But this is Luke: he gives me a little one-shouldered shrug. “I did letter in dolly hair.”
Shocked, I look up at him fully now, watching the smooth line of his throat as he swallows. “You would want to come?”
He shrugs again and tosses his cup into a recycling bin. “Why not?”
“You wouldn’t be bored?”
His smile melts my heart. “Maybe, but wouldn’t it be more fun to be bored together?”
“Are you sure?” I ask. I sort of love the idea of having Luke along for the night, especially since I miss the flirty side of him and that can only be remedied with just . . . more time with him. “It’ll be tea parties and Barbie.”
“Logan, if you keep trying to talk me out of the idea, I might change my mind,” he says, laughing. Luke manages to get a few steps ahead of me and holds open the door.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “That would be . . . awesome.”
He slips on his sunglasses and follows me into the parking lot. We reach my car, and even though his eyes are hidden behind his dark lenses, I can sense the hopeful way he stares down at me. “So . . . what time?”
There are a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but as I lean against my car door, I find myself wanting to hang out with him so much it almost feels urgent. Luke is managing to break down my walls one smile at a time. Being with him feels a little like letting go of the handlebars and racing down a hill. And it also feels like being wrapped up in the warmest blanket.
How can he feel both like an adventure and a comfort?
“Six,” I tell him. “And fair warning: you have to bring pizza and let her braid your hair if she asks.”
* * *
“YOU KNOW, IF I do say so myself, this was a great idea. You’re a fantastic babysitter.” I wiggle my toes, feet propped up on Fred’s coffee table. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re just a pretty face, Blue Crush.”
Luke grins at me from across the room where he’s sitting with Daisy at a small table, in an even smaller chair, in the midst of what appears to be an elaborate tea party. His usually soft, floppy hair is spiky now, tied up by fluorescent hairbands in about twenty tiny, crazy ponytails.
He leans toward Daisy conspiratorially and hikes his thumb in my direction. “I told you she thought I was pretty.”
Daisy slides a couple of decorative flowers into the mess of his hair. I laugh under my breath and sit up. “Well, how could I not? I mean, Daisy must have lettered in dolly hair, too, because yours looks amazing like that. Is she friends with your sister?”
“You said there’d be no teasing,” he tells me, and politely thanks Daisy when she offers him more tea.
“That doesn’t really sound like a thing I would say to you, Luke.”
“Fine,” he says, giving me a little wink. “Go ahead and joke, but don’t think I didn’t see you watching while she put in these ponytails. You love my hair.” He leans forward and puts a hand over each of her tiny ears before he adds, “And I remember how much you love to get your hands in it.”
“You had to cover her ears for that?” I ask. “That wasn’t even dirty.”
“The dirty part was implied,” he says, dropping his hands. “Sometimes the dirtiest things are the simplest. Like your swimsuit the other day: it covered more because you had to move and work in the water, but it was still hotter than some skimpy thing that shows sideboob.”
I can only look at him and blink. “But you didn’t have to cover her ears for that?”
“Oh, shi— crap. Sorry.”
I stand and walk over to them, and without even thinking, brush a finger over a piece of his hair that’s come loose. I think about how it felt to have my hands on his hips while I helped him balance at the beach, or how his eyes moving down my body felt hotter than the sun overhead. I quickly take a step back.
I veer us into safer territory: “You definitely get points for being a good sport.”
I expect him to make some crack about “points” meaning blow jobs or something, but instead he just says, “I’m having fun.”
“Would you like some tea?” Daisy says, lifting the plastic pot toward me.
“I don’t think so, honey. It’s pretty late and too much tea might keep us up.”
“I’m not tired,” she says, and turns back to her dolls. “And I want to keep playing with Luke. He’s nice. Don’t you think he’s nice, Logan?”
Luke snickers and I pinch his arm before kneeling at the table to smooth her hair. “He is nice. And silly goose, you know my name is London.”
“But Luke calls you Logan,” she says.
“Maybe he can come back and play again,” I tell her. “I bet we could get him to read you a story?”
“We’re gonna watch Frozen. He pinky promised.”
I look at him. “You pinky promised?”
He leans in. “I used my left pinkie. It’s the sneaky one, so feel free to veto.”
Daisy agrees to pajamas and teeth brushing if it means Luke and part of a movie before bed. I really can’t say I blame her.
We settle into the couch, Daisy on Luke’s lap and me—at her insistence—next to them. Right next to them, which basically translates into the three of us crammed into one corner, with room for at least four more adults in the space left unoccupied.
She allows him to take the bands out of his hair without much fuss, if he promises to wear her Elsa necklace and never take it off. Ever. She’s pretty insistent on this point, and it takes everything I have not to smile as he reasons with her, explaining that he works in a big fancy office and her necklace might not look okay with his suit. In the end they both get their way and find a compromise: Luke only has to wear the necklace for a few hours, as long as he holds her hand.
He’ll make a brilliant attorney one day, I’m sure.
