Meeting His Match (Single In the City 1)

But as it turned out, she didn’t need to say anything because another text came through.

Logan: Maybe I said it because I want to. Kiss you, I mean.

Marti’s stomach dipped.

Marti: Logan . . .

Logan: Marti . . .

Marti: Would you be serious?

Logan: I’m being 100% serious.

Marti: But we’re faking.

She slapped her forehead. We’re faking? That was her response?

Logan: So? That means we can’t kiss?

Marti’s heart leapt to her throat. For some reason, the prospect of kissing Logan Love felt dangerous.

She typed nothing back, sitting in silence. The sound of her breath the only thing in the room until another text pinged.

She checked the screen. Another text—his home address.

Marti yelped and clicked her phone off, setting it back on her nightstand like it was on fire.

You’re a complete coward, she admonished herself. You know you want to kiss him.

She laid there, letting her pulse slow to a natural rhythm, when a tiny, insignificant little thought niggled at the back of her mind—she didn’t loathe Logan Love. Not at all. Quite the opposite. And if he were ever really serious about her, she’d be in trouble.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MARTI

MARTI BALANCED HER weight on the stool. Stretching forward, she draped the multi-colored lights across the top of the large blue spruce. Already adorned in ornaments, she struggled to get the forgotten lights on after the fact.

She cursed as the tangled mass caught underneath an ornament and she leaned in farther, trying to loosen the strands’ hold on the ornament, resenting her mother with every twinge of her back. She hadn’t wanted the giant tree, but her mother insisted she get one to the point of dragging her out of her warm bed on Black Friday into the city for some holiday shopping and a stop at a tree farm that was almost an hour drive out of the city.

What kind of person buys a real tree on Black Friday, anyway? They’re supposed to rush stores for massive televisions or gaming systems or sales on linens.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that the tree sat in its stand, albeit a little crookedly, in the corner of her apartment, without any decorations since she arrived home on Saturday. It was dropping needles like a dog shedding its winter coat. At one point, Marti thought she had a new green throw rug. But alas, it was merely the result of not watering it. Who knew?

Marti’s hair hung in her eyes, and she paused to yank it up into a haphazard ponytail before continuing to wrap the prickly branches. Stepping down from the stool, she tossed the ball of lights behind the tree, then fished them out of the pine and draped them across the lower branches, paying little attention to how they looked, simply wanting to finish. When she pulled the last few feet around to the front, she tucked them in the back, then plugged them into the nearby outlet. The tree lit up in all its multi-colored glory.

Stepping back to examine her handiwork, Marti smiled. She had to admit. It looked pretty good in her dimly lit apartment.

Not bad McBride. Not bad.

With a smug grin, she dusted off her pants and turned toward the kitchen, beaming with pride.

A foreign sound creaked behind her. With a frown, she turned in time to see the tree thrust forward several inches. “What the . . .”

Grumbling, she headed back into the living room, but before she even reached the blasted tree—BOOM! It fell to the ground.

She jumped back, gaping. The dang thing nearly killed her—missed her by inches.

Sighing, she reached toward it, preparing herself to wrench it upright again, when—POP! The lights nearly blinded her in a giant flash before they went completely dark.