“That sounds a lot like a brush-off.” He tilts his head to one side, looking at me as if expecting a confession.
I hold my ground, shaking my head. “It’s not. I have plans.”
“With a man? Are you going on a date?” His eyes are hard all of a sudden, the muscles in his neck pulsing.
“No.” I swallow hard. “You’re intense.”
“Always am.”
I press my palm on his chest, pushing him away. Big mistake. Touching his rock-hard chest has the unexpected effect of wiping my thoughts away. Belatedly, I realize my fingers have lingered on him longer than they should have. By the cocky smile on Logan’s lips, he’s enjoying this greatly. And then it happens. In my haste to put distance between us, I squeeze the paper cup too hard, and the water splashes over my chest.
All over my chest. And I’m wearing a white dress and a freaking white sports bra beneath it, which means my boobs are covered by a thin fabric that immediately gets soaked. So, basically, I’m flashing my girls in Logan’s face. Perfect. His eyes light up, as if he just found out that Christmas came earlier. I bet he’s sporting wood behind his designer pants.
Hyperventilating, I turn around, searching desperately for something to cover myself with. Luckily, my jacket escaped the flood. I grab some napkins from the table and dry myself the best I can. Afterward, I put my jacket on and button it up. Turning around, I notice Logan hasn’t moved. He’s still staring at my chest, as if he’s hoping the jacket will become transparent too. Eventually, his eyes find mine.
“You and I should go on a date,” Logan announces.
“Wow, my boobs impressed you that much?”
“What?”
“Were you going to ask me before I soaked my girls with water? I want the truth.”
Logan cocks an eyebrow. “Is my answer going to change your answer?”
“Maybe,” I answer playfully.
He narrows his eyes. “Are you setting a trap?”
“Maybe,” I repeat.
Logan whistles. “Okay, full disclosure. I decided to ask you out when I stepped into this office. So, yeah. We should go on a date.”
I laugh. I cannot help it. “Most people put a question mark at the end of the sentence when they ask that.”
“I’m not most people. Besides, why ask a question? You risk receiving an answer you don’t want to hear.”
“I see. So, your solution is to boss people around?”
“You’re stalling.” His gaze pins me down.
“Logan—”
“Nadine.”
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I need to concentrate on the shop and making a life here for myself. I don’t want to date anyone for a while.
”
Logan clutches his heart theatrically. “I’m offended. I’m not just anyone. I thought we established that.”
“I’ll pretend you are.”
“Ouch, that hurt.” Tilting my head up, he adds, “You like me.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. What makes you think that?” I ache for him everywhere, but he can’t possibly know that.
“Your nipples were very happy to see me even before you soaked them.”