Chapter 8

Brooke didn’t know what to say as the elevator whisked them up to her apartment. It was the middle of a Sunday. In her occasional teenage fantasies of sneaking Logan into her bedroom, it had never been in broad daylight. People in her downtown Bethesda building were still walk-of-shaming it back from late brunch. That, or heading out to the gym to sweat off the Saturday night indulgences.

Nobody brought home a hot guy in the middle of the day. What were the two of them supposed to do in her mostly packed-up apartment, anyway? Protectiveness had made her insist on getting Logan away from his adult frat house. Logic, however, was just coming on shift. And it was using a spear tipped with razor-sharp reason to poke holes in her impetuous invite.

Logic said the more time they spent together, the more complicated everything would get. Logic said she shouldn’t entangle herself in this massive emotional turmoil vortex swirling in the weird triangle formed by Logan, his best friends, and his unknown sister.

Logic’s spear, however, couldn’t get all the way through the thick layer of lust surrounding Brooke’s heart. Well, her heart and…other more pertinent places. She peeked sideways at him. At the exhausted slump of his shoulders. At the swelling over his eye. Then she rocked back on her heels to peek at that amazingly tight ass.

Logic could just sit on the sidelines for a day or so.

“This is weird,” Logan said.

Thank goodness he felt it, too. “Omigosh, I know. Right?”

With a discernible crack, his neck swiveled toward Brooke. “I meant letting someone take care of me. Because I’m a guy. And all grown up. Why is it weird for you?”

“Oh. Um. No, I was just agreeing with you.” Thankfully the doors whooshed open. Brooke hustled out with her suitcase before he could ask her anything more. “I’m down here on the right. Halfway between the elevator and the trash chute.”

“Best seat in the house,” he said dryly.

“Hey, not all of us have butlers to do our dirty work,” she teased. Brooke had been flabbergasted to discover the guys had a butler at their house. Sure, they were pretty much swimming in trust funds. But it seemed weird for people under thirty to have something so Regency and somber-sounding. Even if he had opened the door for their famous Fourth of July party shirtless beneath his Uncle Sam suspenders.

On the other hand, an enormous ex-rectory filled with five men who had demanding careers didn’t run itself. Butler, den mother, executive assistant—whatever the title, they undoubtedly needed help coordinating the groceries, the calendars…and, yes, strategically walking Josh’s hookup du jour down the front stairs while Knox’s second dessert of the evening went up the back stairs.

Logan’s hand gently bumped hers off of the suitcase handle. Geez, even injured, he still insisted on being the gentleman. It wasn’t just impressive. His manners, the tiny attentions he paid Brooke, were as droolworthy as his six-pack abs.

“Jerry isn’t a butler,” he insisted as he effortlessly carried both their bags down the hallway. “He doesn’t stand around in tails and a bow tie. Heck, he was a linebacker before he blew out his knee in his first season of the pros. I don’t even think he could fit into a tux.”

Brooke pulled her keys from her purse. And decided to push Logan on this a little bit more, because his discomfiture with his butler’s job title was adorable. “So what is he? Because he introduced himself to me as the butler last time I was at your house.”

“He’s a guy who was down on his luck. We hired him to clean up our yard, and he ended up staying to clean up our lives. But I hate butler. It’s pretentious as fuck.”

She bit back a gurgle of laughter as she pushed open the door. “What would you prefer?”

“I don’t know. I’m barely there to worry about it. It’s too long to fit on a business card, but Jerry just makes our house work.”

“I sort of think house worker makes him sound like he’s the pimp at a brothel. But maybe I have a dirty mind.”

“Feel free to exercise it around me anytime.” He let out a long, low whistle as he hip-checked the door shut. “Wow.”

Brooke knew his surprise wasn’t at the stacked-three-high packing boxes along the walls. Or at how empty her tabletops and shelves were, due to the aforementioned packed boxes. One thing, and one thing alone, engendered pretty much the same reaction of everyone who stepped foot into her apartment.

“If you were trying to find a polite way to ask if the entire city of Paris threw up in here, don’t bother. I’m well aware.”

Logan set their bags next to the white bookcase with filigreed cutouts. Walked toward the black-and-white-striped curtains that swooped more than the main drop at the Kennedy Center. Or a circus. Ran his hand along the brushed pink velvet of her couch. Gaped at the black lacquer cabinet with a marble top, which looked as if it’d been swiped right off the bar of a bistro. “If you love Paris this much, why’d you vacation in the Caribbean?”

“I don’t. I love my parents this much.”

“Your parents don’t live here with you.”

