“Time for a picnic,” he says as he sits down on the blanket and pulls me down to join him.
“We couldn’t picnic at the park?” I ask, thinking that might have been safer. It might be hard to resist Logan out here… alone with him… his eyes sparkling in the mid-day sun… with him smelling like a freaking god of sex and leather.
“This is prettier,” he says, and I can’t deny that at all. He reaches behind him and picks up the paper sack he placed on the ground earlier, as he spread the blanket. He takes out a peach Nehi soda for me with a grin. During one of our conversations I let it slip that it was my favorite drink ever and he laughed at me, but it’s clear he took notes and that thought makes my heart feel…full. Then he takes out a can of beer—which he proclaimed was his favorite drink ever during the same conversation. I curl up my nose and he laughs.
“That crap still tastes like warm piss,” I tell him—exactly like I did before.
“Angel, have you ever drank a bottle of piss?” he asks, still laughing at me.
“No, but if I did, it would taste exactly like that. You can just tell.”
“You can?”
“It’s the smell. It smells like piss that’s been sitting in a toilet for hours without being flushed.”
“Maybe we should change the subject. It’s going to make it hard to get romantic with you if we don’t,” he says, taking out a couple of sandwiches.
“You shouldn’t be trying to get romantic with me, Logan.”
“You can’t deny there’s something between us, Angel.”
“There’s a pull between us, I’ll admit that.”
“It’s something we should investigate,” he says plainly, his dark gaze boring into mine.
“It’s something I’m not free to investigate,” I tell him, and it’s the truth—even if it’s not for the reasons he believes.
“Not yet,” he responds and in a way he could be right, so I don’t say anything further.
Maybe because I’m hoping he’s right.DevilShe’s gotten quiet and I’ve probably pushed too far, too soon. I’m not used to reining myself in around a woman. Time to try and lighten the mood. The last thing I need is for her to take off running.
“I slaved over this lunch all morning, I hope you like it,” I joke, taking the sandwiches out of the plastic zipped bags.
“You made these yourself?” she asks, an eyebrow cocked, showing her disbelief.
“I sure did, with my own little hands,” I tell her with a wink.
“There’s nothing little about you, Logan.”
“Glad you noticed. Now dig in.”
She looks at the sandwich and then back at me. She picks it up and brings it to her nose, smelling it.
“Peanut butter and jelly?” Her voice is a mixture of laughter and disbelief. Her eyes almost sparkle when she looks up at me. “You spent all morning making peanut butter and jelly?”
“Hey, it’s a lot of work putting enough peanut butter on one side and getting the ratio to jelly correct on the other side,” I defend.
“You do realize they sell it already combined in a jar, right?”
“No shit?”
She studies my face and must realize that I’m completely serious because she cackles with laughter so hard she snorts—which only makes her laugh harder.
“I take it you don’t really grocery shop? Unless of course it’s for condoms and beer,” she adds, still sounding like she wants to laugh again. I watch as she meticulously tears the crust off of her sandwich. For some reason that simple act is appealing to watch.
“That’s pretty much it, yeah,” I answer, not bothering to deny it. “Though it’s starting to look like all I’m going to need is the beer.” That declaration stops her mid-bite. “Haven’t used one since I laid eyes on you.”
“Am I supposed to be flattered?” she asks while licking peanut butter off of her lips.
“Unless you like the fact that you are helping my balls to turn blue, then no. I’m only stating a fact.”
“If you’re waiting for me to put out, your balls are going to be in sad shape, Logan.”
“Some things are worth the pain.”
“You’re insane,” she responds, not looking at me.
“I think that’s already established, babe. I’m sitting here across from a woman I can’t quit thinking about and I haven’t tried to get between her legs once.”
“You haven’t?”
“Trust me: when I try, Torrent, you will know.”
“That sound ominous.” She sighs. “Maybe it would be better if we stopped meeting each other,” she says, not looking at me.
I take a bite of my sandwich as I mull over her words. What she says has merit and she might even be right—but that doesn’t mean I like it, or that I’m going to do it. I have a bad feeling that I couldn’t stop seeing her even if I wanted to.
“Is that what you want, Angel?” She doesn’t respond and still doesn’t look at me. “Is that what you want, Torrent?” I ask her again, putting my fingers under her chin to bring her gaze up so she looks at me. I apply enough pressure that I don’t allow her to look away. Her answer is important. I need to know where her head is.