Page 68 of Best Kept Secret
“You good, man?” Dallas asks, slapping me on my back.
“Uh… yeah.” I cover a cough with the inside of my elbow, sure to keep my screen out of view. Clearing my throat, I look at Coach, Robbie, and Dallas and hold my empty glass up. “Just… um, just going to go grab a, uh… a drink,” I say with another cough before scurrying away to the bar.
“Another Jack and Coke?” the bartender asks.
“Yeah, thanks.” I nod, glancing back at Millie.
Me: Are you trying to get me killed, Red?
I look over my shoulder, watching Millie grin down at her phone. Seconds later, my phone shudders, and I cast a quick look around to make sure there’s no one nearby to catch an accidental glimpse of the incriminating text messages on my screen.
Red: Take me home. Please.
Fuck, the way she pleads has my balls tightening, even in text form.
Me: What’s in it for me?
My phone vibrates, and when I open the message, I swear a small part of me dies. There, on the screen, is a photo. Not just anyphoto. That filthy little brat just slipped her phone underneath the table she’s sitting at and snapped a photo of her goddamn pussy.
Unable to tear my eyes away from it, a whimper works its way up the back of my throat.
Me: Get your shit and meet me outside, around the corner in 5 minutes.
Before the bartender can return with my drink, I toss some money onto the counter and turn, planning my escape so I can leave without being noticed. But honestly, with the big guy downstairs calling the shots, right now I don’t even fucking care.
CHAPTER 32
MILLIE
So, I think I might’ve gone a tad overboard. As the cool night air whips my heated cheeks like a sobering slap to the face, regret washes over me. I suddenly can’t even look at Logan while we wait for the car he ordered because I just sent him a picture. Of my fuckingvagina!
I want to die. I briefly consider walking out into the steady flow of traffic careening down Third Avenue, but I don’t think the cars are traveling fast enough to put me out of my misery.
Logan looks pissed. Livid. Arms folded across his chest, a crease of irritation burrowed between his brows, jaw clenched so tight, like he’s grinding his molars down to the nerve. Maybe I crossed a line, but I mean, the guy did have his fingers inside of me while his entire hockey team stood within sniffing distance.
A white SUV pulls up to the curb, and Logan steps between me and the vehicle, opening the back door. Without a word, he glances at me, holding the door open, and I take that as direction, hopping into the warmth, with Logan sliding in after me.
“Lenox Hill?” the driver checks, his dark eyes flicking to mine in the review mirror.
Logan grunts a response, and as we pull out into the traffic, Icast a glance across the back seat finding him staring out the window, his knee bouncing incessantly.
With a heavy sigh, I sag back into the leather, watching the city fly by in a fluorescent blur, horny, wet, and full of regret. Maybe I should get that printed on a t-shirt.
Logan still hasn’t spoken a word to me. And the elevator ride is tense. I keep looking at him from the corner of my eye to check for any emotion, but he’s void, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, face stoic as he stares straight ahead. He’s like a statue. A very pissed off, hot statue.
“Did something happen?” I ask softly, cautiously. “Did I do something to make you mad?”
He huffs a breath through his nostrils, like half a laugh, half a scoff, but that’s it. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t look at me. And as the elevator stops at our floor, he waits for me to hop off first, following closely behind. Almost too close.
“Well, I mean if you’re going to be an asshole, you should have just left without me,” I say as I walk inside the apartment. “I could’ve stayed and had some fun with—” My words are cut short, stuck in the back of my throat as Logan grabs me and spins me around, his big body pinning me against the door, hands resting either side of my head, caging me.
Breathless, I gape up at him, taking in the fiery look in his eyes. He’s still pissed, but there’s something else, something that sends a jolt straight to my core.
“What—what are you doing?” I practically squeak.
A soft smile ghosts his lips, contradicting the menacing look in his eyes, and he reaches down, tugging on the waist tie of my coat, allowing it to fall open. His gaze dips, roaming my body, that same crease of exasperation digging between his brows.
“You think you can send me a photo of your wet fuckingcuntand get away with it?” he grits out, and the filthy words send afire raging down my spine. I gasp, and he chuckles, tracing the curve of my cheek with the back of his fingers before pushing my coat off my shoulders. “You talk a big game, but now it’s time to put your money where your bratty mouth is, Red.”