It was a dead tie as to which of them looked more horrified at the idea. “Nope, this is a one-bedroom. Mom wouldn’t survive a summer without the chance to wale on Dad on their tennis court every night. He went through three different pros last year, and his backhand got worse, if anything.”

Logan pointed at the ornate gilt mirror over the couch. Swept his arm left to include the multitiered crystal chandelier. “Explain.”

“Mom wanted to buy me a house. For my twenty-fifth birthday.”

“Really? Guess I was a chump when I asked for new ski boots. Should’ve set my sights about three-fifty thou higher.”

“She’s not thrilled that I support myself on my teacher’s salary.” Which was the most candy-coated way of describing how her mother complained and moaned and poked and prodded about the state of this apartment at least once a month.

“It is a job underpaid by about a zillion percent. Teenagers are all hormonal and loud and a pain in the ass.”

“Yes, that’s exactly how I remember you back in the day.” They grinned at each other, right back in lockstep like always. “Mom worries that I’m slumming it.”

“In a Bethesda high-rise with a security desk?”

“Yes.” Brooke pointed at the sofa. Logan had to be at the end of his rope, because he sank onto it without either pause or protest. “That I’ll never keep the right friends or attract the perfect man in my ‘drab cell of an apartment.’ ”

“These are sweet digs. Color scheme aside, of course. Your mom’s off her rocker.”

“I think the words you’re skirting are pretentious snob. Which isn’t news. The thing is, I know she means well. I know that deep down Mom truly believes my future happiness is negatively impacted by my twelve-hundred-square-foot abode. So I concentrate on the part where she worries because she loves me. And I ignore the part about how shallow and judgmental she is.”

Logan flung an arm across his forehead. “Lots of people couldn’t segment their feelings like that. Only focus on the good and push aside the bad.”

“Maybe I should give you lessons. To help you deal with your father and his big bad.” Brooke meant the offer as a joke. Too late, she realized what a mistake she’d made bringing up the volatile subject. The whole point of Logan coming here was to relax him, not get him riled again.

To her relief, he snorted in amusement. “Couldn’t hurt.”

Whew. Aside from the whole fistfight-with-Knox episode, Logan was still even-tempered. A man who preferred to float calmly above perceived slights or snits or dramas. Quite the useful talent back in high school—and it would serve him well working his way through the currently messed-up state of his family dynamic.

Brooke toed off her shoes and hurried into the kitchen. Her days often ran late, with cheerleading practice after school, and then chatting with whoever stuck around afterward. Stir-fries were quick and easy to throw together when she got home. Bags of frozen peppers, broccoli, and, yes, peas filled her freezer in readiness. She’d just honestly never planned to grab one to use on a black eye.

Brooke wrapped it in a towel. Grabbed the ibuprofen from the kitchen cabinet and two ginger ales from the fridge. “The bottom line is that Mom cares. I’m glad she cares, even if she has a funny way of showing it. So after I turned down the house, she countered with an offer to decorate my place. It seemed the lesser of two evils. Every birthday, she does another room.”

“All Parisian? Or is there a whole globe-trotting thing going on? Woks on the kitchen walls with a rice paddy painted on the floor? Tower of London in the bedroom?”

“Well, I thought about it, but I got worried their ravens would peck at me in my sleep,” Brooke deadpanned.

Logan high-fived her as she neared the couch. “Nice.” Then he spotted the bottle of ibuprofen in her hand and all but snatched it from her.

“They’re not candy, Logan. No more than four.” She uncapped the soda, knowing full well he’d dry swallow the pills given half a chance. It earned her a glare. But he still glugged back half the bottle to wash them down, so she counted it as a win. “Scoot over.”

She sat in the corner of the couch, and then pulled him over until he lay with his head in her lap and his filthy boots hanging over the opposite arm. Thinking of how her mom’s decorator would absolutely freak out if she saw those boots near the pink velvet made Brooke smile. Okay, maybe it actually felt more like an evil smirk. A promise had already been extracted—with much care taken not to hurt any feelings—from her mother not to have a decorator touch Brooke’s new place in North Carolina.

“Now what?” Logan asked.

Instead of answering, Brooke simply ran her fingertips across the crown of his head in a soft caress. The first pass fluttered his eyes shut. The second one extracted a soft moan of pleasure from him. By the fifth time, as she settled into a pattern, Logan finally let go. The stiffness in his muscles melted, and she could see his body sink lower into the cushions.

“Holy shit, that’s good, Brooke.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Not that keeping up the soothing rhythm was any hardship on her part. Brooke loved the feel of his broad shoulders pushing against her thigh. Loved gliding her fingers through the softness of his thick brown hair. Didn’t mind at all getting to stare down at the sharp planes of his handsome face. Relaxed. Unguarded. Very much the way she remembered him from high school. Without all the adult responsibility hardening his expression.

