Page 74 of The Opposite of Romance
I chuckle at his suggestion. Sandy would die if she heard I got an offer for a marriage of convenience. I find it funny, too. But the other part of me, the vulnerable one, realizes that marrying Dean wouldn’t be any different from the last few years of my marriage with David. Matter of fact, marrying Dean would probably give me more intimacy and romance than David did, even if it’s only friendly.
“You know what?” I respond. “I could be coaxed into that.”
With my lips turned up, I look around, my gaze catching on a small group of people on the very edge of the backyard, two men and a woman. I wonder if I’m going crazy for a second, because there, with a drink in his hand, stands Logan, in a tan polo shirt and navy slacks. The second I notice him, his eyes snap up to mine, as if he felt me. We’re both frozen for a second before his jaw gets stiff, his eyes narrowing.
Not sure what happened, I turn around, only to realize someone is approaching us and Dean has put his hand around my shoulders. I haven’t even felt his hand, not with Logan’s eyes on me. Dean introduces me to his aunt, and by the time we’re done with the pleasantries, Logan is nowhere to be found.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
LOGAN
I can’t believeshe’s here. At Gram’s birthday party. With Dean.What the hell is she doing with him?
I never saw him with a woman. And I honestly had my doubts if he was even into them. But by the way he pulled her to his side, he’s obviously intoher.
I make my way inside the house, straight into the kitchen, to refill my whiskey. Downing it in one large sip, I refill it again, leaning my ass on the counter.
We’re not dating, I know that, but this still came as a shock. And she must have been dating Dean for a while now if he’s introducing her to the family.
Dean, my cousin. Fuck.
He was never at her house, and I’m there all the time. Even when the fucking deck could’ve been done ten days ago, I prolonged the whole thing, only to stay in her presence longer.
“Food time!” Aunt Linda calls, and I groan, filling my glass back up and making my way outside.
Everyone is already sitting down at the giant-ass table I built for Grams.Hungry fuckers.
The only place available is, of course, right across from Sadie and Dean. My face laced with disgust, I collapse into the chair,earning myself a glare from Grams. Sadie’s gorgeous gray eyes are panicking, but I don’t have it in me to feel sorry about it.
I’m confused. I’m slightly angry, even if I don’t have a right to be. More than anything, I’m hurt.
Dean wraps his arm around the back of her chair, and I snarl under my breath. Luckily, my family is too loud for anyone to notice. But Sadie notices, her mouth dropping in a silent apology.
I don’t want her to apologize. She never promised me exclusivity. And I was too much of a chicken to ask for it, knowing she would run for the hills. But no, I don’t need her apologies. I want her to admit she’s mine. I want her to say, ‘Fuck Dean’ and run into the sunset with me, as if it’s the end of one of her books.
A plate filled with food appears in front of me and I poke my fork around it, my appetite long gone. Every sound she makes, every small touch Dean gives her, is a knife to my chest. So rather than eating, I finish another glass of whiskey.
By the end of the meal, I place exactly three bites into my mouth, almost regurgitating each one. I keep them down by sheer luck, and hopefully it’s enough for me to look like a human and not a robot.
Sadie doesn’t eat much more. Dean, the fucker, doesn’t even notice, but I do. I notice the awkward chuckles she lets out at appropriate times. I notice the way she chews on a single bite for way too long and pokes her food around, hoping it will miraculously disappear. It’s obvious she’s uncomfortable.
Patting a napkin to her mouth, she clears her throat. “Excuse me,” she says and gets up, heading toward the house.
I count to five in my head, hoping to not be too transparent before getting up and heading in the same direction. Walking into the house like a tornado, I start my search for her. The logical guess would be the bathroom, but the downstairs guest bathroom is empty.
I rush upstairs, blood boiling in my veins. I need to see her. I need to touch her. I need to show her she’s mine.
Of course, she made the smart decision of hiding in thebathroom the furthest from the staircase, but I’m not one to give up easily.
It’s locked.
“Open up,” I growl, pounding on the doors. I expect her to argue, but the lock clicks a second later.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice is breathy, still laced in panic.
“What amIdoing here? What areyoudoing here? On my grandmother’s birthday? Apparently dating my cousin?”
Her mouth parts, her eyes widening as realization washes over her. “It’s not what you think.”
