I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I really am.”
We order a round of beers and some appetizers as the surrounding tables fill up. A group of businessmen in suits talk loudly about the oh-so-impressive deals they closed, a couple who look to be in their sixties talk quietly over a shared club sandwich, and two women smile brightly at their server when he shows them to the table closest to ours.
“So what’s the plan?” Maddox asks before taking a sip of his beer. “Are you getting a moving truck, or do you just want us to pile everything into cars and SUVs?”
“I think we can manage it with our SUVs. They’re giving away or selling a lot of their furniture, since most of it was cheap stuff they bought once they moved here. The furniture the designer used in their rooms is much nicer. They’ll keep the sentimental stuff, but I don’t think any of it would require a moving truck. Worst-case scenario, I’ll rent a trailer and hook it up another weekend. I paid their rent for the next three months, so Blair doesn’t feel trapped and knows she has options if she decides she hates living with me.”
My delivery is completely nonchalant, but I feel very fucking chalant about the possibility they could decide moving in was a mistake.
“That was thoughtful of you, man, but she won’t. That woman has it bad for you. And Reed thinks you’re cooler than you actually are.” Griffin laughs, barely ducking in time to avoid the fry I throw at his head.
“So, when should we show up? Eight?” Ryder asks.
“I’d be good with that, but Reed would pitch a fit if I made him get up early on a weekend. Let’s say eleven? That should give us plenty of time to get everything moved, and then the girls can head over and we’ll order dinner.”
“All right. We’ll get there at eleven, load everything up, and move your girl and her little bro in with you,” Griffin confirms. His eyes twinkle as he props his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his palm. “It’s so fucking cute that you’re planning around Reed’s schedule like a real dad. Brother? Dother?”
“You’re an idiot.” I shake my head because Wright is ridiculous, but I don’t hate it. In fact, I feel damn near warm and fuzzy inside, despite the arctic temperatures outside.
“Excuse me.”
It takes me a moment to realize the feminine voice is speaking to me. So, when the blonde woman from the table next to ours puts her hand on my forearm, I jump, startled.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, giggling. She brushes a blonde curl behind her ear and drags her lower lip between her teeth in a move I would have found seductive before Blair but find a bit ridiculous now. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No problem,” I say in my most professional tone. My flirtatious days are over, and I absolutely refuse to give even the suggestion of a wrong impression. “Can I help you with something?”
The blonde searches my expression and her eyes narrow slightly, apparently unhappy with whatever she sees written on my face. She holds my gaze like she’s trying to stare into mysoul or communicate something telepathically, and I shift in the booth.
How did I find this fun before Blair?
Huffing out an annoyed breath, the blonde points at the salt and pepper shakers at the center of our booth. “Could we borrow your saltshaker? Our table is missing one.”
I grab the saltshaker and hold it out for her. “Here you go.”
“Thank you so much,” she simpers, batting her eyelashes. When she takes it from my hand, her fingers graze mine. The touch lingers for a moment too long, and I pull my hand away, frowning.
“Sure.” I don’t return the smile she sends my way, and a dark expression clouds her eyes for a moment before she does a little hair flip, smiles brightly again, then turns her attention to the fries that need salting.
“Dude, you look like you’re sucking on a lemon,” Griffin says, not even trying to hide his amusement at that truly awkward exchange. “You used to love when women gave you attention like that.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t love it anymore.”
“One day, you’ll get to wear one of these to help scare them off.” He holds up his left hand and wiggles his ring finger and the wedding band there.
“Though even that doesn’t stop them sometimes,” Madds grumbles.
I risk a glance at the blonde. She’s still watching me, despite the fact that her friend is telling what appears to be a very animated story.
“Well, unfortunately for everyone else, there’s only one woman I want attention from, and Sunday at eleven a.m., we’re moving her in with me. I can’t fucking wait.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the blonde woman scowl at something her friend says.
“To new beginnings,” I say, lifting my beer in a toast.
“To Logan Byrne doing all the things he swore he’d never do,” Wright adds. “To love, marriage, and maybe someday, some babies in little baby carriages.”
“You’re a fucking idiot,” I moan. But I like the sound of all of it. Outside of the baby carriages. I don’t think I’ll be changing my mind about that.