“Why would anyone ever leave this position?” he murmured.

“Oh, they all find a way,” Brooke said dryly. Not that she minded. All her boyfriends had been nice, at the time, but nothing more than that. There’d been no great love of her life that she still pined after. Although right now the thought of Logan walking back out of her life by the end of the day was a pretty hard pill to swallow.

“Idiots.” He flopped down his arm to curl his warm palm around her calf. “Did you stroke their heads like this? Or have you just discovered this witchcraft?”

Good grief. It wasn’t a move from the lost second volume of the Kama Sutra. “Logan. I’m happy that I can make you feel even a modicum better. But come on—someone must’ve done this for you before.”

“Huh-uh. I’d remember. The same way I remember my first blow job.”

Ooh. The chance to get some dirt…even if it was more than a decade old. “Was it Kate Dochinger? I heard a rumor that she could suck the skin off a kiwi.”

Pursing his lips, Logan let out a low whistle. “Man. Girls are brutal.”

“Is that a denial?”

Logan wriggled a little to look up at her. “Did you go to our ten-year reunion?”

“Of course. I work at our alma mater. Kind of hard not to be in the loop. Unlike you, who sent the lame old excuse of being on another continent or something.”

“More to the point, then, did Kate go?”

“No. She fell off the radar completely. Nobody could track her down.”

“Okay, then. Yeah. Eighth grade. By the back gate to the embassy of Albania.”

That froze her hand. “Eighth grade? Seriously?”

“Told ya I remember. Every last detail. Right down to her vanilla lip gloss. She tasted like cake frosting. Just like I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life. The moment you took care of me. Right down to your lipstick that makes me think of the coral reef off of Fiji.” Logan’s other hand reached up to cup her cheekbone. His eyes locked with hers. Their breathing synced up. It was, in fact, the only sound in the room besides the laboring AC. “With those eyes greener than a ripe Russian gooseberry.”

Oh, wow. That intense stare of his, combined with the husky tone of his voice, made Brooke realize just how much of a compliment his slightly odd comparison was meant to be. It gave her chills. And it touched her heart that he used memories from his word travels to make her feel special. Logan was right. It was a moment. A frozen-in-time moment of connection and attraction. One of those moments that almost always leads right to toe-curling sex. Or the first slip of those all-important three words…

This was nuts. She was reading too much into it. The man hadn’t slept in seven thousand miles, give or take. Nothing he said should be taken too seriously at this point. Deliberately lightening her tone, Brooke said, “I’ll have to take your word on that one. I’m not really conversant with Russian gooseberries. Maybe on my next spring break I can hoof it over there to make the comparison.”

Logan’s hand fell back to rest on his chest. His eyelids closed once more. “You won’t be going anywhere. I’m never letting you off this couch.”

His reaction—no, his overreaction—tickled her. “Geez, I get the feeling that if I threw in a neck rub you’d offer to marry me.”

Cracking one eye slightly, Logan said, “Might be nice to at least test out that theory…”

“Has no one ever cared for you before? Cuddled you to make you feel better?”

He shuttered his eyes again. “Not really.”

The answer either made him quite sad, or quite shallow. Brooke didn’t want to assume the man she thought so honorable was just an indiscriminate sexual alley cat. On the other hand, Logan could be all noble and devote his life to saving other people, rebuilding their lives…and still be a horndog. It was ridiculous, given their utter lack of a future, but she had to know.

Trying for a jovial, one-of-the-guys, slap-on-the-back type tone that she completely did not feel, Brooke said, “So you’re all about the hookup?”

“Not on purpose. Not the way Knox is. Was. I’m just never home long enough to start something real. And I don’t lead women on. So yeah, it ends up mostly being hookups. For convenience. Which is better than being alone. More fair to everyone involved, too.”

Omigosh. The matter-of-factness with which he admitted to settling for what scraps of affection he could squeeze in between trips absolutely devastated her. Brooke liked romance. She enjoyed being caught up in the thrill of getting to know a new person. Getting to discover how to be a couple with him.

Being surrounded by hundreds of hormonal high-schoolers might amp up her yen for romance on the deep and dramatic side. Not to mention all the rom-com movies that, instead of alcohol, she used to chase back the effects of a bad day. Teaching with a hangover was a bad idea, no matter how extenuating the circumstances. So yes, Logan’s lack of being cuddled and doted upon kind of broke her heart. Even if she was fairly certain that he himself didn’t necessarily feel there was anything lacking.

“You know, friends with benefits usually equals sex. I get the feeling that in your case, you’d want the benefits to just be my petting your head.”

