you're going to have to explain this further. Isn't this all you wanted?"

I shift on my feet, and pull my jacket closed a bit more. It's a cold December evening, and the breeze needles deep into my bones.

Logan isn't putting it all together. I might have to explain, using all my words, and opening up my chest in the process.

I bite my cheek again. He studies me as usual. I stay silent a bit longer. With no words, he offers me his hoodie again.

I shake my head, but the gesture helps.

"One thing is that my friends are giving me a hard time," I say. "They swear there's something between us."

"Do they know…?" He leaves the question hanging, but points between us with a long, straight index finger.

"No." I snort-chuckle. "No. But that's easier to handle than the fact my parents are asking about it. With them it's a lot more complicated than that."

I don't want him to ask about that, so I jump to add more. It's all the truth, so I hope he doesn't ask me more tonight.

At least, even if the next part is the hardest, he already knows about it to some degree.

"It's a lot for me, and we're only adding by spending more time together outside, especially something beyond casual outings. The worst part is the gala in ten days."

I have to say it. I need him to understand. It still stings.

It's one of those times when he knows to keep silent, because he'll get more out of me that way. I don't know how or when he learned this trick, but it works. He's good at reading me, and it's something I don't really enjoy, but I can live with for once.

I sigh. "I can't afford to go to the gala."

The wrinkles between his brows intensify. It's all I need to know he wants more.

Maybe I'm good at reading him, too. It's a small relief.

"You know I live on a tight budget." I suck on my bottom lip. "Where do I find a dress like that? With such short notice? Worst of all, how do I pay for it? And since I work for the Strike, will they expect me to participate in the auctions at the charity event?"

He stands, bringing him closer to me. His serious, focused frown is in place, and he goes as far as to open his mouth to tell me something I'm sure I don't want to hear.

"Logan— don't. Don't offer to pay."

He closes his mouth at first. His eyes narrow.

Eventually he finds the words and gives them to me in a monotone voice. "I won't offer, but you have to know I'm thinking about it."

"I knew you would, but I can't accept it."

"Why on earth not?"

"Can we just— not go there tonight? Please."

"You still plan to hold back?"

"Of course."

"Mhh. What did you call me once? Stubborn?"

"Takes one to know one, I guess."

I don't know what else to say, but I don't need to hunt for the right words. He puts his finger on my chin again, and he aligns my face to him.

I stop breathing.

"The conversation isn't over, Miss Moreno." His eyes drop to my lips.

"Let's see if you still feel that way when I start asking you a thousand questions back. I'm not the only one who holds themselves back. "

He releases me, steals my keys from my hand, and opens my door for me.

He raises an eyebrow my way. "Maybe I will like it more than you think."

I like it when you bite back.

I chew on my bottom lip, to stop myself from saying anything else that could get me in more trouble than I am.

I climb onto the driver seat. He leans down into the space, the open door protecting him from the breeze.

He offers me my keys. "Do with that what you will, Evie. Good night."

He closes the door, I turn on the car, and drive away with my heart beating from somewhere behind my clavicles.

He stands there until I can't see him anymore.

I'm still thinking of the past few hours, when I get a call from my parents that derails every plan.