Page 44 of We Were Something
I would have assumed a doctor would be super picky and bossy about nearly everything. And yet, Logan has shown me that I shouldn’t be drawing any kind of conclusions about him without direct evidence.
And I kind of like it.
“I’m gonna ring up the final total and come back for payment,” Cohen says, waving a slip of paper at Logan. “Go ahead and get dressed and I’ll wait outside for you both.”
I shake my head. “Just charge the card on file.”
“What? No, Paige, you don’t need to…”
But Cohen is already gone, through the door and back out to the storefront to prep a receipt and pack the first portion of Logan’s items.
“There’s no way I’m letting you pay for all of these clothes,” he says, his tone coming out firm. “I can afford to cover them myself.”
I shrug. “I know, but this was so fun for me and you were such a good sport about it. Let me do this, please? It’s something you wouldn’t normally ever do for yourself.”
Logan’s brow furrows as I cross to where he’s standing on the platform, then reach out and unhook the cufflink on his right sleeve.
“Besides, I have a credit here every month,” I tell him, tugging his hand closer as I struggle with the toggle. “A gift from the Marcus family to my mother. We rarely use it, and I figure now is as good a time as any to cash in on it, huh?”
I palm the cufflink then shift over to unhook the one from his left sleeve. When I look up at Logan’s face, I find him looking off to the side, his expression uncertain, his jaw tight.
“Plus, it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to style someone. I used tolovedoing this back in college. You really are giving me a gift by letting me do this.”
His eyes narrow, but I turn away and head over to the table behind him, returning the cufflinks to their box.
“Cohen’s fun, isn’t he?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
Thankfully, Logan takes the bait, snorting out a laugh. “He is quite a character.”
I turn around and lean back against the table, nodding in agreement.
“How do you two know each other?”
“We took classes together at FIT.”
“What’s FIT?”
“The Fashion Institute of Technology,” I tell him as he takes a seat on the couch and begins untying his shoes. “I’ve got that,” I say, kneeling in front of him and pushing his hands away.
“Is a fashion degree that much different than a traditional university degree?” he asks.
I shrug. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t finish, but it was a fun few semesters,” I add, sharing my go-to line as I tug a Berluti Oxford off one foot and begin untying the other.
“Why just a few semesters?” Logan asks.
I look up at him and give him the same easy smile I’ve been practicing for years.
“New York just wasn’t for me.”
Once I have both shoes in hand, I rise to my feet and cross back to the table, tucking each shoe back into its box.
“Yeah, I’ve never been a fan, either. I enjoy large cities, but New York is a whole other animal.”
I glance over, preparing to say something in response about, I don’t know, the frigid winters not being what a California girl is made for, but I nearly bite off my tongue when I find Logan unbuttoning his shirt.
With each outfit rotation we’ve gone through tonight, he’s stepped into the small dressing room to change, much to my—and Cohen’s—dismay.
So now, having him not only changing in front of me but revealing all that smooth, tan skin I’ve been daydreaming about for weeks…I feel frozen in place.
