Real Good Man

by Meghan March

  I’ve never been the kind of guy to think a woman shouldn’t be able to have any secrets. Besides, I’m still trying to figure out where this night might take us, because I already know I want to see her again.

  I still haven’t made sense of how the dirty text messages I got fit into the picture that’s Banner Regent, but I hope once we get farther down this road, I’m going to find out.

  She’s different from any woman I’ve ever met. Confident. Self-assured. Not afraid to go after what she wants, and unapologetic about being herself.

  Sexy doesn’t even begin to cover her attitude.

  And then when you add on the fact that she’s got a killer body hiding beneath that green shirt-dress thing she’s wearing, hair that a man can’t help but want to see spread over his pillow, and whiskey-colored eyes that spark with a hint of mischief, you’ve got one hell of a package.

  Smart, sexy, and a wildcat. But she lives seven hundred miles away, and it’s not like I’ve got the kind of lifestyle where I can jet up to see her, or make that bitch of a drive again soon.

  So, where does that leave us? I have no fucking clue, but I’m going to make the most of tonight, and see where she goes if I let her lead.

  Instead of buying tokens, I throw down some cash to power up a swipe card so we can play some games.

  When Banner heads right to the Skee-Ball, I can’t help but laugh.

  “What? I’ve seen this on movies and I’ve never played it. I have to try it.”

  “Shit, you’ve never played Skee-Ball?” I don’t know why it surprises me, given what she’s told me about her childhood with drivers, and parents who were too busy to spend time with her.

  “Nope. Never. So you’re going to have to school me in how this works.”

  There are a hell of a lot of things I want to school this woman in, but I’m sensing she might already be proficient in most of them.

  I swipe my card on the machine, and the balls come down the shoot. “The goal is to get the balls into the holes and score the most points.”

  Banner leans over to pick one up, and even though I try not to stare at her ass, it’s impossible to ignore how incredible it is.

  “Balls in holes. I swear, all these games were invented by men.”

  I chuckle at her comment. “I’m sure you’re right about that.”

  She pitches the ball overhand toward the hole, and when it hits the backboard with a thwack, Banner jumps. It falls to the bottom of the machine without scoring any points.

  “I did that wrong, didn’t I?” She tilts her head and stares at the game.

  “You can make your own rules, but the traditional method is to pretend it’s like a ski jump, I think.” I pick up another ball and toss it underhanded so it slides up the ramp and flies into the center hole. “Like that.”

  A determined look crosses her face as she reaches for another ball. “I got this.”

  She sets out to prove she certainly does. Ball after ball, Banner lands them in the holes to rack up points, and each time, her excitement is obvious as she bounces and throws her hands in the air.

  Her excitement is infectious, and I wrap my hands around her hips and pick her up as she scores the big points.

  As soon as I touch her, my dick twitches against my jeans. Fuck, she’s sexy as hell.

  When I set her down, she presses a hand against each of my shoulders, grinning like crazy.

  “This is so much fun. Why haven’t I done this before?”

  The excitement rolling off her hits me right in the gut. “No idea, Bruce. No idea.”

  A smile tugs at the edges of her full lips. “Bruce, is it?”

  “You can’t tell me you hate it, because I won’t believe you.”

  She tries to force the smile away, but is only partially successful. “Why’s that?”

  I lift a hand and skim my thumb over the dimple on her cheek. “Because this dimple pops out even when you’re trying not to smile. It’s a dead giveaway.”

  She bites down on her lower lip, and fuck, I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman more than I want to kiss Banner right now.

  She leans in, and the subtle scent of citrus and something fresh drifts toward me, and my head instinctively lowers so I can take her mouth and find out if she tastes as good as she smells.

  Her whiskey gaze connects with mine, and we both freeze. I see the desire there, but she’s fighting it harder than I am.

  Instead of moving in and taking what I want, I pull back. What happens or doesn’t happen between us tonight is gonna be because she wants it every bit as bad as I do. That’s the only way I work. I didn’t drive up here for a booty call, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to push her.

  That said, if she gives me the sign, I’ll have her up against the nearest wall so damn fast, she won’t have time to second-guess the decision.

  I step around her and reach down to grab another ball, then toss it so it lands in the center, racking up a few more points.

  One ball remains in the chute.

  “Last throw. All you.”

  Banner’s smile faltered when I stepped away, but she rebounds quickly.

  “The pressure . . . I’m not sure I can handle it.” She reaches down to pick up the ball and tosses it between both hands. “Just kidding. I got this.” She flashes a wink at me.

  She releases the ball, and it hits the top right corner. She throws her arms into the air again. “I did it! I finally got the good hole!” She spins in a circle and catches a heel on the carpet, tumbling toward me.

  This time, my arms close around her and her entire body presses against mine.

  Fuck, she feels good in my arms.

  “Careful there, killer. We’ve got a lot more games to play tonight.”

  The smile that flits over her face is pure temptation. “Yeah. We really do.”

  Chapter 11

  Banner

  I’ve never wanted to jump a guy’s bones so badly in my entire life. Ever.

