Page 81 of The Cutting Edge
Emmanuel cracks up, and jumps in. “Nah, man. I mean, he’d give ya the shirt off his back, he’d loan you a dollar if you was hard up, but you’d better stay away from his BBQ.” He and Roosevelt roar with laughter as Logan’s ears tinge red.
“Last time I eat here,” he cracks, grinning.
“Yeah man, I hear you,” says Roosevelt laughing so hard he can’t catch his breath. “See ya next week, my brother.”
"Yeah, you will," he grins sheepishly.
They hand Logan a stack of food containers and I follow behind him with the drinks. Logan ushers me to a small table in the corner.
“Dig in. And let me know if you want to try anything else. I really am happy to share.”
He opens the boxes and I break off a piece, the cornbread still warm, and butter melting into its crumbly surface.
“Likewise,” I say, meeting his gaze, and taking my first bite of the pork sandwich.
“Oh. My. God. THIS BARBECUE SAUCE IS LIKE A RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE.”
Logan’s lips curve, and again I feel that spark of connection between us.
“It’s incredible, right? I hope the guys didn’t embarrass you too much. They’re like family to me.”
“Not at all.” I smile up at him. “I like seeing this side of you.”
“Yeah?” Logan grins. “There’s more where that came from.”
“Good,” I say softly. “I’d like to see it all.”
Logan’s eyes darken, and he leans in to brush his lips over mine. “Careful what you wish for.”
We talk for hours about my practice today, how happy I am to be cleared to train, his excitement over the Slashers’ winning streak, and a million other things from our joint favorite side dish (Fried green tomatoes!) to how we feel about the big stuff.
Logan excuses himself to use the restroom, and I sit at our table, attempting not to openly swoon – especially in front of Emmanuel and Roosevelt. I’m failing miserably until I hear the bell on the door ring, and look up to see Brent, my ex. Myhey, sorry I slept with your teammate on the night before the biggest competition of your lifeex.
Instantly I feel my blood boiling.
My stomach drops to the floor, bile rising in my throat. My luck has always worked a lot better for other people than me.
Brent saunters over, black skinny jeans hugging his hips, ratty old Nirvana t-shirt barely containing his bulging biceps. He hasn't changed a bit since I left him in a cloud of my tears and shattered dreams in Beijing. My pulse races as he stops at the end of the table, icy blue eyes raking over me with unveiled contempt.
"Well, don't you look cozy," he sneers, gaze flickering to the empty food containers and glasses. "On a date with your new boy toy?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "That's none of your business."
"Oh really?" He leans down, bracing his hands on the table and getting all up in my space. His rancid breath washes over me, reeking of alcohol and pot. "You're still my business, Coco. Always will be."
Revulsion churns in my gut. How did I ever find this Neanderthal attractive?Oh yeah, drummer."We broke up more than a year ago. You cheated on me. You have no claim over me." I keep my voice low, not wanting to cause a scene.
"You broke my heart, you faithless bitch," he snarls. "You ruined me, and now you're already spreading your legs for some other guy?"
"Youruined you.And me. You betrayed me when it mattered most. Just…leave. Get your food and go." I push back from the table. “I won’t tell you again.”
"Or what, cunt?" He grabs my arm, fingers digging into my flesh. "You'll do what, exactly?" His lips twist into a cruel smirk. "Put on a show for the whole restaurant?"
A gasp escapes me at the violence in his grip. But before I can react, I hear Logan's voice, hard as granite, from over my shoulder.
"Take your hands off her. Now."
Brett, now aware he has an audience, releases me like he's personally offended anyone would care.
