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Luckily it isn’t far and I don’t end up too wet. I’m back in my kitchen when I hear Allie come in the door. Part of me hopes she’ll go straight to her room, but a bigger part wants her to come into the kitchen, so I can apologize. The clip-clop of her heels on the wood floor sounds like I’m going to get my wish.
She rounds the corner and walks up to the counter where she drops her bag. Then folding her arms across her chest, she demands, “So, are you going to explain what that shit was you pulled in the bar tonight?”
I had that coming. “Explain, no. Apologize, yes.” Her head tilts to the side, waiting. “I’m sorry I … cock-blocked … you tonight.” I use her words back at her. “But really, the guy looked like a jerk and was too short.”
“What the hell do you know? He seemed nice and I don’t care how tall a guy is.” Her green eyes are filled with a fire that I want to keep stoking.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Bullshit. You don’t date guys shorter than you.”
“That was years ago. You know nothing about what I like or don’t like in men now.” Her low voice makes her denial sound hollow. Besides, I could pull up any number of examples from her social media accounts and not one of the guys she’s dated over the years was under six foot. But I don’t challenge her further because I’m not about to let on that I’ve been following her so closely on social media.
“Maybe, but at least there’s one thing I do know. You don’t have a boyfriend.” She rolls her eyes in a way that’s more cute than angry.
“What’s it to you?” she asks, and I don’t miss the emphasis on you. She’s right, I shouldn’t care. No, make that, I don’t care.
“Just hoping someone will take you off my hands,” I snarl. She slumps like I’ve landed a physical blow to her. A stab of regret instantly pierces me in the chest. I’m the fucking asshole she just accused me of being.
“Allie, sorry I didn’t mean that. I don’t know why I say the shit I do sometimes.” I reach out to cover her hand, a zap of electricity sizzling everywhere our skin touches.
First, she looks down at where our hands touch on the cool granite countertop, then wide-eyed, she looks up at me. It’s a flashback to another time when we were younger, and she would look at me with this same innocence. But just as quickly as I see it, she blinks, straightens her shoulders, and withdraws her hand.
“You just say what you’re thinking out loud, Logan. And with you that’s not an attractive character trait.”
Ouch, the girl has learned how to extend her claws and strike back. She spins on her heel and walks away, leaving me alone in the silence.
Allie has toughened up over the years. And I like it. Probably more than I should.
***
The next morning I definitely feel like I’ve stepped into a deep freeze, when I enter the kitchen and go straight to the coffee machine. Allie is already there moving about my kitchen, opening drawers and banging cupboards as she empties the dishwasher. I suspect she’s aiming to piss me off. But oddly, it doesn’t bother me. Either I’m getting better at ignoring her or I no longer mind having her around.
An awkward silence hovers over us. “Morning,” I say, shattering it. She mumbles some form of greeting back at me while I pour my coffee.
I pick up my mug and take a sip. Leaning casually against the counter, I struggle to find something to say to break the icy distance between us. This was all my doing and I need to fix it.
I blurt out. “Did you sleep well last night?”
She stands upright from where she was reaching into the dishwasher to pull out her favorite mug. A ridiculous–looking, pink unicorn mug that can’t even be comfortable to drink from. She places it carefully on the countertop before resting her hands on her hips. Good, at least I don’t have to be fearful of another nail stabbing.
She scowls. “Don’t pretend like you care. I know the truth. You hate me being here … and if I had a choice I’d be somewhere else. But until the tenant moves out of Katie’s apartment we’re stuck together. So just pretend I’m not here … you’re good at that.”
“What happened to Little Miss Sunshine?” I tease, then instantly regret it when I catch her glare.
“Mr. Grumpy, a.k.a. you, made it rain.” She turns her back on me, dismissed again.
I know how to take a hint and look toward the windows wondering how best to apologize. Rays of sunlight are sneaking past the nearby tall buildings and filtering in to land on the colorful collection of cushions that Allie bought home yesterday, evidence of her thoughtfulness. I like the new additions and seeing them this morning makes me feel like an even bigger jerk than I already do.
Another sip of strong black coffee hits my tongue as my eyes move to the art deco clock on the mantel. A reminder of how well she knows me. I should be begging for her forgiveness not taunting her.
A couple of steps and I’m standing close behind her, not touching but caging her in against the edge of the countertop. She freezes, and I lean in close to say quietly in her ear, “Allie, I’m really sorry. And I don’t hate you being here.” Her fruity, floral perfume reminds me of steamy island nights and the temptation to fill my lungs is strong.
Her shoulders rise and fall on a single deep breath. I step back, giving her space. She turns to look me in the eye. Of course, Allie never backs down.
“Fine,” she says on the release of a soft breath, then steps to the side and walks off, disappearing down the hall to her room.
This is becoming a bit of a habit for her. I guess I don’t blame her though.
Chapter eight
