Page 24 of The Player Next Door
A thought occurred to her and she turned to her purse, which was less of a purse and more of a medium-sized tote bag that she almost never remembered to clean out. “And here, to show that there are no hard feelings, have this.” She pulled an unopened bottled water out from the bottom. It was a little dented on the top and fairly lukewarm, but Logan was really sweaty. He had to be thirsty.
Logan looked at her bag, frowning in thought. “You just had that? In there?”
“That, probably several hundred receipts, half a dozen tampons, even more receipts, and two bags of dice.”
“Dice?”
“Dice,” she confirmed.
Logan gulped down the water, his throat working hard, and then crumpled it and tossed it into the recycling bin on the other side of the bench without looking. “I’m going to need to see this,” he said, reaching over and plucking her purse off her shoulder before she could do so much as yelp in protest. Affronted at the movement, Kiki jumped to the ground and found a new spot in the shade, her butt pointed toward them both. Logan dug around in her purse until he pulled out a small, velvet pouch the size of his palm. “Is this it? It doesn’t feel like tampons, at least.”
Clare reached for it and he tugged it out of her grasp, holding it just out of her range. She lunged and he pulled it farther away, grinning. She was nearly in his lap, and a man that sweaty really had no business smelling that good. She surrendered and moved back to her side of the bench with what remained of her dignity.
Logan opened the drawstring, peering in interestedly. “Explain.”
“I dunno. I just—I like having them with me. Like Yaen—my character—is a part of me, or something.”
“But you have two bags, you said?”
“One is for when I’m playing Sulzuris as Yaen, and then the other is just all-purpose.”
“Just in case an impromptu role-playing game breaks out?” he asked archly. At their feet, Kiki had gotten up and was sniffing at something that took her to the end of her leash.
“It’s less weird than you think, once you consider it’s literally my job, too.”
Logan conceded the point with a nod. “Looks like Kiki is impatient. I should be getting you two back,” Logan said, replacing the bag into her tote and offering her a hand up.
And against her better judgment, Clare took it.
Chapter Fourteen
If he sat in just the right spot at his kitchen table, Logan could see the Mississippi River past the Hennepin Avenue Bridge. The sunset tonight was gorgeous, staining the sky pink and orange, highlighting the tops of the tall, billowy clouds that piled up out on the prairies. The clouds were a snowy white, no hint of rain, and blue leached from the rest of the sky as the sun sank toward the horizon. His fingers itched in a way they hadn’t in a long time. Aiden had texted again about going out, but Logan was glad he’d passed on it. He wasn’t in the mood for a crowded, noisy bar right now. Right now, he almost—almost—felt like sketching, something he hadn’t done in years. He wasn’t sure if he even had his colored pencils anymore, but was considering digging through his hall closet to see if he’d stashed them there. If they weren’t, maybe they were still at his dad’s. He could always pick them up next time he went home.
A quiet, almost hesitant knock sounded through his apartment. Logan frowned at the door for a minute—no one ever came to his door without having to buzz up first. Even Sam had to wait for him to let her in, although they had worked out a short–short–long buzz code to save time.
Slowly, he unfurled himself from the table and paused, grabbing the paring knife from near the sink just to be safe. He approached the door like it was a rattlesnake, knife loose in his left hand. “Who is it?” he called.
“Who do you think?” Clare’s voice called back, and his stance loosened. He opened the door and her eyes instantly darted to the knife. “Wait, were you going tostabme?”
Sheepishly, he dropped it on the counter as she followed him in. “I couldn’t figure out who it would be. I got freaked out.”
“And naturally, because young white men are prime targets for serial killers, who are also well known for knocking politely, you assumed it was the Golden State Killer?”
“A lot of serial killers get access to their victims by being polite,” he grumbled. Sam knew an absolutely terrifying amount about serial killers, information Logan had now absorbed, mostly against his will.
“Fair enough, but wouldn’t it be more likely to be like, your neighbor dropping off some mail they got accidentally? Or, you know, your neighbor who you slept with two weeks ago?” She asked it all with a curious tilt of her head, a gesture he was rapidly coming to like.
“Is that what happened? You got my mail?”
She looked away, her cheeks pinking up. “Just thought it’d be nice to hang out, or something.”
Interesting.Running into her on the path had been a stroke of luck, and without the haze of alcohol he had managed to return to his usual level of charm. Logan had hoped that would give her enough incentive to want to spend more time together, but she hadn’t reached out at all for nearly a week. He had decided to play it cool, waiting for her to come to him. Given how skittish she had seemed about last weekend being a date, he didn’t want her to feel pressured. Better that it feel like her idea.
And that way, Logan felt a little bit less like a dick. Win–win, and all that. He tilted his head, echoing her earlier posture. “Depends. Are you secretly a serial killer?”
“How many serial killers do you know of who would admit that up front?”
“You already have a shady habit of dognapping. Is it really such a stretch to think you might also be into serial killing? Now that I’m thinking about it, I really should call the cops on you. You’re a menace, Clare Thompson.”