Текст книги "Perfectly Damaged"

Автор книги: E. L. Montes

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

chapter 16

Jenna

My mouth has gone dry. Logan thinks I’m beautiful. Great. Just great. Exactly what I don’t need. He’s a great guy; I can really tell.

You know how there’s that one person who stumbles into your life and you instantly have a connection with them? Someone who’s a genuinely good person. Someone you just know you can build a great bond with, and it doesn’t have to be in a romantic way either. It can be with someone you have no attraction to whatsoever, you just instantly recognize something in them and they in you. Like in another realm, in another life, you were meant to be together in some way. Whether with a mother, daughter, sibling, best friend, or romantic partner, it’s a strong, unexplainable connection between two individuals.

That’s how I feel with Logan. But instead of being platonic, the attraction between us is undeniable, which makes it that much more difficult to ignore. The pull, the tug, the electric current charging the air between us… It’s constant. And I don’t need it. Not now, maybe not ever.

“Logan,” I start.

“Wait. Don’t say anything. I get it. I just wanted you to know you’re beautiful. I wanted you to hear it for yourself. I understand you just want to be friends. I understand this isn’t a date, and I understand you don’t care to ever go on one with me.”

“That’s not true. It’s just…” I sigh and shake my head. This is so frustrating. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Yeah. I want you to be.”

“I’m not exactly dating material.” I laugh at how ridiculous I sound. “It’s me. Seriously, it’s not you.”

“Oh no, not the good ole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ spiel. I’m kind of shocked, Jersey. Usually that talk comes after people have started dating. You just like being ahead of the game?” He chuckles.

I don’t find it funny. “It’s not a spiel—I’m serious. And it’s not just you—it’s anyone. I’m not dating material for anyone. I’m—God, this is so hard to say.”

“Then don’t say it. I get it.”

“No, you don’t.” I shake my head, fiddling with my fingers as a way to distract my thoughts. How would he look at me if I told him the truth? Could he handle it? “I have issues, Logan. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Just plain old emotional issues.” I settle for that because he’s not ready to know about me and I’m not ready to tell him.

“I can handle issues, Jenna.”

My head twists to look up at him, and I smile softly. It’s nice for him to say that, but I know the truth. “Not my issues. Just trust me on that.”

Gripping the chains of the swing, he stomps his foot to the ground and pushes, slightly lifting his feet and leaning back to gain momentum. “You know, if this were a date, I’d feed you this long line of cliché bullshit about how everyone has issues and there’s someone out there, regardless of what you may think, who can handle anything you’re dealing with—because maybe that person needs you just as much as you need them. And then, my cliché bullshit would probably touch you somehow, make you feel some type of emotional connection with me, and possibly make you swoon, which would only allow me to go in for the kill and kiss you. But like I said, that’s if this were a date. Since it’s not, you’re not so lucky.”

I let out a hard laugh, rolling my eyes playfully. “Thank God this isn’t a date. You saved me from your long line of cliché bullshit.”

He chuckles. The corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly when his mouth spreads into a white, toothy grin. Those strong, chiseled features…they’re kind of gorgeous.

God.

I like him. Logan. I like that he’s not so intense. I like that he knows when to stop asking questions. I like how he turns a serious situation around and finds humor in it. I like his silly personality. I like that he’s funny. I like that he makes me laugh. I like the crooked grin he gives me when he’s being cocky. I even admit that I like that stupid Phillies baseball cap he wears all the time. It looks good on him.

Dammit.

I just like…him.

“Have I told you I was the fucking king of the monkey bars back in preschool?” he asks.

You see what I mean?

I bite my lip, resisting the urge to just melt for this man. He makes me feel young. I know that may sound ridiculous because I’m only twenty-one, but the past few years have aged me in inexplicable ways. But Logan, he makes me feel my age. I feel vibrant and alive when I’m with him.

I shake my head to answer his monkey bar question.

“Well, allow me to show you the moves that earned me the title.”

