Page 65 of Best Kept Secret
“Yeah, thanks. It’s warm in here.” I smile at the woman, removing my coat and handing it to her in exchange for a ticket stub.
Turning, I tug on the hem of my dress that, in hindsight, feels slightly too short and maybe inappropriate given the current scene. But judging by the blatant look ofwhat-the-utter-fuckdisplayed on Logan’s face, this dress does exactly what I’d hoped it would do. Ignoring his reaction and his eyes that track my every move, I snake my way through the sea of mostly men who, unsurprisingly, look like off-ice hockey players, smiling at those who offer me appraising glances, making my way to Emily and Fran.
“Oh…myGod,” Fran shrieks, grabbing my hand and forcing me to do a spin. “Look at you, miss ma’am!”
I feel my cheeks flush but try desperately to keep my chin held high in a show of confidence one should have while wearing a dress like this.
“Millie, you look hot,” Emily shouts over the din of music and too many voices talking at the same time.
And I do look hot. I made damn sure of it before I left the apartment. My trusty white cowboy boots, a pale pink dress that’s basically a second skin, my hair left out and wavy, flowing over my shoulders.
“I was worried I missed the surprise,” I say, looking around, feeling Logan’s eyes still fixed firmly on me from the bar.
“Hannah just texted and said they’re about ten minutes away,” Fran explains, sipping her wine.
“Hey, Sis.” Dallas appears, placing a tray of drinks onto the table.
“Hey.” I smile up at him, fully aware of his eyes scanning my outfit.
He leans in close enough so that only I can hear him. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“A dress,” I answer simply. “Just like Fran and Emily are both wearing dresses.”
He quirks a brow, and I know what he’s not saying. He’snotsaying that my dress is nothing like Fran’s or Emily’s, and he’d be right, but fuck him. No one died and made him the fashion police. Before he can say anything, Emily slaps him in his chest, flashing him a warning look, and he adjusts his Stetson, pressing his lips together, his jaw ticking as he looks away. And I can tell he has so much more to say, so thank God for Emily Cole and her ability to gag his big fat mouth.
“Ignore him,” Emily says, wrapping her arm around me. “He’s just being abig brother.You look amazing.”
I should let it go, but Logan’s right; I’m a brat. I always have been. I think it’s ayoungest childthing. So, instead, I adjust my dress, tugging the neckline down a little, fully aware as Dallas goes out of his waynotto look at me. And, with a wink at Emily, I say, “Well, I’m going to see what sexy hockey boy might wanna buy a gal a drink.”
Dallas bristles, turning back to me. “Over my dead?—”
Emily slaps a hand over his mouth, smiling tightly at me as she tries to rein in her fiancé, and I smirk the whole way to the bar, my sights set on only one sexy hockey boy.
Sidling in next to Logan, intentionally brushing up against him, I notice he remains focused straight ahead despite his gaze watching me covertly from the corner of his eyes.
“Is that dress supposed to be a fucking joke?” he seethes, still not looking at me.
With an innocent smile, I, too, avoid his direction, staring at the shelves of glittering liquor bottles lined up behind the bar. “You sound like my brother.”
“Your ass is barely covered, Red,” he grits. “One wrong move and the whole fucking team’s gonna know what color panties you’re wearing.”
I almost laugh. Almost. Instead, I continue smiling and say, “Well, jokes on them because I’m not wearing any.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he hisses.
I shrug a nonchalant shoulder. “This dress isn’t very underwear-friendly.”
Next to me, Logan drags a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath.
The bartender reappears, placing two beers and a glass of Jack and Coke on the counter before turning to me, his smile morphing from casual to cocky as his gaze drifts downwards, lingering on my breasts a moment too long, before meeting my eyes again with a tip of his chin. “What can I get you, cutie?”
Inwardly, I cringe because, ew. But outwardly, I swoon like a moron, biting on my pink painted nail. “Bartender’s choice,” I say with a flirty smile.
As the bartender turns away to begin making me something that will undoubtedly include a cute little cocktail umbrella and way too much prosecco to be drinkable, Logan grabs his drinks and turns, this time intentionally brushing up against me.
I peer up at him through my lashes, seeing just how fiery his eyes are, and I refrain from shivering, but my God, the things this man is capable of doing to me without even touching me should be studied in a lab.
“Keep it up, Red,” he mutters, his voice low and gruff, breath hot against my skin. Quirking a brow, his grin is almost taunting as he adds, “I fuckin’ dare you.”
