I finish my drink.
“Be right back,” I mutter, sliding out of the booth.
I order a water from Merry, who isverygood at playing it cool, and pretends she knows nothing of what’s going on.
She’s a keeper for Liz.
Outside, Logan gets up. I feel it even without looking that way. That prickle of awareness, that shift in the air.
And then… “Hello again.”
I turn. He’s closer than I expected, close enough that I can smell his cologne, and it makes me want to press my face into his neck.
“Hi.” I gesture at Merry. “I’m getting water.”
He winks. “I didn’t get your name earlier.”
“I didn’t give it.” I smile at him. “But since you’re alone now…I’m Frankie.”
“Nice to meet you, Frankie. I’m Logan. Is Frankie short for something?”
“Francesca.”
“That’s a pretty name. Are you Italian?”
“You know I’m not,” I say in a rush.
“Is there a story there?”
On New Year’s Eve, it was one I didn’t want to tell. Tonight… I puff out my cheeks. “It’s complicated.”
He bites his lower lip and nods, understanding. “I hope I hear it one day.”
Then I whisper, “I’m not very good at this.”
“At what?”
“Acting like strangers.”
The corners of his mouth tip up. “We were strangers just a few days ago.”
“Isn’t that weird?”
“Very.” He nods to Merry. “I’ll take another shot of that whiskey, please.”
When she goes down to the other end of the bar to pour that for him, his knowing gaze drops to the jersey he gave me. “You look good in my number.” His pinky brushes mine on the bar top. “I want to fuck you in it.”
I gasp.
“And soon,” he says casually, putting a tiny bit of distance between us as Merry returns with whiskey for him and water for me. But his eyes don’t leave mine.
“I should get back to Liz,” I say.
I don’t move.
“How soon?” I ask.
His gaze flicks to his teammates outside. He lifts his glass and his knuckles turn white.
