Page 21 of His Good Girl
As soon as I get home, letting the front door close behind me, I hurry toward the kitchen to root around in the fridge. I find nothing that takes my fancy, so I give up and decide to go out for something to eat instead. It’ll do me good being somewhere crowded, and perhaps I can find someone to bring home and work out a few frustrations on. In fact, that becomes my priority as I shower and change, picking up my coat from last night, still slung haphazardly over the chair in the corner of my dimly lit bedroom. Making my way downstairs, I shove the coat into the washing machine and set it to run on a delicate wash, something that I should’ve done before now. Opening the dishwasher a few seconds later, I pull out the knife and tie I shoved in there last night to wash away Shelley’s blood. Examining the silk fabric, I decide it’s ruined from the lack of care and shove it in a drawer to deal with later. I will probably have to burn it. Grabbing another black coat from the hall closet, I slip it on over my tight black shirt, sliding the knife into the inner pocket, just in case. The three-quarter-length coat swishes around me as I head out of the front door, dressed smartly but casually in black pants and a shirt.
Walking the short distance to the city’s food and beverage district, I spot Belmont’s and decide a steak is in good order.
Pushing open the door to the restaurant side, I discover it is packed already. Glancing at my watch, I see it’s past seven.
“No tables free for about an hour,” the front of house says when she spots me.
“Logan Carter, I’ll wait.”
She rakes her gaze over me, taking in every inch of my appearance and looking like she wants more. A small voice in my head is telling me to be careful. She shows no sign of shifting her gaze towards someone else, which is not a good thing because my mood is foul after dealing with the Serena issue for the past two days, and I am ready to vent some frustration right now. I don’t want to talk to anyone, but I need a distraction. She is not what I’m looking for, though.
“You can wait in the bar if you like?”
“Sure.” I nod before walking away from her and making my way through the walkway that leads to the crowded bar area. Scanning the people standing around in groups, chatting and laughing, drinks flowing freely, I spot a blonde on a stool near the bar to the far side of where I’m standing. Facing away from me, her long, blonde waves falling down her back, she is precisely what I’m looking for.
“Perfect,” I murmur, taking a few steps closer, dinner completely forgotten as I spot my target and aim for her. As I sidle closer, I see the tattoo at the base of her spine, a pair of angel wings that is sexy as hell above the top of her low-rise jeans. She is talking to her friends, a bottle of Champagne set out in front of them.
She gathers her hair up and drags it over her left shoulder. Turning her head to speak to the woman on her right, I freeze.
There is absolutely no mistaking her.
“Serena,” I breathe out, cursing my own damn luck that I came looking for anyone but her, and she’s the one I was drawn to out of all the women in here. “Fuck’s sake.” Turning, I rub my face with my hands, and head straight for the bar. Sitting on the end, where there is a small gap with a waiting stool, I know I should leave because staying will only lead to trouble. Ordering a triple Scotch—neat—I prepare to get drunk enough to forget that I can’t even go on the prowl for a woman anymore without falling upon the one I need to get out of my head.
Chapter15
Serena
When Rue leans over, she whispers, “Logan’s here.” Her smirk makes me giggle.
“Where?” I ask, my curiosity about who he is with clawing at me. I want to see these hot, sexy seductresses he hangs around with.
She points to the bar, where it takes me a second to find him. It surprises me that he’s alone. He is perched on a stool at the end of the bar where it meets the wall, his elbow propped up on the bar, his glass dangling from his hand as he stares contemplatively at it. I’m not sure if he’s drunk, but he looks a bit morose. My head is spinning nicely. The Champagne I decided to splurge on – not in any way to make friends, of course – has fizzed my brain into a nice lull of bubbles, extravagance, and sophistication.
“He is gorgeous,” Tiff says, looking over to where we are. “And older too. Shit, get in there, girl.”
I snort. “Uhm, he’s my boss.”
“So?” Her frank, blue-eyed gaze is serious.
“And fifteen years older than me.”
“I’m not seeing the problem here.”
Giggling, I shake my head. “No, I’m definitely not his type.”
“What, he doesn’t like shit-hot, nubile blondes?” She lets out a loud guffaw which brings a blush to my cheeks.
“I wouldn’t call myself nubile,” I mutter.
“Have you seen you?” Macy asks. “I’d give anything for your hair and rack.”
Glaring down at my cleavage, I have to admit, my curves have always been a draw for men, but there’s that thing that I’m not thinking about that stops me from being pleased with the compliments. I know it’s what girls,friendsdo, but it thickens my throat with an emotion I can’t quite place.
“He’d be a fool if he didn’t want to hit that,” Suz adds.
“You guys are so sweet,” I murmur, looking to Rue for help. Surely, she gets it?
Her dark-eyed gaze is curious and interested. She doesn’t back me up, nor does she push me on him. I’m not really sure what she’s thinking, not being the best at reading people.
