She did. She knew how he was about everything.
Sara gave her a wicked grin, her eyes narrowing as a bit of gossip bubbled to her lips. They’d done their best to maintain the separation of church and state when it came to Logan, but Hanna had earned it.
“You should see how Marcia looks at her. Like she has two heads.”
Hanna chuckled. “Ah, yes, Milo mentioned she doesn’t eat gluten.”
“Did he?” Sara asked without any attempt to hide her interest in pulling at the thread.
“He was trying to make me feel better.”
“I’ve heard he’s particularly talented at making women feel better,” Sara cooed.
“Stop that. He was being nice. It was when Logan showed up with Sloane.”
“Speak of the devil,” Sara said, wincing. Logan appeared over Hanna’s shoulder and slid onto the stool beside them. He’d changed into one of his old, faded college tees, and it clung to his biceps as he ordered a beer.
“Mind if I borrow Hanna?” he asked Sara, which only made Hanna even less interested in speaking with him.
“That’s probably a question for her, no?” Sara returned. His jaw clenched, but Hanna felt no interest in making things easy on him. “I don’t think she’s up for talking tonight, Lo.”
“She isn’t!” Hanna chimed in, not that anyone had asked.
“Hanna,” he pleaded. The tone was familiar—the same one he’d use to pacify her during arguments. “Just one conversation, and then I’ll drop it.”
Hanna hung her head forward and sipped her drink.
Just one. It felt like a DM from a girl she knew in high school trying to get her into their MLM. Hey, boss babe! You have a few minutes to catch up?
“One chance?” he begged again.
A chance at what? Crack a rib instead of just breaking her heart? Cut her kidney out and sell it on the black market to buy Sloane an engagement ring? God, the thought of him marrying her?—
“Go find Matty, Lo,” Sara said again.
“But—”
“I said no!” Hanna barked.
He swallowed, his hand reaching for her arm.
“Hanny—”
She slammed her glass down on the bar and stood, jerking her elbow from his grasp. She saw his mouth move, but she only heard her mother’s voice. Hanny! Hanny! Hanny!
“I think I should go,” she whispered to Sara, who frowned but understood. She patted Hanna’s shoulder and kissed her cheek.
“Call me tomorrow?”
She nodded, pushing through the crowd and heading for the elevator, her eyes stinging as she mashed on the lobby floor. The doors moved inward, but a hand caught them before they could close.
A hand attached to a bevy of tattoos.
Fuck, she thought, wiping at her eyes as Milo stepped onto the elevator. He took in the scene before him, seeing her at her most deranged for what, the third time in one day?
“Hey.”
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she deadpanned, sniffling with her arms cradled around her body.
