Logan yipped—actually yipped, like a small dog—as he staggered away from the touch. He tangled in the legs of his chair and went toppling backwards, narrowly catching himself with a hand on the counter before his ass hit the concrete.
“Don’t!” he cried, holding up a hand to ward off Sam as he followed. “Stay back, Thirty-One.”
“My name is Samuel now.”
“What?” Logan asked incredulously as he righted himself.
“Ophelia gave me a name.”
Logan looked askance at her.
She shrugged, sipping her wine.
“Okay, I’m… going to change. Thirty-One, clean this up.”
The way he ordered Sam around like a dog grated on her nerves, worse than his insincere concern for her. He retreated into the bedroom, and she could hear him rooting around in the dresser.
She set her glass down and rounded the table to pick up the chair Logan had knocked over.
“What was that?” she whispered, gesturing toward the puddle of wine dripping off the edge of the table.
He grinned at her, flashing that dimple in his cheek. “Butterfingers?”
“You warned me not to tell anyone that you’re not exactly”—her eyes darted toward the bedroom, and she dropped her voice further—“operating within the confines of the law. What was the point if you’re going to give it away, yourself?”
“It’s challenging to resist the urge to punish him,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, a frown tugging on his lips. “Don’t you want him to suffer?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Yes, but?—”
Not at your expense, she thought, but the admission felt oddly vulnerable.
“But?” He arched a dark brow.
Something buzzed between them, saving her from answering. Sam opened the stark white jacket of his uniform, pulling Logan’s holopad out from the inner pocket. She leaned close to read the message.
Is it over?
It was from Tiffany. A reply shot back a moment later.
Not yet
Need some inspiration? ;)
What followed was a full-frontal picture that Ophelia desperately wanted to drink out of her mind before it cemented into her memory.
Love you, babe
She grabbed the wine bottle and chugged the dregs until she was a little fuzzy. The sound of glass on glass was loud in her ears as she set it down a little too hard on the table.
“Easy,” Sam soothed, shutting off the holopad and tucking it away.
She stumbled up to him, gripping him by the lapel and dragging him down to her lips. Her fingers sank into his hair, biting down into the roots, holding him prisoner despite his superior strength. He softened into her, sliding his hands down her wrists and over her waist and tugging her close until they were molded together.
A sharp intake of breath made her break away, panting.
Logan was standing in the hall, wearing a pair of soft, gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. A muscle flickered in his jaw, and his brows were pinched. His nostrils flared, and he looked away as though he couldn’t bear the sight of them together.
Jealous?He had the nerve to be jealous when he’d just texted another girl that he loved her?
