He blinks. “Around here?”
I nod, busying myself by fidgeting with Miso’s leash. “Yep. New build. Open lot on Birch Lane. Still deciding, though. It’s just so cute. Nice kitchen, a sunroom. Clawfoot tub. I’m a sucker for impractical plumbing.”
He doesn’t seem alarmed by the mention of his own street name, which is exactly what I was hoping for. Birch Lane is long. But what he doesn’t know—and what Ialsodidn’t know until I toured it earlier—is that the house I’m considering is directly across from his.
Everyone knows I’ve been house-hunting, and technically, I didn’t pick the location to be near Logan. I picked it because I love the neighborhood. It’s close to the school I work for, and it’s a few streets over from Eli and Tamara. The direct viewinto Logan’s bedroom, where I imagine he sometimes stands shirtless with a coffee, has nothing to do with it. Obviously.
And, okay, I can only look at houses like this because Eli insisted on gifting me the deposit—his way of sayingteachers are criminally underpaid and I want my baby sister close by. He calls it an investment. I call it guilt money for all the times he’s cock-blocked my dating life.
Logan shifts his weight, a slight crease forming between his brows as his gaze dips to the headphone cord still trailing from my ears.
“What is this, 2015? Wired headphones?”
I glance down, only just remembering they’re there, and yanking them out. “Lost my AirPods in the wash. This is my penance till payday.”
He hums with amusement. “Tragic.”
“Don’t shame the classics. These babies have been with me longer than most men I’ve dated.”
“Still, that was an interesting playlist,” he says, nodding at my phone.
“Empowerment podcast,” I say, reaching to give Dusty a scratch behind his ears. “It’s very niche. Very educational. Very cringe-inducing for men.”
One of his shoulders lifts. “Heard worse.”
“Oh yeah? You’re familiar with theClit Talk Confidentialback catalogue?”
He gives me a flat look. “You always blast sex podcasts in public?”
“Only when I’m making a statement.”
“Consider it made.” His eyes drop to a splash of green on my shoulder, and he reaches out to wipe it off. The brief drag of his fingertip skating over my skin is enough to make a lick of heat rush up my spine before I can stop it.
I tilt my head. “Most guys would’ve made a joke by now. Asked if I agreed with the whole moaning thing or something.”
“Don’t need to. I already know your answer.”
Fuck.
“Wow,” I breathe. “That was dangerously close to flirting,Pookie.Should I sit back down?”
He huffs, not a laugh exactly. But before I can say anything more, he turns to go and whistles for Dusty to heel beside him. Miso trots after them like a traitor, and I tug her back.
My brain screams to let him go, to preserve what’s left of my dignity. My mouth doesn’t listen.
“See you at brunch on Sunday?” I call out to him, still buzzing with the aftermath ofwhatever the hell that was.
He pauses and looks over his shoulder. “Depends. You planning another broadcast of yourcorevalues?”
I grin. “Only if you earn the moan.”
His eyes widen for a beat, and his mouth ticks up again before he jogs off, those ridiculous back muscles flexing under his damp shirt as Dusty trots beside him.
My heart hammers as I stand watching him, because Logan Miller doesnotflirt. Not unless it slips past his defenses before he realizes he’s doing it.
And if I’m not careful, I might start hoping it happens again.
Chapter two
