Ben laughs with him.
“Yes, I still remember my one acting experience as Catherine in Northanger Abbey.” I glare at Logan. “You laughed so hard I could actually hear you from the stage.”
“I could hear you and I was ten rows away,” Ben says to him.
“You’re a writer, not an actress,” Logan says. “Nothing to be ashamed of. So why are you in the play? My mom never mentioned it.”
“It was a last-minute thing,” I say vaguely. “Mama thought I could learn to emote.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Logan puts his hands over his eyes.
Ben coughs. “So George left, and I’m on my way out. Do ya’ll want me to lock this door too?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’ll walk to my car from outside. Thanks, Benny. Actually, can you turn on the back light so we can see?”
Ben gives me an amused grin and does as I ask then shuts the door with a wave.
Logan sits up next to me and taps my diary between us on the table. “I thought you’d finished it.”
“I have. But Ginny…” God, this sounds stupid. “She’s insisting that I read through the old entries. Like a cleanse.”
His expression shifts. “A cleanse?”
“Mm-hmm.” I pick up the diary and make a show of flipping through it. “This is filled with old stories. She thought I should read them.”
Logan takes a closer look at my face. “That must be hard.”
I try to wave it off. “It’s fine.”
But he keeps looking at me steadily until I say, “Okay, fine. It sucks. But the thing is—it’s having a secondary benefit of helping with my writer’s block.”
“Sounds like it’s important then.” He gestures to the diary. “Would it help to have a friend there when you read them?”
I startle. “I don’t know.”
“I know everything already,” he says. “You can’t surprise me.”
“You’re such a guy.” I roll my eyes. “You don’t know everything. You don’t know what was going on in my head during those events.”
“Do you want to tell me?” he asks seriously. “I’m a good listener.”
“I don’t know. It feels weird.” I scratch at a peeled section of the wooden table. “In other Macey Henwood news, since my writer’s block has lifted, I finally began my novel.”
Logan sits up straighter. “No fucking way.”
I smile. “Yes way. I’m nearly sixty pages into it, actually. I had seventy-five, and then I scratched the entire thing and had to start over, but…”
Logan grabs my hand and swings me off the table into an impromptu dance.
I close my eyes and resist wrapping my arms around his back and burying my face in his neck until all the pain of what’s actually happening between us disappears.
Logan makes sure he maintains an appropriate body-length between us as he moves us in a slow two-step around the table. “I’m so proud of you.” He grins at me. “My kick-ass writer friend.”
I’m going to kiss him if he keeps sweet talking me like this. I’m going to run my hands over his chest and down his back and over his perfect ass. I’m going to stick my tongue in his mouth and never want to stop.
59
Shit, Macey, stop. Stop. Stop.
