When Logan’s name is called, he places his hand on my hip and pulls me toward him. “Do I get a kiss for good luck?” he asks, his green eyes filled with mischief as his gaze searches mine.
Butterflies swarm my stomach at the thought of kissing him, the feeling taking me by surprise. I can’t pinpoint it, but something about him has me feeling at ease. It could be the way his smile reaches his eyes, brightening his entire face, or the sound of his carefree laughter and theway he throws his head back when it escapes him. It all makes me feel… happy. And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt happiness toward anyone or anything that didn’t revolve around my son.
I could so easily talk myself out of it, but a kiss on the cheek would be harmless. Right? I know it’s probably not the kind of kiss he’s asking for, but it doesn’t feel right for my first kiss after Ryan to be in a crowded room of people, even if none of them are paying us any attention. Maybe I’m building it up to something it doesn’t need to be, but it should be an intimate experience.
Logan is a solid six inches taller than me, and I place my hand on his shoulder as I lean up onto my tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. His smile only brightens as his hand squeezes my hip, and the room around us seems to fade away. The music lowers, the voices dull, and every part of me is suddenly locked on his handsome features. The hint of stubble lining his jaw, his light brown hair curling at the nape of his neck from beneath his hat, the way his green eyes seem far richer than any forest I’ve ever seen.
“Good luck,” I murmur, pulling my hand from his shoulder and taking a step back.
His eyes search mine for a moment longer before he steps around the railing and makes his way toward the mechanical bull.
Watching him ride is just as mesmerizing as I thought it would be. His jean-clad thighs grip the fake saddle, one hand wrapped around the saddle’s horn as he lifts the other hand into the air. The ride started off slow but has begun to pick up speed as his hips roll with the motion. The women gathered around the railing all shout their praise and excitement, but each time the bull rolls my way, Logan’s eyes find mine.
A hint of jealousy burns through me at the attention he’s getting, and it takes me by surprise. I have no claim on this man, no reason to be jealous, yet I am.
I want him.
His grip begins to slip on the saddle’s horn as he reaches behind his head, grabbing the brim of his hat and pulling it off his head to throw it in my direction. I catch it quickly, pulling it to my chest as I laugh, and the few women standing near me all call out their disappointment.
“Do you think the whole ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy’ thing still applies if it’s not a cowboy hat and he’s not a cowboy?” Olivia asks, stepping up to the railing beside me.
Heat rushes across my cheeks as I glance her way. “I think that rule is strictly for cowboys.”
She nods her head contemplatively, her eyes flicking to Logan before she says, “That doesn’t look like a man who thinks it’s only for cowboys.”
When I turn my head in his direction, Logan’s heated gaze collides with mine, and I know she’s right. In a rare moment of bravery, I slip his hat on my head.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I went into tonight thinking I was just going to have a fun night out while supporting my best friend, and somehow, I ended up at a ruggedly handsome stranger’s house with sex on my mind.
Okay, so he’s not exactly a stranger anymore. Logan is thirty-three years old, only two years older than me, lives alone, and has never been married. I didn’t bother to ask what he does for a living because it doesn’t feel important, not when tonight is just for me. He’s shared enough with me that I know he’s local. The rest doesn’t matter.
He was almost immediately thrown from the mechanical bull when I slid his baseball hat on. By the time he got his feet beneath him and made it over to me, his forest-green eyes were nearly obsidian. He reached up, cupped my face in his palm, and rasped, “Come home with me.”
Olivia practically shoved me toward him, but it was a push I didn’t need.
As hesitant as I was in the beginning, my decision was made the second I slid his hat onto my head, testing the theory of the whole “wear the hat, ride the cowboy” rule still applying regardless of the type of hat.
The answer? It definitely still applies.
For once, I’m being selfish. Tomorrow, everything will return to normal, but right now, all I want is him. I want to know what it feels like to have his calloused hands on my body, to feel his lips pressed against mine. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since we left the bar.
I’ve only had one or two drinks tonight, just enough to feel relaxed and get out of my head, and have had nothing but water in the last two hours. The heat crackling in my veins has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the way Logan’s hand feels pressed against the small of my back as we walk up his front porch steps.
We drove separately, because there was no way I was going to leave my car behind and risk getting stuck in an uncomfortable situation. Not that he’s done anything to make me feel uncomfortable, but I would rather besafe than sorry. He actually seemed pleased when I asked for his address after agreeing to come home with him, clearly valuing my safety.
He slips his key into the front door and unlocks it before he turns to face me, sliding his hand to my hip as he gently pulls me in close. “Are you sure you want this? You can still change your mind.” His voice is gentle as he reaches up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear.
I gave him back his hat before we left the bar, but now my fingers itch to push it off his head and run through his hair. What kind of sound would he make if I scraped my nails over his scalp and gripped the hair at the back of his head as he kissed me?
Something he hasn’t done yet.
“I’m sure. I wouldn’t have driven over here if I didn’t want to,” I tell him honestly. It’s part of the reason why I needed to drive myself, to have time to think over what I was doing. It gave me time to find clarity and know for sure that this is what I want, even if I’m not really sure what to say or do.
Ryan is the only man I’ve ever been with. We experienced all our awkward first times together, and I never felt the need to stress or worry about whether I was doing something correctly. Never had to worry about beinggoodat it.
Following Logan into his quaint single-story home, it’s all I can think about.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door.
