“Ohmagod! Is that...?”
Fuck. I stiffen, fighting the urge to look back. So much for flying under the radar.
Once I reach the bottom, I quicken my pace and make a beeline for the exit signs leading to the parking garage. The automatic doors slide open, and I breathe in the crisp ocean air of the Pacific Northwest as I head toward the area Logan texted.
“Rowan fucking Cole!”
I look up in surprise to see my best friend leaning against his blue pickup truck, arms crossed over his broad chest. He’s filled out even more since I last saw him—which is saying something, cause he’s a big motherfucker. His chiseled firefighter physique makes him look like he could bench press a small car, and his mischievous grin is exactly the same as when we were kids.
“Logan fucking Cade.” Dropping my duffel bag, I embrace him in a bro-hug, giving him a couple of good back-slaps.
“Good to see you, man,” he says, giving me one final thump before stepping back to look at me. “Hollywood’s treating you well. You’ve got that... what do they call it? Hollywood glow.”
I snort. “Dick.”
He laughs, grabbing my bag and tossing it into the backseat. “Hope you’re ready for a taste of Lakeside life again, even if it’s only for a few days.”
The drive from the airport takes approximately two hours. When we reach downtown Lakeside, I’m struck by how much has changed, yet still somehow manages to look the same.
The old movie theater’s been renovated, still boasting its vintage marquee. New coffee shops and boutiques line Main Street, but Eddie’s Hardware still sits on the corner, probably selling the same rusty nails it always has since we were kids.
“Lakeside sure has grown up,” I say, watching a group of tourists as they take selfies with the lake as a backdrop.
“Yeah, but the heart’s still the same,” Logan replies, taking a right turn toward the fire station. “Most of the old families are still here. The Millers, the Changs?—”
“The Cades,” I add with a smile.
“Damn right. Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”
Logan’s apartment is exactly what I expected—a decent size one-bedroom with modern furnishings. It’s clean though, which surprises me. The Logan I remember couldn’t keep his locker organized or his bedroom clean for more than twenty-four hours at a time.
I drop my bag next to the couch—my bed for the next few days. “Nice place.”
“It’ll do,” he shrugs, heading to the fridge. “Beer?”
“Hell, yes.”
He tosses me a bottle of some local craft brew, and we settle on the couch in his living room. The large floor to ceiling windows offer a perfect view of the lake sparkling under the sun in the distance.
“So. Still playing the field, big guy? Or have you managed to find a girl that’ll stick around long enough to put up with your ass?”
Logan nearly chokes on his beer. “Jesus, Rowan. Way to dive right in.”
“What? I’m just trying to catch up. It’s been a minute since we really talked about what’s going on with you other than your new job.”
He scratches at the scruff under his chin. It’sthe same nervous tell he’s had since we were kids. “It’s... kind of messy actually.”
“Messy how?”
“You remember how I was working up in Vancouver last year?
I nod, taking another sip of my beer.
“Well, me and some of the guys went to this club to blow off some steam. And there was this woman—insanely gorgeous, smart, a bit of a smart ass. We hit it off. Ended up spending the weekend together.” His nostalgic expression shifts to one of pain. “Didn’t exchange numbers or names. It was actually her idea. Kind of like… roll-play, you know?”
“Been there.” More times than I care to admit.
“Right. Well, turns out her name is Reyna Winters. Guess who’s joining our Search and Rescue team?”
