Page 25 of Not By the Playbook

LOGAN

Practice ends early,but instead of hanging with the guys like I normally do, I head home. Anticipation at seeing Rebecca makes me hurry, even though a faint voice in my head tells me I’m too eager. A grimace crosses my face, I force myself to slow down. But when I hit the fourth red light in so many minutes, my fingers are drumming on the steering wheel.

Finally, I arrive home, but the penthouse is empty. It’s weird how easily I’ve gone from a bachelor lifestyle to sharing the space with two women. My privacy is shot, but I’m surprisingly okay with that.

Not that it hasn’t been jarring to be surrounded with female paraphernalia. Shoes are strewn everywhere, makeup and bottles crowd the bathroom vanity. I look around for their owner again, as if I expect Rebecca to poof out of one the jars. We don’t have much time left. Every second counts.

Becs and I are still sleeping together. And the sex continues to be mind-blowing. I was sure the first time was a fluke, but it only gets hotter. And it doesn’t lessen the pleasure of spending time with Rebecca, even when we aren’t in bed.

She hasn’t seemed opposed to our changed situation either, but I hate that anxious expression that lurks under her smile.

There’s been no word about her job, and it’s Wednesday. The delay doesn’t bother me. After all, the longer it takes, the less time I’m alone with Jenna.Really? That’s why you’re not bothered?

It’s the novelty. The forced proximity. The Jenna-buffer.

Or maybe not. Everything in me recoils at giving Rebecca up. But she’s not a library book I can just “forget” to return.

So what now? Do I just enjoy the time we have left? Because whether she gets the job or not, this will end.

I shake my head clear of my thoughts, and settle on the couch, propping my feet on the coffee table. Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, even good old-fashioned cable—the world has run out of everything interesting to watch. Maybe I should call the guys? But the thought of returning to the clubs and the rotating door of women leaves me hollow.

I look at Rebecca’s books, haphazardly piled by my feet. It’s time to stop lying to myself. I don’t want this to end. I want this, whatever it is, to continue, even though it scares the shit out of me. I want more nights in with Becs. Without our in-house chaperone.

I yank frustrated fingers through my hair. I can’t broach the subject of exploring where this might go until after everything is settled. Becs doesn’t need the additional stress. I’m tempted to yell at Jenna, tell her to stop sitting on her ass. It’s not easy on Becs, having this whole job thing hanging over her.

Right at 6:30 p.m., the buzzer heralding Jenna’s return sounds. A bomb squad couldn’t diffuse the timetable she’s on.

“Hey,” I greet her when she enters the apartment, immediately taking my feet off the table.

Jenna deposits her giant bag on the entry table. “Hi. How are you?”

“Good. Had dinner?” I’m proud of myself for making nice.

“Not yet,” she responds. “What about you? Do you have dinner plans with Rebecca?”

We don’t, but I want Rebecca to myself tonight. Test the waters, see if she seems interested in continuing whatever this is without my sister around. I nod, “Thinking of taking Becs out somewhere.”

But I know she’d prefer to have another shot with Jenna. Politely, and hoping she’ll refuse, I ask, “You wanna join us?”

Jenna blinks at my invitation, as if she doesn’t believe I’m asking her along. “That would be nice…but I actually have dinner scheduled with an old colleague.” Her features soften, and a long-forgotten dimple flashes on her cheek. “But thank you for asking.” We exchange genuine grins. Civilized exchanges between us are few and far between.

Awkwardness at this strange truce makes us look away a few moments, and Jenna busies herself sorting throughmystack of mail on the kitchen counter. “Your phone bill is due.”

I wave it off. “Autopay.” I haul myself up and walk over to see what else she’s got. She’s methodically sorting the envelopes into stacks, bills, junk, and other.

Should I?

I clear my throat, a hand rubbing the back of my neck. “So…”

“Yes?” Jenna asks, not taking her eyes off her task.

“About Becs…”

She abandons the pile and takes a step back.

With a deep breath, I forge on, “Any idea when she’ll find out about the gig at McCann?” I keep my voice light. I pick up the stack of junk mail and start flipping through it. The shuffling paper is the only sound in the terse silence.

I finally find the guts to lift my gaze to see if she’s heard me.

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