Page 11 of Fall From Grace
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I come from a short family.” She finishes the water and slams the glass down hard enough that it alerts me to her touchiness, and I wonder if she’s seconds from storming off.
Strange as it is, I don’t want her to go. Not yet. It’s odd, yes, but I’m having too much fun with her, so in an effort to keep her here with me, I say, “I’m Logan.”
The girl eyes me up and down, as if she’s wondering whether I’m joking or teasing her somehow.
“See, normally when someone tells you their name, you’re supposed to tell them your name back. It’s how conversations usually go.”
“I know that,” she quickly says. “I just don’t know if I want to tell you my name.”
“Ouch. That mad I called you a nerd, huh?”
She rolls her eyes, not for the first time. “I don’t care that you called me a nerd. You’re just… you’re not really my type.” It’s like she knew exactly what to say to rile me up right back. I made fun of her height, and she tells me she’s not interested in me.
But we both know that’s impossible. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I’m every girl’s type. The mask, body paint, and mystery behind it all definitely played a huge role, but at the end of the day, I’m still me.
“Come on,” I say. “I’m not asking you to marry me. All I want is a name.”
Not going to lie, this is new to me. Girls would trip over themselves to tell me their names, their whole fucking story, as if I gave a shit—and I never did. I didn’t care. I never pretended to, and they were fine with it. They wanted Pope, the man in the mask, and I gave it to them.
And now Pope is gone and Logan is standing in his place. Sucks, because I’d rather be Pope than Logan any day of the fucking week.
Everything I’ve done, all my experience, country-wide tours, and this little nerd doesn’t even want to tell me her name. I’d be annoyed if it wasn’t such a turn-on.
Don’t ask me why that is. Couldn’t tell you.
After what feels like forever, the girl finally says her name: “Wren.”
Wren. I can’t say I’ve ever met someone with that name. It’s unique, and it fits her. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I tease her with a smile, and she rolls her eyes again at me, but unless I’m mistaken, there’s a new color on her cheeks.
Is she blushing? Wow. That’s not something I’m used to.
“So, Wren, you don’t normally come to places like this. You came to have fun. If this isn’t your idea of fun, why are you here?”
She opens her mouth, as if she has a reply ready, but then she must think better of it. She shuts her mouth and thinks it over before she says, “I want to try new things. I… want to do things I’m uncomfortable with.”
I chuckle. “Why?”
“Why not?”
“Touché.”
“Why are you here?” she asks me. “Wait, let me guess: you always come to places like this. You like to drink and let loose. Make mistakes and not remember them in the morning. It doesn’t matter what day of the week it is for you.”
I’d be insulted if she wasn’t right.
“Pretty good, for a nerd,” I say dryly, in the hope of getting under her skin—and it works, based on the way she bristles and frowns up at me. Her frown, I hate to say it, is kind of cute.
She’skind of cute, actually.
“Stop calling me that,” she huffs.
“Why should I? That’s what you are, isn’t it? I bet you were in the top ten of your graduating class.” I wait a moment before saying, “Go ahead, prove me wrong. Tell me you got Cs or something.”
Wren sucks in a hard breath. “I’ve never gotten a C in anything… and I was in the top five, actually.”
I grin, and then I lean down and say, “I knew you were a goody two-shoes.” I inch toward her and reach for her hair, brushing it off her neck, making sure to graze the tips of my fingers along her skin in the process. She doesn’t move away from me, but her hard glare at me softens a bit. “The real question is,” I pause for dramatic effect, “how bad do you want to be tonight?”
Her eyes fall, and I can tell she’s thinking about it. This girl isn’t used to talks like this, that’s for sure. The banter doesn’t come easily to her. When her eyes lift and meet mine, she doesn’t say a word, leaving me to wonder just what she’s thinking.
