Page 86 of The Player Next Door
She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down, his jaw clench and unclench. It was her turn to be brave. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she said. “I screwed up.”
“I did too,” he admitted. “I was feeling guilty and weird about everything, and I lashed out, I guess. And then in the elevator—I thought I could get you out of my system. I was wrong.”
“I still miss you,” she confessed. “I had to close my shades to keep from looking at you.”
“And here I thought it was to keep from having to see me,” Logan said.
“That too. But mostly it was because it hurt to even think about you.” Clare took a tentative step forward. “I should have fought for you, too,” she said, brushing the back of her knuckles against his hand. “I gave up too soon.”
Logan caught her fingers. “I shouldn’t have made fighting necessary,” he said, and brought her fingers to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. “I really fucked up.”
“Me too. Does that make us even?”
Logan smiled weakly, trapping her hand against his cheek. “I still don’t really know how to do a relationship. And I think you deserve better than having to teach me.”
“How about you let me decide what I deserve?” she said, curling her fingers under his chin and lifting his face to look at her.
She was rarely in this position, standing above him like he usually loomed above her. Clare leaned down slowly, giving him time to back away, and when he didn’t, she pressed her lips against his in a gentle, quiet kiss. Logan blinked, a tear falling down his cheek, and took her face in his hands, pulling her down onto his lap so he could kiss her again.
It was perfect. There was no other word for kissing Logan, because it felt right and good and warm and wonderful andperfect. Clare couldn’t believe she had tried to convince herself she could move on, because there wasn’t anyone out there who compared to the man kissing her right now.
She pulled back, rubbing her thumb against his cheek. “I love you, Logan Walsh,” she murmured.
Logan smiled, that broad, sparkling smile that made her knees feel weak and her stomach all fluttery, and rested his forehead on hers. “I love you more, Clare Thompson.”
“It’s not a competition,” she protested.
“I still win, though.”
Clare’s laugh died in her throat as he pulled her against him and kissed her again. Behind them, the sun sank down to the horizon, painting the Minneapolis skyline in a soft shade of gold.
Epilogue
Logan looked down at his sketchpad and frowned, erasing his last little bit of work and starting over. Frodo, Clare’s obscenely large rescue mutt, sniffed at his leg and let him scratch his head absently. Hands still gave Logan trouble, so maybe the Amethyst Queen would be conveniently standing behind a cluster of Elfborn instead.
Clare and her friends had finally wrapped up their two-year-long campaign last week, and he wanted to draw them something to commemorate it. Their band of adventurers had soundly defeated the Dragon Army, saving Sulzuris from certain destruction. Vaildra had discovered a plot by the Crown Prince to betray Sulzuris to the Dragon King in exchange for sparing his own life, but the orcling Krysis, otherwise known as Chase, had assassinated the prince before he could go through with it.
Logan had drawn Krysis up in the left corner, holding a bloody knife in triumph, while Vaildra was down in the lower right, her black robes swirling with what Logan hoped looked like mystery and intrigue. Logan had put Yaen close to the middle, in an old-fashioned clinch with Ildash reminiscent of the romance novels he used to look at in the grocery store. Ildash had fully redeemed himself, nearly dying in the process. He was saved at the last minute thanks to some quick thinking by Degar, who was standing to the left of the Amethyst Queen, his foot on top of a severed dragon head.
Drawing this tableau required a lot more blood and guts than Logan was used to, but he liked the challenge. He’d even included Keith the Ogre, tucked in behind the defeated Dragon Army. Logan had played just a handful of times in the last six months, and while he enjoyed himself immensely, he had quickly found that three hours every weekend was more pretending than he could commit to, so much like Krysis, Keith was now just a recurring player.
Clare came up behind him and leaned down, wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder. A year ago, just the thought of someone seeing him in the process of drawing would have made him flinch, but now he just rested his hand lightly on her forearm.
“What do you think?” he asked, as she pressed their temples together. Clare smelled like sugar and raspberries today, and he let her scent ground him as she scanned the sketch.
“I love it,” she said, pausing before choosing her words carefully. “And I know it would be hard to do, since she’s the Game Master and not really a character, but—”
“That’s Devi,” Logan interrupted, pointing to the mountain range that loomed up on the right side. “She’s always given me a lavender vibe, and the mountain range is imposing but critical to your victory, just like her.”
“Degar wouldn’t have been able to hide the rebels without the mountain passes,” Clare agreed. She kissed his cheek and Logan set down his sketch pad, tugging her around the chair to pull her into his lap. “I have to get the tarts out of the oven,” Clare protested half-heartedly.
“How long ago did you put them in?” Logan asked, brushing his nose against hers.
“Five minutes,” she admitted, and twisted to look at the timer on his oven. “Make that seven.”
“Then we’ve got plenty of time,” Logan said, dropping his voice into the register he knew she couldn’t resist.
True to form, Clare squirmed on his lap. “Ten minutes is notplenty of time,” she argued, even as he kissed the side of her neck. “And if I burn the tarts I’m making for your friends and the stupid game—”