  Logan is like no other man I’ve ever met before. He’s nice, but not in the way that makes him boring like the actuary I went out with once. He has this confidence about him that’s unbelievably hot, and I like it way more than I should. How am I supposed to resist him when he says and does all the right things, and I can tell he’s not putting on a show? Logan’s just being himself, and somehow that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever encountered in my life.

  And I want to ride him like a rodeo cowgirl on the back of a bull.

  It only gets worse when I beat him at foosball—fair and square, I might add—and when I kinda-sorta throw myself into his arms, the sizable bulge in his jeans presses against me.

  Holy Jesus.

  This was supposed to be easy. Logan and I were supposed to meet, and I would send him on his way back to Kentucky without falling into my old habits and sleeping with him.

  But I’m terrified I’m losing the battle.

  Right now, my hand is wrist deep in a bucket of cheese popcorn, and I’m staring at the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen encased in denim as he shoots basket after basket in hoops.

  I stuff a handful in my mouth, reminding myself to chew as I’m riveted to the way his muscles move beneath his shirt. I’m not the only one, either. At least four other women are not-so-subtly checking him out, and I give them my best side-eye.

  I’ve never been this territorial over a man before. It’s new ground for me, and I’m not quite sure I know what to think about it. Logan turns around, and I miss my mouth and drop a few orange kernels to the floor.

  How am I ever going to keep my hands off him?

  I can’t.

  “We’ve got a few more credits on the card, so you get to pick next game. Then we can decide if we want to get more or just grab another drink.”

  I nod as I reach for another handful of cheese popcorn, but I have no idea how to respond.

  Logan closes the few feet of distance between us and nods down at the bucket. “Am I going to lose a hand if I try
to get some of that?”

  His comment jerks me out of my momentary brain fade. “Sorry. No. Go ahead.”

  I shove the bucket into his hands and spin around, searching the lights and sounds for another likely game or machine. My attention lands on one I recognize from watching game shows with my parents’ housekeeper. Plinko.

  “That one.” I point at the video game, which won’t be quite as awesome as dropping the Plinko chips in myself, but I’m still pretty freaking excited.

  “Why am I surprised you’ve seen the Price is Right?”

  “Of course I have. I am American, after all.”

  He hands me the swipe card and holds out his arm. “All right. Lead the way.”

  I can feel him behind me every step, and I force myself to focus on the game ahead of me, and not the six-foot-something man behind me who I want to strip naked and drop to my knees in front of.

  Not doing that. Not doing that. Not happening.

  “You killed it at hoops. Did you ever play?” I ask in an effort to distract myself.

  “Only in the desert while I was deployed. It was hotter than fuck, but we did the best we could to give the court some shade. I always liked football better, but when you’re in the Sandbox, you take whatever distraction you can find.”

  It’s hard for me to comprehend what it must have been like to go to war. I have so many questions, but I’m hesitant to delve into the subject further.

  “You sound like you didn’t hate it.”

  Logan swipes the card on the game, and I start to press buttons.

  “I didn’t. I liked being part of something bigger than myself. I liked the brotherhood. Outside of that world, you don’t often meet people who would throw themselves on a grenade to save your life at the expense of their own.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

  The look he gives me is once again serious and intense. “You shouldn’t have to. Protecting people from having to experience the things I did is a big reason I stayed in the corps as long as I did.”

  Warmth floods me, and this time it’s not between my legs.

  “You’re a good man, Logan Brantley. A really good man.”

  He shrugs, which I’m starting to recognize as a typical Logan response.

  “I don’t know about that, but I like to think I’m not a bad one.” He nods at the game. “Let’s have some fun.”

  I select the slot on the screen and release the Plinko chip. It lands on some kind of bonus slot, and the lights and sounds of the machine go wild.

  “Looks like you just won yourself a jackpot.”

  I look Logan Brantley in the eye. “I could’ve told you that before we even started playing the game.”

  Chapter 12

  Banner

  It’s all his fault. That’s the defense I’m going with as my limited willpower slips away a little at a time.

  I told myself I wouldn’t do this. But it turns out I’m a liar.

  It’s all his fault.

  We walk up to the prize counter to cash out our tickets, and when we have the final tally, we both lean over the edge of the glass case full of prizes.

  “You trust me to pick?” Logan asks.

  “Go for it.”

  I’m actually excited to see what he chooses, and besides, now I can study him some more without him noticing. I’ve been doing it way too much tonight, and the more time I spend staring at him, the more I realize just how screwed I am.

  He’s not New York handsome in that slick, sophisticated kind of way. No, he’s striking in a holy shit, I don’t even know if I can handle that intensity focused on me while I’m naked kind of way.

  Every time I speak, his attention is on me. He listens. Not just to figure out how he’s going to reply, but in a way that seems like he truly wants to hear what I have to say. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced it before, because I had no idea how sexy it is.

  And that’s on top of the rippling muscles under his shirt, the devastating grin, the scruff on his jaw, and the piercing blue eyes.

