Page 65 of Mine to Love

“The Four Seasons. And you.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Four Seasons. And you.

Was that me who mewed or Logan? I don’t have a clue. Dear Lord, I wasn’t expecting that response from him. Wetness pools between my thighs, and any second now it’s going to look like someone spilled liquid on my gray slacks instead of Logan’s.

Holding my head high with poise so I don’t appear the hussy I could very well be, I reach for my keys. “You know, I feel a little...faint. I think I’m going to need the rest of the day off. I’m going to spend it...in bed. In fact, I plan on being there all weekend.”

Hoping—praying—he can read between the lines, I spin on my heels and leave. If there’s an extra sway to my hips or if my shoulders are drawn back further than usual showcasing my breasts, well, that’s purely coincidence.

I had two choices. Jump his bones right there in the office, which would mesh business and pleasure in the most carnal way, or bolt and leave the next move up to Logan. My hands shake as I make the short drive to my new apartment.

It isn’t until after I close my front door behind me that I realize Logan doesn’t know where my new apartment is, or that I moved out. If he thinks I still live at home with my father, he won’t come over.

Kicking off my shoes, I contemplate my next set of options. Text him my address or leave it up to him to track me down? Do I even want this? Friday morning hooky sex with my boss after he was adamant he never wanted to mix business with pleasure? Which we’ve done twice.

The first was unintentional and the second was completely intentional. I dig through my purse and turn on my cell. Emerson will tell me what to do. I start to dial then stop.

It’s been seven months since Logan and I first kissed on New Year’s Eve. Three months since I first had sex with him, and not yet have I hinted at the affair to Emerson. I can’t drop this bomb on her and then expect her to give me sound advice.

Ten minutes later, and I’m still alone in my apartment. He isn’t coming. I’m not one to cry or even mope over a guy. Nope. Not ever. Not for this one. I head to my room and strip out of my work clothes, hanging them back up in my closet. I only wore them for an hour. No need to add them to my laundry pile.

Maybe I’ll take advantage of the unexpected day off and go down to the beach like I’d been hoping. I put on my royal blue bikini and pull a pair of denim cut offs over them as well as a loose tank top.

Making my way back into the tiny kitchen area, I open my fridge in search of a snack, wishing I had the sense to grab my donut and what was left of my coffee before leaving the office.

My grocery list mocks me on the counter. My plan had been to stop by after work this evening since all I have are two containers of plain Greek yogurt, a banana with too many brown spots for my liking, and a half sleeve of unsalted rice cakes. Working above a donut shop has been grueling, so I only buy healthy crap at the grocery store.

Lot of good that does me today. There are plenty of places I can stop at on the way to the beach. I fill up my water bottle with ice and water and search through the hall closet for a beach bag. I add a bottle of sunscreen, a book, and a beach blanket.

The sun from the gorgeous summer day streams in through my windows. It’s a perfect beach day but that’s not where I want to be anymore. Contemplating texting Logan one more time, I stare at my phone, then toss it in the bag as well.

“I’m not getting laid so getting fried will have to do.” I swing open my apartment door and gasp. Logan, still in his suit and tie, stands in her doorway. “You’re here.”

He glances at my beach tote. “You’re not in bed.”

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