“Yeah. You wrote until you ran out of pages. You said now your lifelong diary was finally complete.”
The question is on my face.
“Not before. You didn’t write until after we…” He trails off, his face flushing with…something I can’t quite read.
I poke his arm. “Do you remember everything from last night? You were pretty drunk, too.”
He nods slowly.
“I begged you to have sex, didn’t I?” I bury my face in my hands. “Oh, God.”
“I said we should hold off until we were sober, but you kept bringing up the Vegas exemption. You said you’d never had sex outside of Texas, and this might be your only chance.” His eyes sparkle as I peek at him from between my fingers. “I don’t want to say you couldn’t bear to wait, but?—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up.” I reach for my pillow and throw it at his head, and he laughs. “Like you didn’t want to.”
“Of course, I wanted to.” He leans over and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “When could I ever resist you, Austen Macey Henwood?”
“We were…safe, right?” I can’t imagine I was sober enough to take my birth control pill.
“Of course.” His tone is gentle. “We used condoms. I’ll always make sure to protect you, Mace.”
I swallow. “I appreciate that.”
“You remember your other stipulation last night, right?”
I whip my head over to him.
Oh, Lord. Did I make some kinky request, something really out of left field? I need to lay off those romance novels Ginny’s lent me. They’re giving me too many sexy ideas.
“You suggested we keep one of our rules, even though we were in Vegas. We couldn’t have sex in the bed. Even this plush California king hotel bed was a no.”
My cheeks burn as our eyes fix on each other.
“I told you that was a brilliant idea,” he says.
No pillow talk, no cuddling. Not when you’re on the floor, and against the wall, and then back on the floor—oh, God. The details of last night are coming in big seismic waves, kind of like last night’s third orgasm when Logan slid inside me from behind and then used his fingers to touch me until?—
Logan sits up, and I can’t look away from his bare skin, from his body that’s muscled and built in all the right places. He steps out of the bed, and now I’m looking at a fully naked Logan Wild as he heads for the shower.
Shit.
“Nothing else happened, right?” I call after him.
He turns back, and the look in his eyes…is that panic?
“Let’s talk later about everything. We have some things to work out.” Before I can push him on what, he turns away. “We better hurry. My dad needs my help rounding up cattle at dawn tomorrow, so we’re gonna have to drive straight home.” He looks back at me. “Oh, and FYI—Gin and Dave didn’t get hitched. In case you were too drunk to recall.”
What?
Good Lord. This is why I never get drunk.
26
We pile into Logan’s truck with Gin and me in the back. Logan’s stressed about getting home in time. He says his dad’s going to kill him if he’s late. Dave is hungover and not caring about much of anything except where he can get another cup of coffee. I’m wondering how the shower didn’t help my splitting headache any, whether a candy bar counts as a fortifying breakfast, and what possessed me to move the Jane Austen ruby ring that Logan won me when we were seventeen from my right hand to my left. And Ginny, well…
“How was your night?” she asks me with a cheeky smile.
“Fuzzy,” I say quickly.
