He smirksagain. “Did I use that the right way?”
“Shut up. Five is actually that I don’t like men who pretend to be dumb.”
“Noted. Three…Yeah, I don’t take no for an answer when the no would be a lie. That night was fucking special for both of us. I feel pretty confident about that. Two, I don’t care that you’re my coach’s daughter. I want to know more about how estranged you are, because I care aboutyou. But Wilson and I aren’t close. At all. I don’t feel conflicted there. If you think it’s a good idea to keep this private, that’s fine. He doesn’t need to know how special you made my birthday. His job is to manage my on-ice performance. The rest of my life is none of his fucking business.”
He turns my hand around, curling all my reasons into a little fist, and kisses my knuckles. “And one, I think there could be some advantages to the fact that I’m a hockey player. I’m not like that asshole you fell for when you were a teenager.”
Oh shit. He remembers that.
I may have underestimated—or completely misunderstood—Logan’s perspective about what we did on New Year’s Eve, and his mission in coming to find me tonight.
He holds my gaze, and the way his eyes go soft, I can tell he knows that’s a direct hit. “I’m not going to run scared when you’re ready to tell your father that we’re in a relationship. I’m never going to run scared, ever. I’m a grown man, and I’ve met the woman of my dreams. I’m going to stand by her side and be fucking proud of what we build between us.”
As he talks, his handsome but hard face transforms into something more boyish, more charming, and infinitely more dangerous than the man who stepped out of the car in front of my house.This is the Logan from New Year’s Eve, and he’s irresistible.
“If you had woken me up that night, or stayed to talk to me the next morning, I’d have told you that I want this marriage. I want you. I know we’re strangers and you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I want a chance to show you that I’m husband material.”
CHAPTER 17
LOGAN
Frankie stares at me in disbelief.
But she doesn’t let go of my hands, and that’s a fucking win.
“Husband material?” she repeats, putting a question emphasis on it.
“I didn’t track you down to break up with you.”
“We aren’t together.”
“We’re married. That’s as together as it gets.”
“You live inBuffalo.”
“And Minneapolis, and the north shore, and this summer, I’ll live in LA.”
“No.”
“Why not? I’ll come here for the off-season. We can get to know each other.”
She laughs. A little burst of incredulity. “I’m starting my residency this summer.”
“That sounds hard. Maybe you might like having a husband who can have dinner waiting for you when you get home from the hospital?”
“We don’tknow each other.You let me think you were a travelling businessman.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
Her eyes flare with a little spark of outrage. “I made fun of you for getting an athletic scholarship to university.”
I grin. “Did you? I don’t remember that part.”
That spark sizzles as she starts to process what happened on New Year’s Eve from a new perspective. “I told you I lived in Minneapolis! Our fathersplayedtogether that year!”
“That’s kind of crazy to think about, right?” I squeeze her fingers. “Do you think we ever met?”
“Logan, he’s?—”
