Page 104 of Best Kept Secret
“What will you be doing?” Dallas asks between bites of his corn cob.
“Assisting with talent release forms, NDAs, that sort of thing.” I shrug. “It’ll be interesting.”
“That sounds kind of exciting,” Emily says with a smile. “Imagine all the famous athletes you’re going to meet.”
“Wasted on Mils,” Dallas scoffs. “She wouldn’t notice Michael Jordan walking past her on the street.”
I quirk a brow. “Michael who?”
Emily snaps her head up, eyes wide.
“Kidding.” I laugh. “I’ve seenSpace Jam.”
“Oh, my God,” Emily snickers, shaking her head.
“So,” Dallas begins, wiping his mouth with his napkin. And I can tell by his pause and his tone that he’s about to say something he knows I’m not going to like.
I heave a sigh, placing my knife and fork down, meeting his eyes across the table.
“How much longer you planning on staying here?” He makes a point of looking around at the apartment.
My heart lurches up into the back of my throat. “Um… I-I don’t know.” I shrug. “Logan said there’s no rush…” I feel my cheeks flame, and I pick up my glass and finish the remainder of my drink in one go.
“Hmmm…” Dallas hums in that way that’s allknow-it-alland fucking irritating.
“What?” I arch a brow, waiting for him to say whatever it is he obviously feels the need to say.
“I was talking to him today and”—he shrugs—“I don’t know, but I get the feeling you might be overstaying your welcome.”
I know it’s bullshit, but it doesn’t mean his words don’t deliver a sting.
“Poor guy’s a single, twenty-four-year-old professional hockey player in his prime,” my brother continues. “And he has you living here, cramping his style.”
I try to bite my tongue, but I can’t. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe not all professional hockey players are disgusting man whores?”
Emily ducks her head, hiding her laugh.
“Trust me,” Dallas says with a knowing smirk. “LoganCullen is very much a ladies’ man. He and Happy are probably out right now, bagging chicks.”
Bile rises up the back of my throat, and I’m suddenly no longer hungry. I know it’s not true, but that thought makes me feel physically sick.
Emily makes a point of clearing her throat. “Do I need to remind someone sitting at this very table that not so long ago he too was quite the playboy? And ex-playboys in glass houses, shouldn’t really be throwing around man whore accusations, now, should they?” She arches a warning brow at Dallas, taking a long sip from her wine.
Dallas holds his hands up in surrender, turning back to me. “Look, all I’m saying is that maybe you should think about finding your own place to live. I can help you until you?—”
The front door opens, slamming shut, startling us all. Nothing but silence ensuing.
I look at Dallas. Dallas looks at me. Emily looks between us.
“Red?”
At the sound of Logan’s fraught, panicked voice coming from the entry, I push back from the table so quickly, my chair topples to the floor with a heavy clatter.
“Red?” Dallas mutters, glancing at Emily.
Emily shrugs, shaking her head.
I ignore them both, running so fast my feet almost fail me. Rounding the corner of the hallway, I skid to a stop when I see Logan on the floor, slumped against the front door, knees pulled up, eyes squeezed closed like he’s in pain, chest heaving.
