Page 89 of The Games We Play
Bringing it to my lips, I took a long drag and exhaled slowly out the open window, watching the smoke curl into the warm spring air.
“You don’t need my number, I promise I’ll be there!” Logan added, voice pitched just enough to carry back to the small crowd of older women who’d been surrounding him like a pack of coyotes in cardigans.
I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, my lips quirking into a grin. Logan was being completely overrun by a group of flirtatious grandmas, all batting their lashes and pretending they didn’t know exactly what they were doing.
Could I have saved him? Sure.
Was I enjoying this a little too much? Absolutely.
Finally, with one last wave and a desperate smile, Logan turned on his heel, yanked open the van door, and climbed inside. His expression dropped the second he sat down.
“I’m never coming back here,” he muttered, slumping against the driver’s seat with the dramatic exhaustion of someone who just barely escaped with his dignity intact.
This had been stop number two on our flower delivery route. The ladies from the crochet club now had their flowers to pass out around town, which left the door-to-door deliveries still ahead of us.
“Did I hear you lining up a hot date with Mrs. Conrad?” I asked, taking another pull from my cigarette. “Didn’t peg you as the widow type.”
Logan gave me a sideways glare, shifting the van into drive. “She needs help lifting ‘heavy things,’” he said, air quotes and all. “Apparently, my muscles will do the trick.”
I snorted, my head falling back as I laughed.
Logan was pretty ripped. He might’ve been the youngest and shortest in our crew, but his physique gave Rhodes and Boone a real run for their money. His arms were the size of damn tree trunks—hard not to notice when he was constantly in T-shirts a size too small.
I glanced down at my own leaner frame and gave a one-shouldered shrug.
“Guess that’s why she didn’t ask me,” I muttered.
“That, and you barely got out of the van to say two words to them.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a secret that most of the older ladies in this town aren’t my biggest fans.”
I’d never been the golden boy type—not like Logan. I’d started smoking young, worked in a bar before I was old enough to legally drink, and never made much effort to hide the rougher edges of who I was.
Tattoos covered most of my arms, stretched across my chest, even snuck up the sides of my hands. I wasn’t what they wanted their daughters—or granddaughters—bringing home. And my dad being the town drunk hadn’t helped matters. His reputation clung to me like smoke, no matter how hard I tried to shake it.
Not that I really did.
“I wonder why,” Logan said dryly, pulling onto Main Street toward our next delivery.
“Wise ass,” I grumbled.
He chuckled, clearing his throat, and gave me a quick glance. “So, how are things with Penny? She didn’t seem pissed about you tagging along today.”
“I think… good,” I said finally, flicking ash out the window. “She doesn’t act like she wants to murder me anymore. So that’s progress.”
Logan didn’t say anything, but the knowing smile that tugged at his lips said enough.
“I’m actually enjoying all this groveling,” I said, surprising even myself. I wasn’t the kind of guy who chased, but chasing Penny? That had been… kind of incredible.
“Oh?” Logan’s voice carried too much amusement for my liking. “The hunted becomes the hunter?”
I rolled my eyes and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Very funny.” Then, softer, more honest: “I like making her happy. I know I screwed up, and I’d do just about anything to fix it. Seeing her the way she was before—distant, cold, avoiding—it sucked.” I shook my head, trying to clear the memory.
“I get it,” Logan said, glancing over at me before turning back to the road. “Her happiness matters more to you than your pride.”
It did. I’d beg, I’d crawl, I’d do whatever it took. Knowing I’d been the reason behind that flicker of sadness in her eyes… itgutted me like someone had driven a blade straight through my chest.
I glanced at Logan and caught it—a flicker of something passing across his face. His jaw clenched. One hand tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles going pale.
