Three Simple Rules (The Blindfold Club #1) (14 page)

“I’d have told her it was cliché and expected, maybe to sit with a designer that has a totally different aesthetic and see what their approach would be. Jamie’s stuck in a rut,” I said. “I don’t think she’s going to figure out to stop putting drop shadows on everything until you actually tell her.”

I was sitting across from a wax figure; I don’t think he even blinked. Had I really shocked him? Wounded him?

He swallowed, slowly returning to life. “She probably would have reacted differently to that.” He said it like it was painful to admit, and I was grateful to be seated when it happened. Perfect Logan Stone had admitted a mistake.

“You were different last Monday. Better,” I said.

“I’d been late to the meeting.”

“Oh, right. You must not have had time to prepare because of your massage.” I couldn’t help but get the dig in.

“I was prepared, but since my massage therapist was in a car accident and showed up twenty minutes late, I had to keep the critiques brief and on schedule. I’d already wasted enough of everyone’s time. No one really cared what I had to say after that.”

“Oh.” It had been true. “You could have tried apologizing.”

He gave me a tight smile. No, that wasn’t his style.

“Okay, let’s forget about that,” I said. “I promise I won’t hold a grudge if you want to be honest with my work. That’s separate from . . .” I gestured between us, “. . . what this is.”

“What this is,” he said, “is against policy. That’s why we’re not going to tell anyone about it at the office.”

That kind of went without saying to me. “I understand. I’m not really close with anyone there anyway.” In fact, Logan was now the closest friend I had there.

When dinner was over, he drove me to my place and parked on the street.

“Can I come up?” he asked.

His apartment had been immaculate, which I hadn’t found surprising. He was a control freak at the office; I assumed that bled into all aspects of his life. Certainly his sex life, not that I was complaining. However, my place was a disaster. It was always a disaster.

“I didn’t exactly make the bed this morning. Or clean up the clothes explosion.” Or do the dishes from dinner with Payton last night.

“So, that’s a no?” The brown eyes were surprised.

“No, but it’s . . . not like your place. Do you get claustrophobic?”

He gave me a wary look. “I don’t think so. What level of messy are we talking about? Do I need to report it to FEMA?”

When I ushered him inside, he understood. My studio apartment was cramped. The kitchen was one row of cabinets and appliances on the right. I had a bistro table in the center, and along the back wall was my sitting area.

I’d left the door open to my closet, which sat adjacent to my bathroom. He didn’t seem too bothered by the mess, but he could tell right away something was off.

“Where’s your bed?”

I gave him a sheepish look. “It’s in the closet.”

It was easier to show him rather than explain. I pushed the door open further and pulled the string on the light. The walk-in closet was surprising large for such a small place. Just large enough to fit my twin-sized bed.

He laughed and then sobered, probably thinking about the two of us on it.

“You start every day coming out of the closet.”

“You think you’re the first one to make that joke? I’ve heard them all already.” I slipped off my shoes and pushed all of the clothes I’d tried on this morning into a pile so there was room to make our way to the couch. I’d made it halfway there when arms circled my waist and turned me into his kiss. This one was less aggressive. Almost sweet, but it got to me all the same. He lowered us both to sit on the couch as the kiss grew intense and spiraled out of control.

“I can’t keep my hands off of you,” he said. I could relate. His soft lips left my mouth and journeyed down the side of my neck until he found the perfect spot where my pulse was racing for him.

“You won’t hear complaints from me.” There was something about him that made me say whatever was on my mind, like he disabled my mental filter. It was strange and exhilarating. “I love the way you touch me.”

He gave me a wicked smile. “You do, huh?”

His strong arms locked around me and lifted, pulled me over him so I was straddling his lap, staring at the dark eyes that studied me. He leaned his head back on the couch and looked up at me, looking back down at him. His hand brushed my hair away and gently pulled me into his kiss.

It wasn’t like any of the others he’d given me. This kiss was tender and slow and filled with heat that threatened to consume me. It stole my breath and made me lightheaded. My heart pounded so fast, I could hear it loud in my ears.

“Someone’s knocking on your door,” he said, breaking through my fog. It hadn’t been my heartbeat; it was a fist banging against wood. I didn’t want to move, but the knock came again.

“Evie,” Blake’s muffled, raised voice came from the hall.

What the hell?
I had told him I would call him later in the week, what happened to giving me space? I groaned and climbed off of Logan, and my kiss-weakened legs carried me to the door.

“Someone let me in downstairs,” Blake announced as he came in. “I left her.” He spun to face me, oblivious to everything around him, including the man who rose to stand from the couch. Blake’s face was wild and chaotic, and he looked . . .

“You’re plastered. Did you drive over here?” I demanded.

“No, I took a cab. Did you hear me? It’s over with Amy. I told her everything, I told her I love you. How you told me . . .”

Oh, no.
“Stop talking, Blake—”

“. . . that you love me. It’s always been you, Evie.”

Blake’s back was to Logan, but I could see every ounce of unease in Logan’s face. His dark look toward Blake was adversarial.

“That was months ago,” I announced so Logan would hear. “It isn’t true anymore.”

