Page 45 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

“Maybe.”

I rolled my eyes. Logan’s record obsession was well known. He had an obscene wall of them, but he always found new gems on his travels. And around his home base as well, apparently.

While he dug into the “just arrived” bin of vintage albums, I spotted a small corner of clothes.

Vintage concert shirts mixed with some current artists. I had twenty shirts over my arm in no time, both long-sleeved and short. I’d be able to layer them to keep warm. Of course then Jamie would raid my stash and steal most of them.

But for now, perfection.

Keeping a close watch for the camera dude, we eventually hurried back to Lo’s vehicle. Him with a bag filled with records, me with clothes. We laughed like lunatics during the ride back over our matching Kiss buys. I had a shirt from one of the last tours—that so wasn’t really a last tour—and he had the double-live album of the same.

We were still chuckling over it when we arrived at the house. “Only us, Lo.” I giggled as we dumped our bags just inside the kitchen doorway.

Logan’s phone buzzed and he dug it out of his pocket. “Izzy will be here later. Still having fun with the kids at her friend’s house.”

“Convenient.”

I spun around at the voice in the dark corner of the kitchen. “Are you actually sitting in the dark?” I half expected a bottle of whiskey to be in front of Nash, but there was only a single, sweating bottle of water.

He twisted the bottle in the puddle of condensation. “I like the quiet. Not much of that with you two.” His voice was even lower than it usually was.

Had he been sitting like that the whole time we’d been gone?

“You sound like a jealous husband.” I grabbed my bags. “Super creepy.”

He lifted the bottle in a salute. “Bella’s not here.”

I frowned. What the hell did that mean?

His eyes burned into mine. He seemed unreasonably angry, considering he was the one who blew us off earlier. “I’m going to go unload my purchases.”

“Familiar sight,” he murmured.

My chest and neck heated at the memory. I’d had way more bags that night. Instead, those bags had been all the high end labels available in New York City. Not the vintage shirt bin that I’d just dug through.

And with those memories, others always surfaced.

Christ, it wasn’t like the sex had been that good. Intense, yes, but it had also been fast and furious. Anger-fueled, like everything else Nash touched. It hadn’t been a slow burn seduction.

Exactly what I’d needed that night. Something I’d never had. Again, why it was burned so deep into my damn brain.

No one had ever treated my body like that before Nash. And no one since.

I rushed up the stairs.

“What the hell crawled up your ass?” Logan’s terse voice followed me upstairs.

Damn good question.

Eleven

I sipped from my water. My throat had been raw all fucking day.

The urge to sing had left it tickling with agitation. Add in the burning leaves from a house down the hill from Logan’s and I was irritated inside and out.

Then came the barrage of Lindsey sightings that had attacked my fucking phone. Her hugging Logan. Her mouth so fucking close to his in the truck. From that angle, it could have been more.

Kissing.

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