Page 50 of Wild Boys After Dark: Logan
“Love-fucking you,” she spat.
“Love-fucking?” His shoulders lifted with a silent laugh.
She swatted his arm. “Yes. Love-fucking.”
“What the hell is love-fucking? I think you just coined a new phrase.”
“Love-fucking. You know. When you’re falling for someone but you still want them to fuck you hard. Love-fucking.”
She crossed her arms, then nervously flung them straight again.
“So you’re falling for me, but you don’t want me to love you?” He had no idea what she was trying to say or how to respond.
“You can’t love me, Logan. I’m just telling you that I wasn’t fucking you. I was—”
He held up a hand, not wanting to hear it again. He’d felt the flicker of hope when she’d begun explaining, and now he was done. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw to push his hopes away and regain perspective. He’d like to take her in his arms and kiss her until she realized that the heat that sparked every second they were together, and the lust that practically oozed from their skin when they kissed, was real. But he’d no sooner do that than allow himself to hope. He was done with hope. Hope was for losers, just like he’d told her. It was for weak people who couldn’t change a damn thing and looked for some magical element to shift things into place.
This love stuff hurt like hell, and if he had to hope for her love, there was no way he was going to put himself through that sort of torture.
Then why did every ounce of him hope she was telling him the truth?
Chapter Sixteen
“DUDE, I DON’T know what you have going on with Stella, but if you’re not going to hit that, I want a shot,” Jackson said over Logan’s shoulder.
Logan grabbed his younger brother’s arm and squeezed his muscle. They were cooking spaghetti in his mother’s kitchen. He and Stella had hardly spoken since she told him she’d love-fucked him. After a long, tense afternoon, and with the timeline on Kutcher’s release closing in on them, Logan was in no mood for a pissing match over Stella. Logan eyed the entryway into the living room, where Stella and Heath were talking with his mother.
“Don’t even think about it,” Logan warned.
Jackson put his hands up in surrender. “Get a grip. What’s gotten into you?”
Logan released him. “Sorry,” he ground out. He knew Jackson was just messing around, but between waiting for the news on Kutcher and Stella pulsing hot and cold, Logan’s nerves were threadbare.
Jackson lowered his voice. “Hey, man, I’d never make a move on your girl. I was just feeling you out.”
“Not a good idea.” He paced the small room. “She’s got a lot of shit going on right now.”
“She does, or you do?” Jackson held his stare.
“We both do.” He stopped talking when Stella appeared in the doorway.
Her eyes darted between the two men. She fidgeted with the seam of her jeans. “Want some help?”
“Sure.” Logan gave Jackson a stare that he knew he’d read as, Get the hell out of here.
Jackson pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll go talk with Mom.”
Stella stood close enough that Logan could smell her fruity shampoo. “Your family’s really nice.”
“Thanks.” He focused on stirring the spaghetti sauce, still trying to figure out how to handle things with her.
“Do you cook for your mom often?”
Logan shrugged. “We take turns throughout the week.”
“Every week?”
He met her surprised gaze. “Yeah, well, since my father…”
Her eyes filled with empathy as she touched his arm. “I’m sorry, Logan.”
Sorry for what? Breaking things off with me, or sorry about my mother? He wished he knew the answer.
“Yeah, well.” He lifted a piece of spaghetti from the pot and plopped it into his mouth. It needed another minute.
“Your mom said the police gave up looking for the guy who broke in.”
Logan shifted his eyes away, remembering the night he’d taken his parents’ assailant’s life and realizing that she wasn’t sorry for breaking it off with him. He didn’t want to talk about his father’s death. He was having enough trouble trying to navigate their relationship. “Yup.”
“Aren’t you worried for her with him still out there?”
Logan hadn’t told his mother that he’d killed her attacker, but she’d believed Logan when he’d told her the guy had been taken care of. He didn’t know what his mother thought that meant, and he had no desire to find out. She was safe, and that was all that mattered. As for Stella, he was done pussyfooting around. He was no better at feigning his emotions than she was at it, no matter how hard she tried to play it cool.
