Page 23 of The Write Off

I avoid looking where Logan sits at the bar as I head back to it, but I feel his eyes on me. He was here when I got here, as if to show me he could be on time. In a show of maturity, I didn’t even make fun of him for it. Much.

“I may not have as much time to talk revisions as I thought,” I tell him as another two men enter the bar, stomping the snow from their boots as they do. I nod at them and tell them to sit anywhere.

“That’s fine,” he says, glancing at me and then scanning his surroundings. His dark brown hair looks a bit more unkempt today. Almost like he’s been running his long fingers through it. “The hockey game is about to start. Feel free to ignore me.”

Logan in a well-fitted crew neck sweater and jeans is very difficult to ignore. And the eyeglasses? Fuck me. Where did they come from? I wonder if they’re prescription or he just knows how they look on his already gorgeous face.

“Who are the Bruins playing?” I grab a glass and place it under a selection of draft beer. The liquid flows from the stainless steel nozzle like an amber waterfall.

“I thought you didn’t follow sports.” He’s taken out a Macbook Pro, but hasn’t opened it. I stare at it in disgust.

“You brought a laptop to a bar? This isn’t a Starbucks, Carmichael. You can’t write your screenplay here.” He ignores me, but the corner of his mouth quirks. “And I don’t follow sports, but I tolerate hockey. I will go to a Bruins game with my dad or brother once a year. I like it when the game turns violent.”

“Your bloodlust aside, I find it hard to picture you enjoying hockey.”

“Maybe you should stop picturing me so much.” I grab my tray of drinks and saunter away, knowing full well how these jeans make my ass look: Phenomenal.

“Hampus Lindholm wasn’t worth the money. We should have kept Torey Krug. Then we could have afforded some decent defensemen,” Chad number one is arguing to his friend when I arrive back at their table. He talks to his merry band of “I just bathed in Axe body spray” men using his hands, moving them in front of their faces like an illusionist trying to distract his audience from his next trick.

All three men fall silent as I approach. They look me over like I’m something they can buy. When you’ve worked in a bar for as long as I have you become an excellent judge of intentions. There are some customers you can have a friendly, even flirty, back-and-forth with, all in good fun. And then there are the guys that look at you like they’d like to chain you to their side wearing only a metal bikini like Jabba the Hut. These bros are Jabbas.

And I’m not about to be their Leia.

“Here is your Pilsner…this is your IPA…and a stout for you. Let me know if you need anything else,” I tell them, backing away. I don’t want to give them the same view of my ass I so freely offered Logan.

“Don’t go too far, Kitten,” their leader says, watching me as I go.

I retreat back to the safety of the bar, its tall oak structure acting as my trench and barricade. The two men that entered earlier have chosen to sit at the bar. I take their order, two Bud Lights, their eyes never leaving the highlights reel on the widescreen tv.

“Kitten?” Logan has opened the laptop and actually has the audacity to appear to be working on it. His narrowed gaze moves to the men in the booth as he raises his beer to his mouth.

“Are you implying I’m not a ‘Kitten?’” I feign offense. “I’m adorable and not above scratching someone’s eyes out if they piss me off. Don’t worry about me. I can handle Alvin and The Pimpmunks.”

Logan narrowly avoids doing a spit-take, setting his beer down and coughing out a laugh. I feel I’m seeing a different side of himself tonight. A crew-neck-wearing, relaxed version of Logan. I hate to admit it given how much I’ve lamented his very existence over the last several months, but I like it. He’s human.

And hot. Like, wow. So, so hot.

He wipes his eyes under his glasses. “So you have a brother?”

“I do indeed. He’s almost two years older than me. Lives in the apartment next to mine with the short girl you met at my place earlier. What about you? Any siblings?”

He takes a long pull on his glass of Pilsner and then sets it on the bar. “I had a brother. He died last year.”

“Logan, I’m so sorry.” Losing a sibling would be heartbreaking. I can’t imagine life without Josh. I don’t want to.

“Thank you,” he nods at me and looks back to his computer screen. “It was very unexpected.”

I’m dying to pry, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable or sad. “Your niece and nephew? They’re his?”

“Yes. I help my sister-in-law, Shannon, a lot with them, especially on weekends. She’s a nurse in the emergency department of Boston Medical Center.”

“Oof. Being a single mom and a nurse has got to be tough. It’s great of you to help her.”

“It’s not a big deal. They’re good kids and I love hanging out with them. Plus, aside from work, I don’t do much on the weekend.”

I’m guessing there’s no girlfriend in the picture then. I file that tidbit of information away.

“Does she have any other support?”

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