“You’re really blazing through those things, aren’t you?” Sarah watched Logan put a lid on one of the banker’s boxes.
He chuckled. “Little by little, yeah. Especially since I’ve had help.” He nodded toward me, and I smiled.
Diego leaned against his cubicle wall. “How much do you have left?”
“I’m about . . .” Logan’s eyes lost focus. “I think I’ve made it through about twenty this week?” His brow creased like he wasn’t sure if that was the right answer.
Diego whistled. “Wow. Well, you’re moving through them pretty fast, but if you need another set of hands on it, just say so.”
“Will do.” Logan hoisted the box onto his shoulder. “Back in a minute.” He left, and goddamn, I loved the way his shoulders looked when he was carrying something. And those khakis on that ass . . . damn. When my leg was better, so help me God, I was bending him over and—
Diego cleared his throat.
I jerked my gaze away from the empty doorway and turned to my boss, who was shooting me a don’t bullshit me look. A smirk played at his lips. “So, you and Logan?”
It wasn’t like there was any point in denying it, so I nodded. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Seriously?” Sarah said. “Goddamn, that didn’t take you long.”
My face was on fucking fire. Great. My coworkers knew. Our coworkers knew.
Shaking his head, Diego rolled his eyes before turning to walk away. “Just keep it out of the office, all right?”
“So, no more banging him over your desk on the weekends?”
He turned so fast I was surprised his neck didn’t snap.
I gave him my best innocent look, batting my eyes and everything.
“Pendejo,” he muttered, and really walked away this time.
“I’m kidding!” I called after him. Then, lower, “Please. Your desk is way more comfortable for blowjobs than—”
“I heard that!” Diego glared at me.
Sarah smirked again. To me, she said, “And now you know why we kept the door shut even while you were still on crutches.”
“Okay, fair,” I said with a laugh.
“Well, that and because Diego thought it was funny to make you—”
“Don’t you dare throw me under that bus,” he growled. “You’re the one who said the guys in admin were eavesdropping on all our bullshit.”
“And getting offended by it, right?” I asked.
“Pretty much.” She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Snowflakes.”
Diego and I both snorted.
Moments later, Logan returned with another box, and thank God he didn’t seem to have overheard anything. While he was getting situated, Sarah met my gaze and mouthed, Nicely done.
Renewed heat rushed into my face, and I focused intently on my screen. At least that gave me an excuse to keep my back to him so he wouldn’t see how many shades of red I’d turned.
So the cat was out of the bag. Diego and Sarah knew I was banging Logan. Which I supposed I didn’t really mind. I was hardly embarrassed if people knew I was hooking up with him, and it also kind of entertained me to think I was rubbing it in to Sarah that I’d won our bet.
But . . . how would Logan feel about it?
Only one way to find out. And I should probably tell him sooner than later so he wouldn’t hear it from Diego or Sarah. I could just see Sarah strolling over and offering him a Snickers so he’d have energy for tonight, and then shooting me a significant look, and Logan basically dying of embarrassment on the spot.
The thought made me chuckle, but it also made me determined to tell him ASAP that our secret was out. No point in letting the man get blindsided.
“So.” Logan dropped onto the couch next to me. “Pizza or Thai?”
“Mmm, I like that Thai place from the other night.”
He picked up his phone again, but paused. “Before I call, let me see if we need to order sodas or if I have enough.”
He got up to head for the kitchen, and I followed. While he checked the fridge, I pressed my shoulder into the kitchen doorframe. “So, uh, fair warning, but Diego and Sarah know about us.”
Logan’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “They do?”
I chuckled as I nodded. “Don’t ask me how they figured it out.” Because then I’d have to admit they totally busted me groping you with my eyes.
He laughed. “Well, you apparently figured out I was gay after about five minutes, so . . .”
“To be fair, I did admit there was some wishful thinking there.”
“Uh-huh.” He shut the fridge and shot me a look. “Wishful thinking you were willing to back up with fifty bucks.”
“What can I say? I’m an optimist.”
“Or a really bad gambler. One of the two.”
“Hey. Shut up.”
Logan snickered, but his features tightened with concern. “They won’t . . . I mean, it’s okay for us to be, uh, seeing each other, right?”