His eyes snapped open. “This is heaven on earth right now. Because of the whole black-eye, pounding-headache thing. But don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t leap at the chance to have sex with you instead.” Logan’s thumb brushed across her bottom lip, then gently teased along the line of her top lip. “Anytime. Anywhere.”

God. She believed him. She wanted to take him up on it, too. And not just for the opportunity to defile the loathsome pink velvet couch. But it’d be wrong. Selfish. Logan needed comfort right now, not excitement. Brooke only let herself kiss his thumb. “Let’s see how long it takes for the ibuprofen to kick in before making any plans for the rest of the day.”

He arched his back. Cocked a knee. Sighed in a way Brooke would call blissful if it hadn’t just come out of more than six feet of the most rugged man she knew. “I thought it’d be hard to relax after that fight. You make it easy, though.”

Uh-oh. They’d been down that road before. Her ego still had the bruises to prove it, no matter how unintentional. “You’re not about to call me comfortable again, are you?”

Rueful laughter rumbled from his throat, vibrating through her thighs. “No way in hell. I learn from my mistakes. Just consider it my half-assed way of saying how much I appreciate you giving me this escape hatch for a few hours.”

“No problem.” Brooke’s self-same ego stopped her in the nick of time from admitting just how much she enjoyed having him in her home. On her lap. Beneath her fingers. “Do you think you’ll be able to smooth things over with Knox once he apologizes?”

Logan dragged his palm down his jaw. “Shit. Chances are better than fifty-fifty that I’m the one who needs to apologize to him.”

That was…unexpected? Confusing? Brooke stilled her hands, bracketing his head between them. “For defending your sister’s honor?”

“The opposite, actually. For not believing that he loves her. Or for not realizing it in time.” Logan swung his feet sideways to the floor and sat up. But it was as though he immediately missed her touch, because his hand shot right back to rest on her knee. “I fucked up. Good intentions, blah blah blah. Knox is the most infamous pussy chaser in the District. Of course I knee-jerked into assuming he’d discard Madison faster than the condoms they used. I’m his best friend. I know him, inside and out. I know his moves. His M.O.”

“Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Ha—I don’t need to.” Logan put the peas back on his bruised eye socket. “Knox did it for me.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know. It’s okay. I’ve gotta laugh about it eventually. Because the joke was on me. Knox loves Madison.”

Wow. Brooke would’ve put money on Knox staying a proud bachelor for the rest of his life. Being one of those old guys who blatantly peeked down the scrub tops of nurses who bathed him in the nursing home. “You’re joking.”

“Bizarre, isn’t it? I’ll bet there’s a bookie somewhere in Southeast D.C. who lost a shit ton of money on the odds of Knox ever slowing down, let alone settling down.”

“Everyone has an experimental phase. Usually it’s in college. And with the same sex. But maybe Knox just wanted to try on stability for size.”

“It’s way past that.” Logan gave a cartoonish leer. “Although we’re totally coming back around to the full details on whatever the heck you did in college. Knox loves my sister so much that he’s engaged to her now. Before I’ve even met her.”

“Engaged? Really?” Brooke let that sink in for a minute. From the dazed expression on his face, Logan was trying, too, but hadn’t gotten there yet. “You can’t be mad at him for having sex with her if they’re engaged.”

“I’d bet you those fancy, five-hundred-dollar shoes women drool over—”

“Jimmy Choo.”

“Whatever. I’d bet you a pair of those they had sex before he put a ring on it. On her. Jesus, what’s wrong with me?”

“Um, you don’t know Madison. At all. And you do know Knox and his history. Like I said, don’t beat yourself up. Take some time. Before you come around and apologize to him.”

“He ordered me not to see her until I calmed down.”

“That was sweet. Gentlemanly.”

“I have to figure out how I feel about all of it. First. Before dumping any of this clusterfuck on her. I’m not good at this stuff. I don’t have the first flying-fuck of an idea of where to start.”

His confusion tugged at her heart. “I’ll help you,” Brooke blurted.

Logan’s phone went off. It vibrated. It pinged. And it rang. Logan pulled it out and winced. “God, we live in a town smaller than a ferret’s asshole.”

“Is that a random factoid, or do you have a point?”

“I’ve been spotted. Someone told my dad I’m home.”

“Weren’t you just on a satellite radio show? I’d say several million people know that you’re back in D.C.”

“That’s fucking annoying. I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go. Thanks for…well, everything. Again.”

And just like that, Logan slipped out of her living room in a hurry. Without any time for a real goodbye. Again.

Taking a little piece of her heart with him, whether he knew it or not.