“Wait until you hear about my siblings,” I said, settling back in my chair. “I’m the oldest of six, and one of them is an honest-to-God international spy. Another knows Oprah.”
I proceeded to talk more in one straight shot than I ever had in my life. I told Logan story after story—it turned out it was much easier to talk when I was pretending to be Ruby. During one stretch I ran out of ideas and had to borrow plotlines from the first book that came to mind, a popular children’s fantasy novel about dragon hunters (one of the hazards of being a children’s librarian), simply praying Logan hadn’t readCharlie Cooper and the Hunt for the Mystical Dragon’s Egg. Mostly, though, I found myself telling him true stories, with the edges blurred—my past actions more heroic, my comebacks wittier, me the star of the shenanigans and my siblings the sidekicks, all the ways I’d wished life had gone. It was exhilarating to be on this side of the storytelling for once.
Unsurprisingly, Logan was not a passive listener—he burst in with questions, forced me to stop when he laughed so hard he shook the table, and made me pause midsentence so he could go fetch another round, then another. Time dilated into a warm fuzzy stretch until before I knew it, the lights in the Fleur de Lis had dimmed and the crowd had thinned to us and a man who’d fallen asleep in his barstool, snoring like a bear.
“Shit.” Logan wiped his face and glanced around. “What time is it?” I pointed at his watch to remind him he was wearing one, and he jerked it to his face, then blanched. “Do you want the truth, or—” He grimaced. “A lie that makes you feel better?”
I sighed and leaned back in my chair, feeling the plunging V of my dress pull tight against my chest. Logan cleared his throat, dropping his eyes. “Honestly,” I said. “Give me the beautiful lie.”
“Come on.” He rose to his feet and extended a hand. “I’ll walk you out.”
I seized his hand and he yanked me with more strength than I’d expected. Instead of stopping upright, I sailed forward so fast I had to grip his shoulders so I didn’t end up flush against him. “Whoa there,” he murmured, looking down at the small space between us. He dipped his head, his nose brushing mine.
“Sorry.” I released him and stepped back. “Lost my balance.” I turned to pick up my purse and shivered, a full-body reaction to having been that close to him. When I turned back, Logan was holding up his navy suit jacket.
I shook my head. “I’m okay—”
He shook the jacket so the sleeves danced. “Come on. I can see your goose bumps.”
Obviously I couldn’t tell him the goose bumps were the result of meeting the mere tip of his nose, so I dipped inside the jacket. Logan draped it carefully over my shoulders, letting it trail like a cape. It was shot through with his scent, which had to be an expensive cologne: subtle but playful, not just woodsy cedar but notes of something sweeter, like berries. Everything about him was a mix of unexpected things. I took a deep breath and wrapped the jacket tighter. Logan tipped his head in the direction of the door, his eyebrows raised in question.
My heels made quiet clipping sounds as we strode across the empty lobby. The inside of the Fleur de Lis was all marble floors and ornate brass-piped ceilings, like a cross between a cathedral and a fancy, old-time bank. I sighed.
“What?” Logan glanced over as we walked.
“I just love this place. It’s so romantic.”
It was funny, but as we neared the large glass doors that separated the hotel from the street, I realized I was happy. Almost giddy. Even though I hadn’t succeeded at the one thing I’d come here to do, there was something about the last few hours spent talking, being the sole focus of someone’s attention, that left me feeling the way I’d hoped a one-night stand would: confident, interesting, and liberated. In an unexpected way I was leaving with exactly what I’d come for. Was it possible to have an emotional orgasm?
Logan stopped by the glass doors and shook out his hands—which, if I didn’t know he wasn’t the type to get nervous, I’d call a nervous tic. “You calling an Uber? Want me to wait?”
I shook my head. I’d already eaten up so much of his night. There was no way I’d continue to impose. “Don’t worry about it.” I tugged off his jacket and let it hang off the hook of my finger. Logan shrugged it back on and paused, head tilted. He smiled. “It smells like you now. Flowers and lemons.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “Strategic thinker.”
I cracked a laugh. Flowers and lemons, meet woods and berries. A veritable forest between us. We stood looking at each other for a moment. “Well...” I rocked on my feet, awkward again.
“Right.” Logan rubbed his jaw. “So, did it work?”
“Did what work?”
“Did you forget about him? Your ex?”
I smiled. “Yes. Thank you. Quite a charitable service you provided.”
“Well, then.” He stepped close and cupped a hand to the back of my head. “Good night, Ruby.” He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, his lips there and gone.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or the intoxicant of being stood up for and then listened to, but before my mind could catch up, my body was reaching out for something I had no business hoping for.
“Logan.” I took a deep breath and pulled his sleeve, turning him back around. And then everything happened quickly: I brought my hands to cup his face, his eyebrows lifted in surprise, and I kissed him, tasting the warm softness of his mouth, feeling the scratch of his stubble. I pulled away and looked up, heart drumming, waiting for his response. He blinked at me for an excruciatingly drawn-out moment and then bent down, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me to him with a grunt, canting his mouth over mine in a wordlessyes. His hand found the back of my head as he chased my mouth, deepening the kiss.More, his touch said, and the next thing I knew he’d lifted me off the floor, bracing an arm against my back to keep me close, his other hand tangling in my hair.
His tongue in my mouth shot white-hot electricity through me, all the lust that had been simmering all night boiling over, and I thought,Hewouldkiss like this. Exactly how he talks.I wrapped a leg around his knee, urging himcloser, every inch of my skin charged, nearly tortured with sensation. He kissed me back so hungrily I had to break away to gasp for air.
I’d done it: I’d become a different person. Old Alexis, who never would’ve kissed someone with such abandon in a public place, had burned to ash, giving rise to a new Alexis whose only care was kissing this brash stranger as much as she could before he left.
The clack of approaching footsteps on the marble floors, however, worked like a bucket of ice. I wrenched back from Logan, managing to say, “Public,” even in my breathlessness. He nodded, agreeing with my good sense, then immediately tossed it aside, kissing me so fiercely I tipped backward.
His eyes were molten when we righted. “What do you want to do?” he whispered.
Well—I was Ruby Dangerfield tonight. So I answered honestly, pressing the words into the column of his throat. “I don’t want to stop.”