I shrugged. “Long as it’s not interfering with our job.”
“Which it isn’t.” He paused. “Especially since you’ve been coming in and helping me with the records project.”
“Exactly. Now let’s get something to eat and chill for the night.”
“Sounds good to me.” While he scrolled through his phone, I leaned against the counter. For the first time, I noticed that between his microwave and coffeepot, there was a stack of spiral notebooks. Sketchbooks, actually, judging by the thickness of the paper. “What are those?”
He looked at them, and his posture tensed a tiny bit. I wondered if he thought I’d laugh at them.
“I didn’t know you were artistic,” I added.
“Yeah it’s . . . something I’ve gotten back into this year.”
I gestured at the stack. “May I?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
As I picked up the top sketchbook, Logan casually pulled one—a black-covered book—from the stack and moved it into a drawer. He didn’t comment on it, so I didn’t either.
A moment later, I was too distracted by his drawings to even think about the book he’d put away. He was . . . Holy shit, he was really good. There wasn’t a constant theme to the sketches. One page was a seagull sitting on a wooden railing. The next was, I thought, Anchor Point from one of the hills just outside of town—I recognized some of the rooftops, not to mention the pier and the base. He had sketches of muscle cars, people, buildings, a raccoon chowing down on something in a dumpster. It didn’t matter what he’d drawn—a person, something mechanical, a plant, a landscape. The details were so fine and intricate, it shouldn’t have even been possible with a pencil. The shadows and highlights were mind-blowing. Most of these looked more like black-and-white photos than pencil drawings.
“How the hell do you do this?” I turned to him. “The detail is just . . . Logan, these are amazing.”
He blushed, smiling with a degree of shyness I’d never seen on him before. “A lot of practice.”
“So, do you draw from pictures, or what?”
“I have a photographic memory.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded, and his eyes went a little distant as he said, “It’s a blessing and a curse, believe me.”
I watched him, wondering if he might elaborate. When he didn’t, I decided not to push.
After a moment, he said, “I was really into art when I was a kid, but stopped after I enlisted. When I started cleaning myself up, I decided to pick it up again.” He paused. “It’s, um, therapeutic. In fact, my therapist is the one who told me to do it.”
“Does it help? I mean, does it actually do something for you?”
Logan nodded. His eyes flicked toward the drawer he’d tucked the other book into, and a roll of his shoulders almost hid a shudder. “Yeah, it helps. Sometimes it’s just relaxing. Something to concentrate on so my mind doesn’t wander into things I don’t want to think about. Sometimes it’s . . .” He paused again. “That’s mostly what it is these days—something to keep me busy when my head . . .” He gestured at his temple. “When I start thinking about shit I shouldn’t.”
I hesitated, then asked, “It’s for your PTSD?”
He nodded again. “This is a, um, more constructive outlet than I had before.”
“The drinking?”
Clearing his throat, he lowered his gaze. “Yeah. Should’ve taken up sketching instead of drinking myself stupid. And maybe gotten help a long time ago, and not hurt so many people along the way.”
“Maybe, but you’re on the right track now. That’s what matters. A lot of people never manage to crawl out of that hole.”
He met my eyes with a watery smile, then sighed. “Now it’s just a question of staying out of it.”
“Well, anything I can do to help—”
He kissed me softly, but firmly enough to shut me up. Barely breaking that kiss, he whispered, “I’ve got it. But . . . thank you.” He wrapped his arms around me. “This is all I want from you, to be honest.”
“Making out in your kitchen?”
“Basically.” He chuckled, lips grazing mine. “And cash for Thai food.”
“And sex after dinner.”
“And someone in bed so I don’t have to turn on the heat at night.”
“Aha! I knew it.” I sighed with mock indignation. “You are using me.”
“Absolutely.” He leaned down to kiss my neck. “And you love every second of it.”
I bit my lip as I tilted my head back, and moaned softly as his lips skated along the side of my throat. “Okay, you got me. I love it.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.” His hands slid over my ass. “Think we should wait on ordering food?” He nipped lightly. “Because the driver might get here before we’re done.”
“Dinner can wait.”
“You can’t?”
“Can you?”
“Probably.” He squeezed my ass. “But I sure as shit don’t want to.”