He stands from the swing, reaching his hand out to me. I look up, smile, and grab it. The palm of my hand meeting his is a welcome sensation, and our fingers lock between one another’s. We walk and I silently note how small my hand is in his large, calloused one. It feels perfect. It feels so right. It feels like they belong together.

Two lost pieces of a puzzle, finally meeting their match.

I’m so screwed.

* * *

Logan’s truck slowly approaches my house. It was getting dark out, so we decided to call it a night. I’ve learned a bit more about him this evening, which only makes him that much more appealing to me. It’s scary how two people can so easily fall into the get-to-know-you process, where they confess all these things they’ve never told anyone else. Except there’s one tiny issue—a secret one of them is afraid the other might be turned off by. That’s my reality. And I’m sure Logan has a secret too. He has to, there’s no way he’s the perfect guy he portrays himself to be. There’s no way he’s this open and honest about himself. He must be holding something back, just like I am.

Rocks crunch under slowing tires, truck shifts into park, a seatbelt clicks.

I look over at Logan. He twists in his seat to face me, a smile set on his face. “So, I had fun.”

I match his grin. “Me too.”

“What are your plans for tomorrow? I’d like to hang out with you again. Like around five, since that’s when my shift ends. It’s not like I have a far drive to pick you up or anything.”

Laughing, I unbuckle my seatbelt, eyes still on him. “Well, if you were paying any attention over the past three hours, you’d remember that I have no life since I don’t work or go to school. So yeah, my plans for tomorrow will probably be sitting by the pool or hanging in my room, watching awful reality television.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Yikes. Bad reality TV is a waste of life if you ask me. Why do that when you can be doing something much more fun?”

“As in?”

“As in hanging out with me tomorrow. Same time. What do you say?”

I hold back a smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.” God, he’s so damn good-looking.

I tear my stare away, my eyes focusing on a small photo hanging from the rearview mirror. I didn’t see it before. Then again, I wasn’t really paying attention. I reach out and grab it, leaning in to have a better look. It’s a picture of a younger Logan with his arms posed wide open and a big goofball grin on his face. I can tell it’s him. He looks slimmer and shorter, but it’s definitely him with those same vibrant blue eyes. Beside him, posing the exact same way, is a guy a bit taller and more muscular than Logan. The unknown guy is wearing a Phillies baseball cap—an exact replica of Logan’s. “Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at the guy in the picture.

“That’s my brother, Sean, wearing his favorite stupid hat.” My stomach sinks. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I feel like an ass. Pushing down my fear of making a fool out of myself, I look back at Logan. His smile is still there, just a bit wider. Reaching up, he tugs the rim of the cap. “Which is now my favorite,” he adds.

“I…um…shit…” I shut my eyes, breathe in and out, then flash them open. “I’m sorry, Logan.”

Logan chuckles, a low rumble deep within his chest. “It’s fine. Seriously. I didn’t get offended. Most people would, but I’m not like most people.”

“No. You’re certainly not.” I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the humiliation of the moment. “If it were me, I’d probably punch you in the face.”

He laughs again. “I kind of get the feeling you’re not kidding.”

“No. Not when it comes to something personal like that. To others it may seem like it’s just an item, nothing special, but it’s a keepsake for you. You know?” He nods. “I had a bracelet Brooke had given me as a graduation gift. I lost it the night you found me in the pool.”

“Is that what you were freaking out about?”

“Yes. It’s something I never left home without, and losing it was like losing a piece of her.”

Logan’s forehead creases in confusion. “Wait. Was it some type of gold charm bracelet or something like that?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Santino found one by the pool when we were prepping on our first day. He gave it to your mother.”

“What?” My hands grip the dashboard so hard my knuckles turn white.

Logan looks nervous—or scared. I have no idea how I look right now, but I’m sure I look like I’m about to beat someone with a bat. “Yeah, your mother thanked Santino for bringing it to her and took off with it.”

Red. All I see is red. I jump out of the truck and slam the car door.

