“My ex is definitely the ex. She’s out of the house and already with someone else. And that’s why it ended.” He heaves a sigh. “Sorry, was I not supposed to say that? Is that too much? I haven’t gone on a lot of dates.”
I laugh, then reach a hand across the table and set it on his. “I’m fine with that, and I think at this point in my life—I’m thirty-two—”
“Same.”
“—that I’d rather just be direct. I’m divorced too. He was jealous of anything I did without him, and he said that’s why he cheated.” I give a WTF shrug. “He’s with her now.”
“Mine said if I’d been home at five instead of seven, everything would have been different,” he says, sharing the what-the-fuckery. Logan lifts his glass again. “Their losses.”
I clink once more. “Our gains.” I lift the glass, then stop midair. “Actually, let’s drink to kismet.”
His smile is wildly sexy as he says, “I will definitely drink to that.”
6LOGAN
This is . . . refreshing.
Though “refreshing” isn’t quite the right word.
Refreshing is a drink of water after a hard run.
A healthy salad after a few days of pizza.
This date is not a salad.
But it is refreshing as hell to talk to a woman like Bryn.
She’s sexy and direct. She’s flirty and bold. And most of all, she seems honest.
Or honest enough for a night or two of fun.
And that works for me, since I’m not looking for more. Honesty, though, is a prerequisite. Without it, I’m outta there.
The guy on the piano taps out a crooner tune. As the notes wrap around us, Bryn and I chat about music. She tells me she loves pop, from Greyson Chance to 5 Seconds of Summer, and I tell her I dig old standards like Gin Joint plays. Still, I admit that I’m also that wannabe hip guy who loves to find obscure new bands on Spotify that no one has heard of, like Daredevil Pigeons Circle My Sidewalk.
“And their names must be intensely weird and make little sense, clearly,” Bryn says darkly.
“Of course. That’s a given. Also, on this channel, there are no band names fewer than five words long permitted. Though, in all fairness, I did listen to a new punk band called The Incident and Accident, and that was four words. But I was so irritated over the lack of a ‘the’ before ‘Accident’ that I turned it off.”
“It really would have sounded better with a ‘the.’ It needed symmetry. I support your decision to tune it out.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re in the same camp,” I say with a laugh.
We talk about the city next, and the best drinks in Manhattan, till the server brings us another round.
After we toast again, I ask Bryn something I’ve been curious about. “So, the lunch box thing. What’s that all about?”
“I like kitsch . . .”
Her sentence comes out unfinished. Is there more to it?
I push a little bit, eager to understand her. “Any reason?”
“Ah, but isn’t there always a reason?” She doesn’t continue the thought, and something about the set of her shoulders tells me that we might be treading on ground she doesn’t want to walk across right now.
Fine by me. I back off. “Listen, let’s not make this hard. Let’s just have fun. We don’t have to talk about it.”
She smiles softly. “It was my mom’s thing. Vintage kitsch. That’s why I like it. She had a lot of retro stuff, and we used to visit garage sales and pick things out together.”
We used to.
That tells me something about her mom, but maybe something Bryn doesn’t want to share in any more detail. “It’s a connection to her, then,” I say, keeping it simple.
“Yes, it is. Were you worried that it might mean I had a little-girl complex?” She asks it a bit coy and flirty.
“Now that you mention that,” I say, scratching my jaw as if I’m just considering this possibility, “I am glad you didn’t skip in here sporting pigtails.”
“And licking a big rainbow lollipop while using my lunch box as my purse,” she says in a singsong tone.
“Nothing against pigtails and lollipops.” I let my eyes travel up and down her frame. “But I like the grown-up Bryn look.” Since we aren’t mincing words, I go for the full truth, making a circle in the air around her. “I am digging the whole sexy vibe you have going on. The way you dress. The way you flirt. It’s all working.”
She dips her face, then whispers an incredibly sexy thank you. “Same to you, Logan.”
Lust sparks across my skin. I lift a hand and reach toward her hair, fingering the soft chestnut strands. “And I like the way your hair falls over your shoulder.”
Shuddering, she lets her gaze drift to my hair. “I like the way yours invites my fingers to run through it.”
Holy fuck.
