Page 88 of Bad Love

Because Rory’s not the only one he let down, a voice says.Blake promised you thingstoo.

"I was working on this recipe for Logan." Rory’s voice pulls my attention back as he tugs on the fridge door. "It's with Gruyère. He said it goes withscout."

I cough. "Stout?"

He frowns, a carton of eggs in one hand and a half-empty gallon of milk in the other. “What’sstout?”

“Adrink.”

“Likejuice?”

I swallow the smile. “Sure.”

He goes about his work, and my mind drifts to thoughts ofLogan.

The other day, I was so excited to show Logan the vibe from Ben. He’d seemed surprised to hear from me in the middle of the day, but he buzzed me up while he was still in the bathroom, giving me a few minutes to look around uninterrupted while he showered. I pored over his bookcases, looking at the books he’s collected, photos, things from around theworld.

Lots of photos of him with family, with Monty, even with Nellie. He’s clearly wellliked.

Some with women, which gave me a burn of jealousy in mythroat.

I remind myself it’s possible to loveeveryone.

Everyone except the women in swimsuits on the boat with Logan, I decidecharitably.

When he came out of the shower, wearing a towel and a grin, his hair still damp, I forgot about showing him the vibe and getting him to approve thechanges.

Until he remindedme.

On the same granite island where we’d pored overfinancials.

Threetimes.

For the past couple weeks, I’d been holding the line that Logan couldn’t come over while Rory was here. But then Logan asked if Rory’d heard of this chef he thought was cool and wanted to bring him a book. I relented, and my son had latched onto the book as though it was the last printed product onEarth.

He went on to invite Logan to cook with him (without mypermission).

If there’s a way to backpedal from that, I don’t know what it is. Especially when my son looks so damned happy at everything Logandoes.

“Logan got that for you,” Rory states. It’s not a question, and I look up to see my son lean over the table where I’m busy folding a pretty piece ofpaper.

“How’d youknow?”

“Because you don’t buy yourselfstuff.”

I process that, the fact that Rory notices, while he reads the slip of paper with the instructions. “What’s or-eye-jam-eye?”

“Um. Origami is this.” I point at the flower as I finish the last folds, setting it proudly on thetable.

“Cool.” He inspects the images on the package. “Can you make me adog?”

“I’m working up to it,” Ipromise.

He turns back to the kitchen, and I realize something as I stare at the foldedflower.

It’s not the sex with Logan. It’s that I’m letting my guard down around him. That I make excuses to see him even when I know I don’t need his input for something at work. That I call him Logan and can’t remember when thatstarted.

Regardless, Logan’s working his way into our lives, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen when this bet wraps up in amonth.

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