Three Simple Rules (Blindfold Club 1)

My eye shadow and mascara had relocated to under my bottom lashes, and I wiped it away with my fingers, doing my best to not look like I’d had the brains fucked out of me last night. My hair was flat and listless. I could go get the hair tie in my purse I’d left on the kitchen counter.

Logan was still out cold. In the corner of the bedroom, there was a small, upholstered chair. A thought formed in my head. He’d wake eventually, discover I wasn’t in the bed, and when he sat upright, I’d be waiting for him in that chair. Dressed, legs crossed, and holding the upper hand, ready to demand answers. I practically ran to my purse in the kitchen.

My idea must have distracted me from the sound of glass being swept up into a dustpan, so when I came out of the bedroom and she stood, we both startled each other.

“Good heavens,” she exclaimed. She was a brunette with short hair, friendly eyes, and a few extra pounds around her waist. I’d guess she was probably in her fifties. She certainly wasn’t his housekeeper – the resemblance was apparent. Logan’s mother was cleaning up the glass I’d broken when her son was going down on me. I wanted to melt into the floor and disappear forever.

“You must be Logan’s girlfriend,” she said. “The one he refuses to let me meet.”

Everything went cold and my mind went to war with itself, torn between anger and hurt. How could we have done all of that last night if he wasn’t single? I hadn’t been allowed to ask questions, but I had assumed I wouldn’t need to ask that one. How could he?

“Oh.” That was all I could say, when I really wanted to say, “Oh, shit.” How was I going to explain I wasn’t his girlfriend to his mom? She knew I’d come out of his bedroom. The dress I was wearing was not Sunday brunch attire. If I wasn’t his girlfriend, then that made me the girl he was fucking on the side. Which, apparently, I was. My growing anger and embarrassment was getting to be too much—

“Yes,” his voice came from the bedroom doorway, drawing our attention. “Yes, this is her.”

The asshole had pulled on a pair of pants, and his eyes pleaded with me to play along. I let mine go narrow. Why should I do what he wanted? He had a girlfriend for that.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Evelyn,” his mother said to me, extending a hand. “I’m Susan.”

Wait, what?

How did she know my name? It couldn’t be coincidence. There weren’t many women from my generation named Evelyn. I stared at her hand like it was alien, and then slowly shook it, trying not to be rude. When I let go, I turned to Logan and his face was blank. What the hell was going on?

“I gave you that key for emergencies,” he said to her.

“You didn’t answer your phone, and when I came in I saw the broken glass.”

“We’re fine.”

“Well, can you hurry up then? We’re already late.”

“Late? What time is it?” His eyes searched for a clock. “Fuck.”

She straightened at the obscenity. “Language, please. Will you be coming too?” She eyed my dress with concern.

“No,” I said. It didn’t matter what it was, all I wanted now was to get the hell out of there. “I need to get going.”

“Wait a minute, let me get dressed and drive you home,” he said.

Susan sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I cannot miss another one of his meets. Are you going with me or not?”

There was enormous conflict in his eyes. “Yes, but I need a minute. Evelyn, can we—”

The whiplash from hurt and anger to overwhelming confusion and suspicion was crippling. I had to escape, to flee before I lost it. “Forget it, I’ve got to run. Nice meeting you.”

“No.” He stalked toward me but I snatched up my purse and glared back. I tried to make sure he knew it would be better to let me be.

“Oh, wait,” Susan said. “I think this is yours? It’s got your name on it.”

She lifted up the fat envelope of cash, but I don’t think she noticed her action wound the tension tighter between Logan and me. If I told her to leave it, that it was Logan’s, would she take a peek inside? I grabbed the envelope.

He followed me to the door. “Please, wait, I need to talk to you.”

“You can call me later.” The scrutiny of his mother’s gaze was heavy and I needed relief. I needed relief from his panicked eyes.

He couldn’t ask me for my number if he wanted to keep up the charade that I was his girlfriend. So the idiot leaned in and tried to kiss me goodbye, but I anticipated this tactic. I shifted my head at the last second so his kiss fell on a cheek, and I hurried through the door before he could stop me.

My walk of shame was thankfully short. I turned my phone back on during the cab ride home and discovered I had a half dozen missed calls and eighteen text messages. Two were from Payton and the rest were from Blake. They ranged from apology to concern, and I deleted them. My head was a fucking mess.