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He’d had enough.
Logan stood, his mind already a half hour ahead. His eyes already glued to his laptop where, via the magic of Skype, Billie would appear and if she kept the promises she’d made last night, he was in for one hell of an evening.
“Thanks Mrs. Krump, but I’m good to get myself back. Dinner was great and though I appreciate the invite to stay at your home, I’ve got an early flight and prefer the hotel.”
Her collagen lips puckered, her botoxed forehead tightened—though it never really moved or creased. This was her version of a frown he supposed but damn if she didn’t look like a crazed caricature of some freaky lady who’d spray painted her skin orange and dyed the warmth out of her hair until it resembled shiny, white straw.
“Oh, that’s too bad. I’ll see you again though?”
He was already heading for the restaurant foyer, but paused, thinking his quick exit wasn’t the most gracious considering her husband had just commissioned a very expensive custom bike, for each of them. “Again?”
“When you bring the bikes out?”
Logan smiled and waved. “Thanks again. Tell your husband I’ll be in touch.” He spied the old goat talking up some young thing at the bar. These plastic, phony people were not his thing and he couldn’t wait to get home. To get up close and personal with the very real, very warm, and very natural Billie-Jo Barker.
There was no way in hell he was coming back out here. No way in hell.
Logan was still grouchy the next morning and wasn’t exactly the nicest guy to sit beside on the plane ride home. That didn’t stop the woman beside him, or the one across the aisle, from trying to get his attention.
You’d think first class would be less crowded, and he’d hoped to have some quiet time to himself, but it wasn’t going to be. After a while his surly attitude wore through their natural curiosity and they abandoned all hope of engaging him in conversation.
[i]Did you like L.A?
Not particularly.
Are you here on business?
Yep.
What do you do for a living?
I make things.
Are you married?
Nope.
Girlfriend?
I’m gay.[i]
That had shut them up—thankfully—because all he wanted to do was close his eyes and visualize Billie in that hot little number she’d worn last night. Skype was his new best friend and the bastard who’d invented the program was a fucking genius. Billie had sashayed in front of her computer, her long limbs dressed—or rather nearly undressed—in what she called lingerie but what he called X-rated scraps of nothing. It was a few bits of see-through material, with cutouts—cutouts for Christ sake—that were just begging for a finger. Or two.
Which, she’d been more than happy to demonstrate. That little performance had earned him a twenty minute ice cold shower.
Logan shifted and groaned. He needed to clear his head or he’d be sporting a hard-on to end all hard-ons for the entire flight home. He glanced out his window into the clear blue sky as a more sobering thought entered his mind. He still hadn’t told Billie about his past with her sister. The timing had just never seemed to be right and the more he pushed it to the back of his mind, the more he decided that maybe it was a secret he could keep.
Did that make him a creep? A lying bastard?
He was pretty sure it made him something—he just didn’t know what the hell that something was.
[i] Coward.[i]
It was dark by the time he claimed his luggage and made his way out of the terminal into the parking lot—and the cold—Christ was it cold. Though, with Thanksgiving looming in the next weekend he shouldn’t be surprised. He tugged his leather jacket up around his neck, slid into his truck and revved the engine.
If he drove like the devil, he had a good chance of making it back to New Waterford in time to meet the team at The Grill. Logan glanced down at the last text he’d received from Billie this morning.
[i]Can’t wait to see you. Have news.[i]
