“Gotta try the bacon, egg and sausage plate with grits. Plus the coffee is second to none.”
I’m so bad at everyday conversation.
“I think I’ll take your word for it about breakfast,” she says. “But I know all about the coffee.”
I should ask her if she’d like to join us, but the words don’t come out. Do I want her to join us?
I mean, I know I like her. I like her a lot, but then if she stays for coffee isn’t that like a date?
Strangely, the panic doesn’t hit me. Not that I’m a fucking lunatic, but I like routine.
And Payden is most definitely not part of my routine.
Complications are not my thing, but the more I get to know this woman, the more I dig what I find. And for me that is a problem. It’s a problem because I don’t want to get involved, yet when I think about some other guy with Payden, I get a tight feeling in my chest. One that I can’t shake. And that right there? Oh yeah, that is most definitely a problem.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Payden
“I eat here two or three times a week, usually when I have no food in the house.”
My god. Is this how Logan looks first thing in the morning? I mean, I have seen him once before in this state, but I dashed out the door. He’s disheveled, but it’s so damn sexy. His dark hair is ruffled, like he just ran his hand through it and nothing more—he literally wakes up looking fucking gorgeous. His gray t-shirt has a beer slogan on the front, and you can’t mistake his cut. His biker name is Hustle, but it clashes with his best friend Hustler, so everyone calls him Logan. Bikers are so damn weird.
I think his brothers only had that patch made to annoy the shit out of him because he hates the nickname.
“So how was Dozer’s first night?” I ask, albeit a little awkwardly. “Has he settled in okay?”
“So far so good,” he says, looking down at the little pooch. Dozer has his head resting on Logan’s thigh, and I’ve never wanted to be a Frenchie so much in my life. Especially because I know what he has underneath those jeans. Holy macaroni—it isn’t like I could forget anytime soon. That damn piercing hasbeen the star of my private viewing pleasure for the last couple of nights, and I admit, I’ve used my vibrator more than once. It isn’t as good as the real thing, of course, but something has to take the edge off. Thanks to Logan, my personal toys no longer cut it, though. So I’m annoyed about that, but I’m not willing to let him gloat by telling him.
Meg excuses herself as she interrupts, bringing Logan’s breakfast, coffee, and Dozer’s pup cup.
“Thanks,” Logan says as Meg smiles at us both.
“Are you staying, honey? Or was your order still to go?” she asks me.
“To go,” I say at the same time Logan says, “She’s staying.”
Okay.
So, he wants me to stay? Huh.
“Uh, I’ll still take it to go,” I say to Meg. “I have to get to work in a few minutes.”
She gives me a good natured wink and says, “Got it.”
“I didn’t mean you had to stay,” Logan says, looking anywhere but at me. “I just meant if you want to. Hoverin’ over the table while I’m eatin’ makes me nervous.”
Hovering?
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I throw back. “I was only admiring your dog while I waited for my order.”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “Right.”
I deadpan him with a look. “You seriously like the sound of your own voice, don’t you, Loges?”
I remember how he hated me calling him that.