“What? What do you mean, it’s not true?” The chaos in Blake’s eyes ratcheted up another level, bordering on anger. “You just, what? Stopped loving me all of a sudden because I tried to keep you from making the worst mistake of your life?” He took a step toward me, looking broken. “You could have gotten hurt, or raped, or sick.”

“It’s not like that there,” I said.

Logan quietly advanced on Blake, who remained oblivious.

“I don’t care what it’s like there, I only care about you.”

Six years of want in me quivered to hear it come from Blake’s lips, all while staring at the man over his shoulder, and it threatened to tear me apart. Blake’s hands seized my waist and hauled me up against him, and in his drunken state it wasn’t gentle. I slammed into his chest and immediately struggled to get free from his sudden embrace.

“What kind of man pays that much money to sleep with a woman? I’ll tell you, the really fucked up kind.”

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Logan said.

“Jesus Christ!” Blake stumbled away, releasing me, knocking one of my kitchen chairs sideways. The moment Blake’s alcohol-hazed mind recognized Logan, his gaze went to me, white with shock.

“Blake, this is Logan.”

“Her boyfriend.” There was no hesitation from Logan, and my brain went deaf with surprise.

“Your what? I thought you said he was your asshole boss.”

Logan looked amused. “Yeah, I’m that too.”

Blake composed himself, pulling his shoulders back. It’s not like Logan was small, but Blake was tall and cut, and his size was physically intimidating. If Logan was nervous, none of it showed. He was calm and cool, and very much in control, the opposite of Blake.

“Isn’t it enough what you did to her at the club? You’re blackmailing her to be your girlfriend too? You’re a sick bastard.”

I watched as Blake’s hands rounded into fists, and all of the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I’d never seen a true fistfight before, and sensed I was closer than I’d ever been to witnessing one right this second.

“He’s not blackmailing me,” I said. “
I
asked him.”

“You . . . ? Did you not just hear me say I left her? For you?”

“Remind me when I asked you to do that?” I snapped. “That’s right. Never.”

Blake’s expression changed to one of disbelief. “This is what you wanted.”

Maybe a little part of that had been true once. But now? “No, it’s not. I told you, it’s too late.”

He didn’t look like he believed a word of it, but he stood there with his eyes unblinking for a moment. “So, we just go back to being friends?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think it’s possible.”

“We’ve been friends for, like, six years. Why can’t—?”

Blake’s expression changed and hardened. “Okay. Amy kicked me out, so I need a place to crash.”

“Not going to fucking happen.” Logan’s voice was authoritarian and terrifying. His dark eyes were fixed on me, waiting for my confirmation.

“Figure it out, Blake,” I said. “Call one of your other friends or get a hotel room.”

The taller man gave me a sad smirk before he went for the door. “It’s not too late for us. We’ve waited a long time. I can wait a little longer until you figure out this guy’s not for you.”

He didn’t slam my door when he left, he simply pulled it closed behind him, not even uttering a goodbye. Logan’s gaze burned into me.

“Can we pretend that didn’t just happen?” I asked, not meeting his eyes.

“Yes. Why don’t we go back to my place?” His voice was light but I could hear the edge beneath it. “I’ve got an adult-sized bed I’d like to do very adult things to you in.”

His joke broke the tension and I looked at him, grateful. Only, I don’t think he was joking. It was hard to tell with him, when he was half-serious and when he was entirely serious.

“Yeah, I’m sure no one will think it’s weird that you’re driving me to work tomorrow morning.”

“There’s an L stop two blocks from my place.”

I didn’t want to feel like I was sneaking into the office. I’d gotten ready this morning, not knowing what was going to happen between us, and this was about the last place I’d thought we’d end up.

“No, not tonight.”

“All right.” He looked disappointed and then it morphed into something I didn’t recognize. “Do you have plans this weekend?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” His expression made me nervous. “Why?”

“My brother’s wedding.”

Breath caught in my throat. “Are you asking me to go?”

“Yes.”

“With you?” God, was my brain even on right now? “Like, as your fake girlfriend?”

A half-smile crept on his face. “As my real girlfriend. If I’m doing this relationship thing full-out, I should get the perks that go along with it.”

I’m sure my face filled with surprise. Or maybe panic. I barely knew him, and going to his brother’s wedding was like throwing me in the deep end. Not to mention I was still reeling from the concept that Logan Stone was now my boyfriend.

“I can always make up an excuse for you to miss it,” he said. “Now that my mom believes you’re a real person, she’ll leave me alone.”

“Are you in the wedding party?”

“I’m the best man.”

A thousand thoughts went through my head. I would undoubtedly meet his entire family. He’d have wedding duties that would probably have me on my own most of the time. But, dear god, Logan in a tux.

“Yeah, I guess I can do that.”

After declaring we were in a relationship, it felt weird to be standing there, staring at each other and not touching, and I must have force-quitted my filter. “I thought you weren’t interested in . . . compromises.”

He gave a sort of bitter laugh. “Well, your tall friend made an impression on me. Specifically when he grabbed you.” Then, Logan’s gaze hardened. “I won’t be doing any compromising, though, Evelyn. Let’s be clear. I spent too much time doing that.”

“That’s why you’re single?”

“I’m not single anymore.”

“Logan.”

He stalked toward me, cupped my face, and kissed me. My knees melted. No, my whole body melted into him. How did he do that?