All three of them go completely silent.
It would be more comfortable to have my chest cracked open without anesthetic, but I’m not going to back down. Not whenI’ve gotten this close to her, not when I might only have one chance to make it clear I’m not giving up on what we found on New Year’s Eve.
“Okay, out you guys go,” Francesca says, shooing her roommates out of the kitchen. She grabs my wrist to tug me out of their way.
I like having her touch me, even if she’s just being bossy.
“Nice to meet you,” Liz calls just before Francesca closes the door between them and us.
Silence falls.
I set my beer on the counter and cross my arms over my chest. “That wasn’t hyperbole. Thatwasthe best night of my entire life. And now I want to know why my wife ran away the next morning.”
CHAPTER 16
FRANKIE
“I’m not your wife,” I say, my voice shaking. This conversation has gone completely off the rails.
The best night of his life?
What the fuck?
Logan shrugs off his suit jacket, making himself more comfortable in our kitchen, hanging it on the back of a chair. “Yes, you are my wife. There’s paperwork to prove it. And I have the ring you left behind.”
“We were drunk.”
He winces and rubs his beard. I don’t miss the glint of gold on his left hand. He’s still wearing the wedding band I put there three days ago. “That’s true. But I think the champagne?—”
“And the gin, and?—”
“That only lowered our inhibitions. Everything we shared was still real.”
Of all the things I thought he might say, that’s…not it.
I stare at him.
“You weren’t expecting that.” He unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt and starts to roll up his sleeves.“Okay. Do you not feel the same way?”
Hysterical laughter burbles up from deep in my belly. I can’t. We can’t.
“No,” I manage to say.
His eyes narrow. “Because I play for your dad?”
“That’s a big part of it, yes. We definitely made a mistake by not talking about…” I gesture between us. “Jobs or parents or anything.”
“Okay.” He frowns. “But you could have woken me up when you realized who I was?”
My cheeks flush.
He swings his arms close and hunches his shoulders up toward his ears. “Unless you didn’t want to talk about it when you found out.”
A nervous jolt of shock ripples through me, an echo of what I felt as I stood in his room and stared at him in his bed.
“When was that?” he asks quietly, his gaze hard to read. “Early that morning?”
“Late that night,” I admit. “As I was coming to bed.”