“Jenna?” Logan shouts out, but I keep going. My legs have a mind of their own. I have no idea how they’re moving, how they’re pushing, because my head is empty. Completely deserted. There are no thoughts whatsoever, just one image I keep seeing over and over again: my mother’s face.

Trembling, I open the door and dart into the house. My chest is heaving, my heart beating wildly, but my mind is clear.

Voices. Familiar voices from the office. I don’t hesitate. I move toward them, smoothly gliding across the marble foyer, yanking the knob, and pushing the door open. My mother jumps, turning to face the entryway I just barreled through. My father’s wary features shoot my way, studying me: my rigid posture, my hands opening and closing into tight fists at my side, my tense shoulders, and finally my bloodshot eyes, which are fixed and zooming in on her. The bitch.

“Where is it?” I threaten more than ask.

Mom seems startled by my approach. “Where is what, darling?”

“Fuck off, Mother!”

“Jenna!” Dad shouts.

Ignoring him, I move toward her aggressively. She steps back, afraid of what I might do. “The bracelet. Give me my bracelet. It’s mine, not yours. Brooke gave it to me. Where is it?” I scream.

She brings a hand to her chest. “This is ludicrous. You’re acting—”

“Give. It. To. Me.”

“Where is the bracelet, Laura?” Dad demands.

Her appalled, open-mouthed, and wide-eyed expression leaves me and lands on him. “Do you think I would keep it from her on purpose? Gregory, I would never do such a thing—”

“Do you or do you not have the bracelet, Laura?” he cuts in.

Wetting her lips, she moves her head side-to-side, staring at me, then him, then me again. Without another word, she walks over to the large bookcase. Removing a small trinket box, she opens the lid and lifts my bracelet out. I don’t give her time to bring it to me. I stomp over, snatch it from her hand, and storm out of the office.

I hate her more than ever.

* * *

“I can’t believe your mother did that. I’m sorry, but that was a shit move on her end,” Charlie says, fanning a hand over her damp, heart-shaped face.

I lean back against the lounge chair. The sun is brutally hot today, but I allow it to beam off my skin as I lie with my eyes shut. “Yep. She doesn’t matter anymore; I have my bracelet and, quite honestly, that’s all that matters,” I say, reaching for my right hand and allowing my fingers to smooth over the gold chain, now perfectly snugged around my wrist.

Last night I could hear Mom and Dad arguing but couldn’t make out all of it. I did hear my name thrown in a few times, and on any other day I would have eavesdropped, but last night I didn’t bother. I had my bracelet and I was too upset with my mother to even want to hear what she had to say about me. I know one thing, I’m really glad Dad cancelled that spa appointment he had scheduled for Mom and me. I didn’t want to go initially, but after the bracelet fiasco, there wasn’t a chance in hell.

“Yeah. Thank God,” she says. “What the hell? It’s hot as balls out. I’m taking a dip in the pool. Want to go in with me?”

“Sure.” I lift onto my elbows. “It’s too hot to even sunbathe.”

We stand, tread to the pool, and dip in, allowing the warm, refreshing water to swallow us up. Charlie swims to the corner at the shallow end of the pool, which has a built-in bench. Sitting down, she bends her head back on the edge and closes her eyes. I follow, making myself comfortable beside her, our seats in clear view of the Reed Construction guys working on the guesthouse.

“What was the sigh for?” Charlie asks.

“Huh? Did I sigh?”

“Yep. A big ole dramatic one too.” Her eyes flash open. Staring straight ahead, it doesn’t take her long to realize the reason—or should I say the person—that prompted my sigh. “Logan looks good…”

“I guess?” My eyes study him from this distance. The Phillies cap is on his head, white earphones are plugged into his ears, and his golden tan is glistening in the sun. “Mmmhmm. I see where your line of vision is. Do you see that male goodness from afar?” Charlie sits up and goes on dramatically, “Are you admiring those fine-tuned, muscular arms? That glorious, gleaming golden tan? The beads of sweat dripping ever so softly from his rock-hard body? The way the veins of his biceps pop out when he flexes? His rough-worn jeans hanging low on his sculpted hips, leaving you to imagine what’s waiting just a little bit lower? Ooooh, that was some descriptive shit right there. I should be a writer.”