Luke is solid and warm at my side, and the TV glows in front of us, painting the room in flickering shadow. It takes a few minutes to get her settled, but soon Daisy is snuggled up and rather pleased with herself that she’s pretty much gotten her way. Her hand looks positively tiny in his and I keep blinking down to it, marveling at how much bigger he is than her and how absolutely gentle he’s being. I try to pay attention to what’s happening on the screen—there’s a lot of snow and even more singing—but it’s hard to follow amid the crisis I’m having over his holding her tiny little hand. I never find that sort of thing sexy. I don’t. I swear.
About five minutes later, Luke’s voice breaks into my thoughts: “I think she’s out.”
I look over to meet his eyes, and in this light he’s all cheekbones and sharp jaw. The ends of his eyelashes glow against the screen.
“Is she asleep?” he asks.
I blink several times before I understand what he’s talking about. Right, Daisy. The child I’m supposed to be babysitting. I lean forward and sure enough, her eyes are closed, her breaths soft and even. “Yeah, out like a light. Good job.”
“I make a pretty good bed, but I think two slices of pizza and a movie did most of the work.”
“No, really,” I whisper. “This whole night—you’ve been amazing. You waltz in here with dinner and your dreamboat smile, all adorable and charming and made everything easy. Well done, Mr. Sutter.”
“You think I’m charming?” he says, and grins. The glow from the TV accentuates the way his face softens when he smiles, and I have to look away.
“Is that all you took out of that whole thing?” I ask.
“I also got adorable, dreamboat, and easy.”
I laugh, rubbing a hand over my face. “Of course you did.”
We watch the rest of the movie together in silence, and I check my phone for the time. It’s only then that I realize I haven’t heard his go off for what has to be a few hours now. It’s not on the coffee table, and when I think about it, I can’t even remember when I saw it last. “Did you shut your phone off?” I ask, looking around.
He leans forward to take a drink and sits back with an exaggerate
d sigh. “Daisy made me. She said it was rude.”
I laugh. “Well, Daisy is the boss.”
“Apparently.”
“Think of all the texts you’re missing.”
Luke laughs softly and rearranges Daisy on his lap so that she’s more comfortable. “No, it’s fine. This was . . . this was fun,” he says with a small lift of his shoulder. “Daisy was cute and you know I like hanging out with you.”
Blinking back to his face, I admit, “I have no idea why. I’m stubborn and blunt with you. Sometimes I can’t believe the things I say.” I want to lean into him, cuddle him. “I might as well just get a house full of cats and call it a day.”
He’s already shaking his head. “You’re honest with me. I like that you know where your limits are and you stick up for yourself. I like so many things about you, Logan.” He laughs and lets his head fall back against the couch. “We might be here a while. I could make you a list if that helps?”
I look down at my lap and Luke follows the movement, moving to catch my eyes. “I like that you’re strong and don’t take any of my shit. My sister doesn’t, either, and she’s probably my favorite person in the world.”
His expression falls slightly on this, like it’s not something he was planning to say and the words have surprised him.
I swallow and try to make sense of what I’m feeling, and to explain it to him.
“I like that you’re so unguarded,” I tell him. “That you say what you feel and . . . it doesn’t scare you.”
“It scares me,” he says. “But maybe I’m just happy to be feeling something for the first time in a long time. Or maybe I just hide my fear better.”
“It doesn’t seem like it. It doesn’t seem like you’re afraid of anything,” I tell him. “Except maybe sharks. And jellyfish—”
“There it is,” he says, rolling his eyes while I continue to count off.
“Turtles, starfish, seaweed . . .”
“Logan,” he says, and digs for my ribs.
“Okay, okay.” I squirm away from him. “But even then, I was really impressed. Even scared, you just . . . you did it. You got in the water.”
A beat of silence passes between us and he blinks over to the TV. “Maybe sometimes you just have to,” he says finally. His eyes shift back over to me again, and I don’t think we’re talking about surfing anymore. “Don’t get me wrong, I almost peed my pants out there, but sometimes we all have to stop thinking about what could hurt us and just . . . jump.”
His words hit me like a fist between my ribs because I am scared, and I’m most definitely afraid to jump. Sometimes I see Luke as that guy, the one I watched out for, the type of guy who walked out of a club with another girl the day after having sex with me, whose phone never stops ringing with one booty call after another.
But then he’s jumping into an ocean when it terrifies him and having tea parties, and telling me about this girl he loved so much that he would have done anything for her. He’s doing all of this to spend time with me, and it terrifies me how much I want him, because I’ve been there before and I was so, so wrong.
I know I’ve been quiet too long when Luke clears his throat and shifts next to me.
“Anyway. I was impressed,” I tell him. “It takes a lot to be bigger than your fears.”
He looks at me and smiles and heat slithers like fingers along my spine. “Thanks.”
“And for someone who’d never been on a board, you really kicked some ass.” I realize I’m rambling. I realize I’m stalling.
The air between us is crackling with charge and I don’t know how to deal.
He leans in a bit more and tilts his head to look up at me. “I had a pretty great teacher,” he says.
I shift forward and he’s so close, close enough that I can feel each breath and count the tiny freckles across his nose. He blinks down to my mouth and back up and he’s asking if this is okay, giving me time to close the distance or pull away.
