He offers a bemused smile, as if my fear is idle entertainment for him. “My dog is here. Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”
“No, just hoping,” I mutter, waving my crossed fingers.
I was having a perfectly lovely evening without him. Confessing all my inner thoughts to his dog was therapeutic, almost like practice for when I inevitably have to say them to his face. But I’m not ready yet. The possibility of rejection is too high, and the dismissal itself is too much to bear.Oh, did you think I wasactuallyflirting with you?he’ll ask.
Logan steps into my station and pats the dog—that was supposed to be mine—on his haunches with a couple thumps. “I was half expecting you to kidnap him while I was gone.”
“It crossed my mind,” I admit with a raised chin.
“So, what’s the name?”
I glance down at the pretty animal. “I wanted to name him Logan. Just so you would look like a jackass if you ever tried to use him as bait to pick up women . . . Also, if he ever tried to run away, the image of you jogging down the street, screaming your own name, is pure comedy. But that felt like punishing the dog, so . . .”
He crosses his arms. “Aren’t you a funny girl . . .”
“I think you should name him Odin, after the Norse god. The first tattoo you ever did was of Odin’s two wolves.”
Logan narrows his eyes curiously. He’s probably wondering how I know that. My dad took a candid photo of him tattooing his first client—he was so proud of him.
I marvel at the dog while stroking the fur behind his ears, where it’s softest.He looks so similar.“I used to have a dog like this when I was a little girl named Loki. In Norse mythology, Odin and Loki have a sort of brotherhood thing, so I figure that gives me partial custody.”
Logan raises an eyebrow. “So—just to be clear—in this scenario, you’re his mom?”
Then it hits me. I didn’t actuallyhearLogan come in. A wave of heat rises up my neck as the panic sets in. “How long were you standing there before you walked in?” I blurt.
He leans back onto the half wall and crosses his arms, boring his hazel eyes into mine.
My lips part at the same time my arms fall lifeless at my sides.Please, no.
“Answer me, Logan.” I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Let me live out the rest of my days among the floor joists and asbestos.
He doesn’t respond. His gaze strips me bare, and my heart gallops faster and faster. The vulnerability terrifies me, but notas much as the kernel of hope that wants to unfold in my chest. I’m not ready to do this. His continued silence transforms my fear to anger. This isn’t fair.
Logan has always been the one to think in silence, whereas I do my thinking out loud. For our entire friendship, I’ve always given him my words. Sarcastic ones, vulnerable ones, aimless rambling ones. For years he’s gotten them for free, stuffing his face atKelly’s all-you-can-eat buffet of feelings. Not anymore, the kitchen is closed.
The ones he heard tonight weren’t for him—not for free. If he wants any more, he’s going to have to earn them, and if he wants to play the quiet game, then so be it.
“I want to be alone,” I demand, standing and brushing the black dog hair off my thighs, pleased to avoid his eye contact.
“Why?”
“Because I want to!” I snap. “That’s the point. I don’t owe you any more of an explanation.”
“You do when it’s space from me.”
My palms stop swiping at my jeans and I freeze, giving him a long blink. My face reddens, this time not from embarrassment but fury.Did he really just say that?
“We”—I wag my finger between us—“need time apart.”
He has the nerve to smirk at me. “A week wasn’t enough for you?”
“No.”
He steps closer, towering over me, and I push my shoulders back.
“Why not?” he asks, again.
I scoff. “What are you, a fucking toddler? Because I said so.” I turn my back to him and busy myself with cleaning my workstation so I can get out of here.