I roll my eyes. She is so over-the-top. But I must admit, she’s right. What is happening to me?

Charlie fans herself, dipping her head back into the water. “Damn, I made myself hot with that scene. You know you were turned on. I can just see it now.” She spreads her arms wide. “Charlie Murphy, erotica novelist, making pussies twerk nationwide. RPD, bitches.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I say, splashing water her way.

Charlie shrugs. “Oops. Hottie coming our way.”

I turn, and… Yep, Logan is heading toward us. Straightening my shoulders, I sit up, watching as he approaches.

Logan reaches the edge of the pool, bends at the knees, and meets us at eye level. “Ladies,” he says with a smile.

“Logan.” I match his grin.

“Hottie McHotterson.” Charlie beams.

Logan squints his eyes at Charlie, uncertain as to how to handle her. I’m sure no one knows how to handle her. Then he looks at me. “Have you thought about it?”

“Thought about what?” Charlie interjects.

Logan answers, “Going out with me tonight. My shift is over in an hour and I figured I’d ask now so you can get ready. Or you can go in your bikini. Either way is good with me.”

Charlie’s lips curl into a devious grin. “Ah, going out, huh? Yeah, she’s going.” I go to speak, but she lifts her hand, stopping me before I can start. “Go and get ready, Jenna. I’ll keep Logan occupied. So, Logan, let me tell you about this book I want to write.”

“You write?” he asks, amused.

“Yep. And I can come up with some pretty damn steamy scenes. I’m thinking of writing an erotic—”

I grip her arm. “Yes, Logan. I’ll go out tonight. I’m going to start getting ready. Charlie, come help me find something to wear.”

“Oh,” Charlie says, shocked that I’m actually asking for fashion feedback. But I’ll do anything to keep her from embarrassing herself. Who am I kidding? I’ll do anything to keep her from embarrassing me. “All right. See ya, Logan.” She winks at him.

Logan smiles, and his eyes find mine. “Cool. See you in an hour.”

I nod, twist my body beneath the water, and lift myself out of the pool. Turning, I bend down, yank on Charlie’s arm, and pull her out.

* * *

We’re in my walk-in closet, and I’m seated in a chair with a towel wrapped around my chest. My hair’s dripping water down my back as I watch Charlie rummage through my closet. Her features vacillate between shock and distress regarding the news I just told her. “Wait a minute. The two of you went out? Why am I just hearing about this?” she asks, skimming through the hangers.

“Because it happened out of left field. Besides, it was just a friendly get-together.”

“You decided to mention Mommy Dearest stealing the bracelet, but you left out the fact that you were on a date with Mr. McHotterson?”

“Not a date,” I huff.

“Whatever. So where did you guys go?”

I pick the skin at my lip as my eyes roam over my clothing. Though there’s plenty to choose from, I feel like I have nothing to wear, which is completely unlike me. Any other day I couldn’t care less about what to wear. But I keep shaking my head no to all of Charlie’s suggestions so far. “We went for ice cream, then the park.”

“Are you kidding me?” Her hand stops midstroke on a sundress, and she turns to face me.

“What?” I ask, unsure of the reason behind her wrinkled nose.

“Ice cream and the park?” I confirm with a nod. “What are you guys, like five?”

Rolling my eyes, I shift in the seat and cross my legs. “Whatever. I think he was sweet and we had fun. I had an amazing time…” I trail off with a smile, thinking about last night. Logan was the perfect gentleman.

“All right, then,” Charlie says, mockingly. “Well, I guess no dress for you, since he might surprise you and take your ass to BounceU.”

Funny thing is, after witnessing Logan and how goofy he can be with just a set of monkey bars, I’m sure BounceU would be right up his alley. “There’d be nothing wrong with us acting like big kids, jumping around in inflatable bounce houses.”