I want to kiss him.
It takes the smallest effort on my part before I feel him, the barest brush of his lips, the slight catch in his breath against my own. He smells like the apple candy he won in a game of Go Fish, and my mouth practically waters, imagining if I’ll taste it on his tongue.
Without thinking I close my eyes and open my mouth and—
Daisy makes a small sound in her sleep and says my name.
We both exhale like we’ve been holding our breath, before he sits back, pushing a hand through his hair. “Am I a terrible person that I would have given her a thousand dollars to sleep for ten more minutes?” he asks.
My heart is pounding in my chest and I laugh, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I probably would have gone in for half.”
Luke shifts Daisy into my arms and trades places with me so I can have the arm of the couch before settling back against my side. We don’t talk as we turn back to the movie, and after a few minutes, I feel his finger brush absently along my wrist.
He hasn’t looked away from the screen, and I realize he’s not doing it to get my attention or pull some sort of reaction from me; he’s doing it because he needs to touch me. I wonder if his fingers itch like mine do whenever he’s around, or if he feels the same tug-of-war inside his chest.
I don’t think I’m in control of the nerves that fire and make my hand move, but with my eyes locked straight ahead, I turn my palm over and twist my fingers with his.
He doesn’t say anything, but in my peripheral vision I think I see him smile.
He tightens his grip.
I wonder if he gets that this is my wordless admission that maybe I like him. That he doesn’t completely suck after all.
Daisy is softly snoring with her head resting on my right shoulder, and after only a few moments of hesitation, I feel Luke do the same thing against my left.
The weight of him next to me—so solid and strong—feels comfortable and safe, and soon my own eyelids droop. I sink farther into the couch and into Luke, and fall asleep to the sound of the credits playing.
* * *
IT CAN’T BE long after when the front door opens.
I vaguely hear footsteps and blink several times before I can make out Fred standing in front of me, holding his phone in one outstretched arm.
“What are you—are you taking a picture?” I say, voice hoarse and groggy.
“Do you have any idea how cute you two are?” Fred asks, looking at his phone before turning the screen to face me.
“That’s super-creepy, Fred.”
I feel Luke stir next to me and he sits up with a start.
“Relax, son,” Fred says, steadying his shoulder. “I’m not some dad who just caught you making out with the babysitter.”
I realize that we’re still holding hands and I pull mine away, ignoring the way I can still feel his palm against my own. “Really creepy,” I say, handing over a still-sleeping little girl.
“She was good?” he asks, smoothing her hair.
“An angel, like always. She might be engaged to Luke, though. Fair warning.”
Fred laughs and motions that he’s going to put her to bed, and I tell him I’ll talk to him tomorrow at work.
This is the part that usually gets awkward, where Luke walks me out to my car and we stand across from each other, pretending that we didn’t just kiss and that we weren’t holding hands like high schoolers. But it seems like the potential for awkward has dissolved between us, and right now it just feels quiet, and calm.
The street is dark, and I fumble for the door handle, opening my car to set my bag inside. When I turn, Luke takes my hand, looking down at the way it fits in his. “I had a lot of fun. Thanks for letting me crash your party.”
“Are you kidding? That was the easiest night I’ve ever had with her. Usually I’m the one with braids and a tiara. Thanks for hanging out.”
There’s a beat of silence and a dog barks in the distance, and in my head I’m chanting, Don’t ask me to come home with you don’t ask me
to come home with you, don’t ask me, don’t ask me . . . Because honestly I have no idea how I’d say no.
But he doesn’t, instead leaning in to place a small kiss against my cheek and letting go of my hand. “Text me when you get home?” he asks.
I nod, a little dazed at the turn in the conversation, and I can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment gathering in my stomach.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Sure.”
On impulse, I cup his face, and stretch to place the lightest kiss on his warm lips. Stunned, he just stands there, watching as I step back and fight an enormous smile.
His eyebrows slowly rise. “Logan, you just kissed me.”
“Only a tiny kiss.” I smile up at him and notice the way his eyes flicker to my cheek to look at my dimple.
He holds the door while I climb inside and shuts it behind me. I open the window and he leans down, resting his arms on the frame.
“I like you,” he says. I know this, but the admission is so bare that if I weren’t already sitting, my knees might feel a little weak.
“I like you, too. Weirdo,” I add, and see his smile linger as he steps back and watches me drive away.
It’s not until I’m several blocks away that I remember: he’s my friend’s ex. I don’t get to have Luke Sutter.
* * *
LOLA AND OLIVER are on the couch watching a movie when I get home. I drop my bag on the floor near the door and wave to them before walking into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
My head swims a little with uncertainty. I’m starting to really want to trust Luke. I’m starting to need his company. But the remaining roadblock—Harlow, Mia, the history of this group with Luke—seems to be the one thing that lingers, and I have no idea how to deal with it. On the one hand, I feel like Harlow is being unreasonable by even having an opinion about any of this. On the other hand, I get it. He was with Mia for so long. There are unspoken rules; he should be off-limits.
“Were you working?” Lola asks, pausing the movie.
Wicked Sexy Liar Page 21
