Page 4 of Best Kept Secret
“Hey, who’s this?” he asks bluntly, jaw working overtime as he listens to whatever B says on the other end of the line. “What’s the problem?”
Logan’s gaze darts to me, the crease between his eyebrows burrowing deeper. “Uh huh… yeah… yep… okay.”
I stare at him, my eyes bouncing between his to try get a read on what’s happening, but Logan is a blank canvas, and he’s not giving anything away.
“Sure,” he says. “Well, you can tellParkershe’ll be home soon. With herboyfriend.”
I blink at him, my brain racing. Did I just hear him right? Did he just say boyfriend?
Logan ends the call, handing the phone back to me without even a semblance of an explanation. But before I can ask what the hell just happened, we make it to the front of the line right as a cab pulls up to the curb.
Logan opens the door for me and, as if I’m on auto-pilot, I hop in and give the driver my address. When I feel a body slide in after me, I can’t help but gawk at him sitting right there.
“W-what are you doing?” I finally find my voice.
“Coming home with you,” he says casually while clicking his seatbelt.
I stare at him, blinking hard and shaking my head. “I’m sorry…what?”
He meets my eyes, rearing back likehe’sthe confused one, and I swear, I almost laugh. Almost. “Logan, my ex is there. He’s drunk. Possibly evenhigh,” I exclaim. “Showing up with you is only going to cause… trouble.”
As the cab pulls out into the steady flow of traffic, Logan unfastens the buttons at his cuffs before carefully rolling each of his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, the corner of his lips curling up with a menacing smirk as he says, “Good thing I know how to fight then, huh?”
CHAPTER 2
LOGAN
The drive from the city to Ann Arbor is longer than I expected. And it’s silent. Awkwardly silent. The cab driver tried to make conversation in that way that cab drivers do, but the poor guy wasn’t getting any more than an occasional one-word response, so he gave up after a while and now it’s just the three of us, driving through the night to the tune of nothing but the tires treading the asphalt.
I find myself glancing across the back seat more times than I care to admit, watching Millie as she stares out the window, the street lights illuminating her pretty face every few seconds.Man, she’s beautiful.
When she finally turns her head, catching me in the act, her green eyes are wide with the kind of fear that feels like a punch straight to the throat.
“This is a bad idea,” she says. “Maybe you should just drop me off.”
I quirk a brow. “Your ex is at your house, drunk after an all-day kegger at a frat, possibly high, and he’s refusing to leave until he sees you.”
She nods like it’s no big deal.
“I’m coming home with you, Red. That’s non-negotiable.”
She huffs an exasperated sigh, and I can tell by her bouncing knee that she’s growing more and more anxious with every mile we drive. “You don’t understand. Parker’s a privileged, smarmy, self-entitled gerbil.”
“Sounds like a real catch,” I quip.
Ignoring me, she continues, “His parents are loaded. His dad’s a top defense attorney in Chicago. Parker’s pre-law.”
I’m not sure what his major or his parents’ financial status has to do with me escorting her home to make sure she’s safe, but whatever.
“And you’re…you.” She waves a hand in my direction.
Mock offended, I balk, clutching a hand to my chest. “Um, rude.”
“No, I didn’t—I mean, you’re a…famous athlete,” she says, dropping her voice to a whisper at that last part. “He will bleed you dry if you so much as lay a fingernail on him, whether he deserves it or not.”
“I played collegiate hockey for Princeton. This isn’t my first rodeo with entitled assholes.” I make a point of cracking my knuckles, flashing her a cocky smirk. “I’ve got this, Red.”
Ten minutes later, the cab pulls up to a curb outside a three-story townhouse that sits in a row of identical houses lining either side of the street. I look out at the structure, every window illuminated through the night, and I pull my wallet out and hand the driver more than enough cash to cover the fare as well as a generous tip.