Charlie coughs out a laugh. It’s one of those incredulous laughs, one that lets me know she’s humoring me. She knows that is not my scene, but maybe it could be. With Logan it could be.

“Wear this.” Both of her arms jut out, a pair of white skinny jeans dangling from one hand, and a teal strapless blouse from the other. “It’s cute, yet comfortable. What do you say?”

“Okay. I can do that.” I stand, walk over, and grab them from her hands, dropping the towel and tossing the outfit on.

“Do you want to wear heels, flats, or sandals?” Charlie asks, twirling to face my shoe collection.

“Sneakers,” I say seriously.

Charlie meets me with a pair of nude flats and hands them to me. “Nope. I will not allow you to look a hot mess on this date.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Whatever. Put on the shoes. I have to do your hair and makeup.”

chapter 17

Logan

I’m on the front porch, leaning against the column as I wait for Jenna. Memories of the first time we met float forward from the back of my mind—especially that kiss, which happened to occur on this very porch. Dammit. She wants to keep things clean and friendly, but the thought of that kiss turns my thoughts to anything but. It’s going to be very fucking hard for me to control myself tonight. I’ll try to be good and respect her wishes, but I can’t make any promises.

I hear rather than see the front door open. Leaning forward, I crane my neck and eye the double doors. Both Jenna and Charlie step out, and damn, Jenna looks…well, she looks fucking hot. Although I changed out of my dingy work clothes, I kind of wish I’d had time to go home, take a shower, and get completely ready. Whatever. Straightening, I shove my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. My heart staggers into a quick beat. What the fuck? I’m nervous. Why? It’s not like I’ve never seen a fucking chick before. Calm the hell down, Logan.

Charlie’s small figure struts up before me. I have to look down to meet her eyes, as if I’m staring at a ten-year-old. With her arms crossed, she sizes me up, scrutinizing. Then she whips her head back to glare at me. “You better be good to my girl, or I’ll be making a few calls and you’ll have a Lorena Bobbitt case on your hands.” She shoots up a brow. “Or should I say…in your pants.”

I wrinkle my brows. This chick is kidding, right?

“Oh my God, Charlie.” Jenna stumbles forward, pushing Charlie with a swat of her hand. “Sorry about that, Logan. Shall we go?”

“Um, sure.” I grab Jenna’s hand and step forward, walking side by side with her down the walkway. I can’t help but look back and sneak a peek at Charlie, who catches me. She gives me an aggressive two-finger eye point, making it clear that she’ll be keeping her eyes on me.

“Your friend is very…” I trail off, trying to find the right words without offending Jenna.

“Weird? Aggressive? Direct? Dramatic?” she finishes for me. “You can choose one, but I’m sure all of the above apply.”

“Yeah. Definitely all of the above.”

She laughs.

We reach my truck. I, being the awesome gentleman I prepared myself to be, open the door and help Jenna into the passenger seat. She thanks me with a slight giggle after I give her a small bow and a knowing, lopsided grin. Then I jog around and slide into the driver seat. “I have something for you,” I say, reaching into the backseat and grabbing the gift. Jenna’s eyebrows slant with curiosity when I hand her a thin, square object wrapped in newspaper. She flips it around in her hand, wondering what it could be. “Sorry about the wrapping,” I say. “It was last-minute and I didn’t have any of that colorful wrapping crap. So I figured newspaper would do just the trick.”

Jenna’s pink, glossy lips twitch into a smile. “What is it?” she asks.

“Open it and find out.”

Hesitantly, she runs her fingers over it, right above the headline regarding Philly’s City budget cuts. Licking her lips, she swipes a finger under a flap, beneath the clear Scotch tape, peeling off the rest of the paper and revealing the album. I take in the charm bracelet resting on her right wrist. She got it back. Yesterday she seemed pissed the hell off with the news regarding her mother having the bracelet this entire time.