  But I’m not truly aware of how screwed I am until he turns around, looking pretty damn pleased with himself.

  “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

  My first thought is maybe he’ll put his dick in it, but I shove that thought right out of my head because obviously we’re in a public place. Maybe we could try this again later . . . Stop it, Banner.

  “Why?”

  “I picked something out for you.”

  I close my eyes and hold my palm up flat, and Logan drops something into it.

  When I flick my eyes open, I look down and see a small Wolverine X-Men key chain in my hand. I lift my gaze to his, and he’s holding a Hulk key chain dangling from his finger.

  “Figured you could keep this to remember tonight. I don’t think I’ll be forgetting, but I like the idea of carrying a little Bruce home with me.”

  It’s a key chain, I tell myself. It’s not like he dropped a four-carat pink diamond in my hand. But why does this feel more important in this moment?

  “Thank you. I’ll keep it as a reminder.” My words are bullshit, because there’s no way I’ll ever forget tonight either. And what’s more, I don’t want it to end.

  We turn away from the prize counter and walk toward the door. He helps me slip my trench coat on, and I belt it shut.

  I can’t let Logan get in that truck and drive back to Kentucky tonight. I can’t.

  He follows me outside silently, with his hand on the small of my back again. My heart, which was already hammering at an unhealthy pace, kicks up a couple of notches.

  What am I doing? I honestly have no idea. If I take him home, I know I’m going to end up naked with him inside me. And then he’ll be one more one-night stand for the books, because that’s all I’m good at.

  But what are my alternatives?

  The silence hangs between us, and I have to say something as we make our way along the crowded sidewalk, the lights of Times Square surrounding us.

  I make a snap decision. “You’re not planning on driving back tonight, are you?”

  “I figured I’d get out of the city and find a place to park, and sleep in my truck for a while before I drive the rest of the way home.”

  “I have plenty of room at my place. If your truck is parked in an overnight lot, you’re more than welcome to stay.”

  He considers my offer for a few moments. “I’d appreciate that. And just so you know, I’m not expecting—”

  I cut him off with a raised hand. “I know. Let’s grab a cab.”

  I manage to flag one down, and give my address to the cabbie as we slide into the backseat.

  Logan’s thigh presses against mine as the driver whips around a corner when he finds an opening in traffic, sending us both sliding across the seat.

  “I got you,” Logan says, wrapping an arm low around my hips to steady me.

  He doesn’t have me, though. Not really. But I want him to.

  The cab stops in front of my building, and Logan pays this time before we climb out.

  The doorman opens the glass door to the lobby when he sees me coming. “Good evening, Ms. Regent.”

  “Thank you, Joe. I appreciate it.”

  Joe says nothing about the man behind me.

  Logan doesn’t speak until we’re inside the elevator. “Regent suits you. It’s a hell of a name, but you carry yourself to fit it. You could definitely be the queen of something.”

  It’s not one of those throwaway compliments like you’re beautiful or I love your eyes. It’s sincere, and more of my willpower evaporates.

  “Thank you.”

  The ride up to my floor is borderline awkward as other building residents crowd inside with us, breaking the unwritten rule that you don’t look at each other in the elevator. A middle-aged couple looks from me to Logan and back to me again, and I can see the judgment on their faces.

  Another one-night stand, I’m sure they’re thinking. It’s not like I�
�ve ever tried to hide it. Why should I?

  Regardless, I unlock the door to my apartment quickly. I don’t want to tempt fate. The last thing I need is for Myrna to peek out with her cane in hand and hassle me, telling me to keep my legs shut.

  Logan doesn’t say anything about how fast I shut the door and lock it behind us. Instead, he takes in my apartment. It’s done in whites and silvers and grays, with pops of yellow and turquoise. Nothing like what he would pick, I’m assuming, but I love it.

  “Nice digs.”

  “I like it.”

  He turns to face me. “I like you, Banner. A lot. I didn’t exactly expect tonight to go this well.”

  I press my lips together, unsure how to respond to his honesty, but I end up responding in kind. “Me either.”

  He lifts a hand to push a lock of hair away from my face. “A good surprise for both of us then, even though you’re so fucking far out of my league, I should be back in my truck heading for the highway.”

  My mouth drops open. “I’m out of your league? Have you not seen yourself? Do they not have mirrors in Kentucky?”

  “I’m nothing special. I make my living with my hands.” He holds up both of them, big and wide, in front of me. “I spend more time scrubbing with Fast Orange so they’re not stained black than you probably do getting your nails done. There’s not one fucking thing about me that makes me the right guy for you. I’ve known that from day one.”

  His words cut into me, and I’m terrified he’s going to leave me standing here without ever knowing what could have happened between us. If he’s dead set on going, I’m not the kind of woman who will ever beg a man to stay.

  “Then why did you come?”

  Logan’s gaze pierces mine. “I couldn’t miss the chance to meet a woman who has me intrigued like no one else ever has.”

  “Intrigued.” I try the word out like it’s Russian or something. But isn’t that exactly how I felt?