Page 49 of The Player Next Door

“I’m really not. I was a Band groupie.”

“Being a groupie for a band can be cool though,” he argued.

She laughed, kicking her legs out as she soared away from him. “No, notaband. Band-band. Like, Marching Band.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yes. I wasn’t in it, but all my friends were, so I went to like, sporting events and stuff to support them. Hence, Band groupie.”

“Yeah, okay, never mind. You were a whole ass dork.”

“See? Told you.” She laughed, and let him push her for a while. “I’m happy you invited me,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence. “It’s nice here. Not quite what I expected, but nice.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I didn’t peg you for a farm boy.”

“I’m not a farm boy,” he protested.

“You’re a lot closer to one than not,” she argued.

On her next backswing he shot one arm out to catch her around the waist and the other to grab the chain, holding her still against his chest. Slowly, she lowered her feet to the ground and craned her neck to look at him. “Still think I’m a farm boy?” he asked in a low voice.

Clare’s eyes darted between his lips and his eyes. The sky opened up and the rain came down in sheets, drenching them both, but neither moved a muscle. “I shouldn’t,” she murmured, and there it was again. Logan wasn’t the right type of guy for her, and they both knew it.

But she made no move to shift out of his arms. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, heart thundering.

“No,” she breathed, raindrops clinging to her eyelashes. “I want—I want you to kiss me.” Logan grinned and leaned forward to capture her lips in what he intended to be a quick kiss. But the moment their lips met, Logan knew he was lost.

He let go of the swing to cradle the back of her head, keeping her close even as she gradually turned in his arms to face him. The swing stayed trapped between their shins, her mouth welcoming his tongue, her hands sliding into his now-wet hair. She tipped her head to the side, deepening the kiss, and a soft noise that might have been a moan escaped her when he pulled back to take her face in his hands.

Logan’s heart was racing. It had never done that before; not for a first kiss, anyway. And it wasn’t even a first kiss for them, not really, but god, it felt like one. His limbs were trembling, and the world had been reduced to just her, the warmth of her skin under his palms and the taste of her mouth on his lips. The rain was probably soaking through to his skin, but he may as well have been standing in the middle of a wildfire, for all he noticed.

He could have kissed her for ever, rain be damned, but all too soon she lowered herself to her heels and looked up at the clouds. Her hands were fisted in his shirt and she showed no signs of letting go. “Your dad will be wondering why we haven’t come in,” she said, and if there was a way to draw her voice, all raspy and wrecked, he would. He loved how it made him feel, soft and hopeful and happy, and when she smiled, he forgot the sun wasn’t shining.

“You’re right,” he admitted reluctantly. He held out his hand and she took it, and together they sprinted through the downpour back to the house, laughing the entire time.

Chapter Twenty-five

Clare’s RideShare driver pulled up in front of Aunt Peggy’s large, South Minneapolis home and Clare got out, her aunt’s favorite raspberry tarts in tow. Clare wasn’t watching Kiki this weekend, but sometimes she and Aunt Peg had Sunday dinners together, just because.

Peggy opened the door as she came up the walk, keeping Kiki from bolting outside with her leg—Kiki couldn’t be trusted with unlimited freedom—and Clare followed Peggy into the living room. She could smell the hot dish in the oven and her stomach growled. “The rose bushes out front look great,” she observed, settling onto the large, cream-colored sectional.

“For how much I baby them, they better. Did you have a good weekend?”

Clare tried to hide her blush to no avail. “I did, yeah,” she said as neutrally as possible.

Peggy wasn’t fooled. “I see,” she said mildly, and let Kiki jump into her lap for ear-scritches. “Logan?”

“Yeah,” Clare admitted. “He’s not what I expected.”

“He’s not what I would have expected for you, either,” Peggy said. “How did you two meet?”

“We’re neighbors,” Clare said vaguely. “We’d seen each other around.”

Peggy nodded slowly, clearly contemplating her words. “I’ll admit, I don’t know what you two might even have in common.”

“Not much,” Clare admitted. “But I think that’s the fun of it.”