Page 72 of Wild Catch
He turns his back on me and I wonder if it’s to compose his expression, but he’s looking into a monitor by the door and there’s another sign of distress. His shoulders tense enough to wrinkle the back of his shirt. “There they are,” he whispers.
Not going to lie, this is starting to feel horror movie-ish.
Slowly, I bring my hands to cover my mouth, muffling the violent gasp that I can feel coming. Something clicks in my mind.
I’ve always thought that Logan is this guy sitting on a pedestal so high that it makes him untouchable, but I’m starting to think that’s always been an act. That he distanced himself from everyone else because of this—because he’s carrying something ugly inside of him all on his own and he doesn’t want to share it.
“Ready?” Logan asks, frowning at me when I don’t respond. “Hey, I didn’t mean to freak you out but we can still cancel all this?—”
“There’s no need?—”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?” he asks while the doorbell goes off again.
My eyes widen. “Like what?”
“Like I’m a wounded puppy?” His lip twists in disgust.
My chest squeezes hard enough to physically hurt, making me brace with the kitchen island behind me.
Crap, he’s right. I’m feeling the exact same tender thing that I would for an adorable cub with big round eyes that’s limping. Logan doesn’t need that. I have a feeling it’ll piss him off even more than he already seems.
Moreover,Idon’t need that. I don’t need to feel squat for him,period.
“Sorry, ignore me.” I set my sparkling water down on the counter and pull down at my dress. “Let’s do this.”
Nodding, he waits until I’m next to him to open the front door.
Freja Lindberg and Taejoon Kim—aka TJ Kim—stand on the other side in the corridor, two small suitcases flanking them.
My mind, my senses, and my very being are working on overdrive. Freja and TJ are overwhelmingly beautiful by themselves, but together they have the same impossible effect of eating a candy that is so sweet you get an immediate cavity. I don’t know if it’s genetics or money, but they’re both over fifty and look way better than I do. Suddenly I feel like I’m too frumpy to even stand near them.
Yet, I plaster on my brightest smile. “Hi! I’m Rose, it’s so nice to meet you.” I stretch my hand first to Freja.
“I’m the one who is excited to finally meet the woman who captured Logan’s heart,” she says with a twinkling smile fit for fairies. Ignoring my hand, she goes in for an air kiss that brings a strong waft of sweet perfume.
In contrast, TJ does accept a handshake and he too is all smiles. “A girlfriend, how charming. You must be really special if Logan is willing to use that label.”
My expression doesn’t falter even though I’m super confused. I’m sure Logan has had girlfriends before. There have been news articles comparing them to me already, and a fan favorite is the one pitting his former model girlfriend and me. I don’t suffer from either extreme of the self esteem spectrum, but I can confirm that I have the kind of beauty that is okay for the pageant circuit, but not for high fashion or Hollywood—and the fans were very eloquent about it.
I turn slightly to Logan and freeze.
He looks like a beautiful statue, lips set firmly shut, devoid of any expression. If it wasn’t for his sharp eyes, I’d have believed that his mind packed up its bags and went on a long trip on his bike. What’s more, he’s not saying anything at all to his parents.
“Shall we?” I motion into the apartment.
“Ah, yes. I’d love to change my shoes before we head out for dinner,” Freja comments, wheeling her suitcase inside.
Logan and I step aside, taking opposite ends of the door as they pass. His mom pauses in the living room, zeroing in on the details I installed all around. The glance she tosses back over her shoulder is to assess me—not because she approves or rejects what she sees.
Meanwhile, her husband makes a direct line for the room I used to change my clothes and fix up my makeup, and I’m glad I had the presence of mind to bundle all that into my purse before stepping out.
“What did your dad mean?” I ask in a low voice once Logan and I are alone again.
He runs a hand through his damp hair, the sleeve of the shirt stretching so tight over his bulging bicep that I worry for the fabric. “I’ve never introduced them to a girlfriend before.”
“Why not?”
“They weren’t the one.” He shrugs.
