CHAPTER 15
LOGAN
Francesca’s eyes flare wide as her roommates settle in to grill me.
What brings me to LA?
I can’t very well tell them that I’m here to kiss some sense into their roommate. Not yet, anyway.
“Work,” I say easily, accepting a bottle of beer from Sloane. “I’m here for a few days.”
“What kind of work?”
Francesca yanks at the zipper on her hoodie.
My gaze lingers on her as I casually answer Sloane’s question. “Like everyone else in this town, probably. Entertainment. Some television.”
It’s not technically a lie, and I think Francesca wants me to be discreet, but she tightens up all the same. She doesn’t likes my misdirection.
“Exciting,” Liz says.
“It has its moments.” I take a slow sip of beer, still staring at Francesca. Willing her to look at me, and when she does, her eyes snapping with frustrated fire, I hold her gaze over the bottle. “Though lately it’s been unexpectedly complicated.”
“Do you travel a lot?”
“Constantly.”
“How often are you on the west coast?”
“Unfortunately, this is the only trip I have planned. The rest of my spring is pretty locked down. But I’ve got some options on the horizon that could change that.”
Francesca jolts at that admission.
“Are you staying for dinner, then?” Sloane grins at Liz as if they have an inside joke.
“He doesn’t want pasta,” my runaway wife mutters at the same time as I say, “Sure, I’m easy, if Francesca doesn’t mind.”
Sloane makes a curious noise. “Interesting that you call her Francesca and not Frankie.”
“It’s not interesting,” my bride retorts before glaring at me. “And no, he’s not staying. He has a dinner to get back to.”
“I can stay. I told them I wouldn’t be back.”
“That’s not going to go well with—” She cuts herself off, her cheeks burning hot.
“It’s fine,” I say under my breath. “I didn’t tell anyone that I was coming to find you.”
“Frankie didn’t invite you over?” Sloane’s eyebrows shoot up and she looks at me with new interest. “How fascinating.”
“Not fascinating,” Francesca snaps.
I’m unbothered by her annoyance. We’ll tackle that in a minute, right now I’m trying to make a good impression on her friends.
“How was your trip to Vegas, Sloane?”
Francesca stares at me. “What are you doing?”
“You know how much I like small talk. She’ll tell me how her holiday was. And then, to be polite, she’ll ask about mine, and I’ll tell her it was the best night of my entire life.”