I want to ask about it, but then I remember how Jenna said talking about her mother is the equivalent of placing her in a dark hole, so I decide to not mention it—at least not right now. “It’s City of Sound’s Greatest Hits,” I say. “I figured since you like what you’ve heard so far, you’d probably like to hear more from them.”

Jenna tilts her head my way. Her large and beautifully brown eyes gleam in the early evening light. I hope she likes it. Her pouty lips are not smiling, but she’s not frowning either. A vertical line creases between her brows. Her expression seems to be saying a million things, none of which I can decipher. While her eyes hold on to mine, she seems to be reaching deep, trying to read me, to figure me out or something. Finally, she brings a hand up, her fingers play with my stubble jaw, and then she leans in.

Shit.

She’s going to kiss me. I can feel it. I can sense it. I calm my breathing, waiting, hoping for her lips to touch my…

Cheek.

Yeah.

Jenna’s lips, sticky from some kind of gloss, land on the left side of my cheek, just above my jawline. Pulling back, her face inches from mine, her lashes flicker as she meets my stare. Her thumb gently rubs over the kiss mark, removing the lip gloss from my face. “Thank you for the album, Logan. I love it.”

Talk, dickhead.

“Oh, no problem.” I breathe out, bringing my arm up to hang over the steering wheel, hoping it makes me seem smooth.

Moron.

Jenna settles back into her seat, clips on her seatbelt, and looks down at the album in her hand.

“I hope you’re hungry because I’m taking you to the best mom and pop shop in Philly.”

She looks up at me and smiles again. That smile alone is going to drive me insane tonight.

* * *

Pattie’s is definitely not an upscale, fine restaurant, but if you want a good home cooked style meal, it’s definitely the best spot in town. Besides, it’s also close by the next place I want to take Jenna to, which I’m hoping she’ll like.

I help Jenna out of my truck, slipping my hand into hers as we walk, and we keep it that way. She doesn’t pull away and neither do I. I like it. It just feels right. Hand in hand we step into the overly packed, rowdy, small restaurant. I lean down, my lips touching the curve of her ear. “Sorry, I didn’t expect for it to be crowded on a weeknight. But the food is great. I promise you’ll like it.”

Jenna doesn’t say a word. Her eyes sweep over the small surroundings; she seems to be uncomfortable. Her body slightly shudders, and she leans into me, almost cowering as a way to keep close. Her fingers start working at her lip as fear slowly creeps into her eyes. Lifting my hand, I place my palm along her lower back, and twirl her around so her front is facing mine; I pull her toward me without resistance. In fact, her breathing seems to instantly calm, her shaking stops.

And then it starts to makes sense. The day I saw Jenna by the corner street sign and asked her about coming to the lake house, she mentioned how large crowds make her uncomfortable. And when she did make it to the lake house, she was always apart from everyone, distant, always tucked away, alone. To anyone else, it might appear that we’re just two people getting cozy because of how crowded it is in here. But they wouldn’t know that I’ve just put together another piece of the puzzle that is Jenna McDaniel.

Jenna lifts her eyelids, blinking as she looks up at me. There’s a small understanding between us. No words are spoken; they’re not needed. I can feel her discomfort here, and she can sense that I know. I nod once, lifting my hand to the side of her face and rubbing my thumb along her rosy cheek. “Wanna get out of here?” I whisper. She answers with a small nod. “Okay,” I say. I turn around, take her hand in mine again, and keep her close as we exit the place.

We’re settling back into my truck, and I turn the ignition on. I don’t pull away, though. If she feels this uncomfortable here, there’s no way she’ll like the next place. “I was going to take you to this small indie art show, but I think I purchased the last two tickets, which means there’ll probably be a lot of people there.”

“Oh.” Jenna’s voice is small. She looks away, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Logan. It’s just…I have anxiety around large crowds,” she whispers, bringing her head down, embarrassed.

“I figured.”

“I know it’s weird. I’m sorry.”

I chuckle softly. “It’s not weird, Jenna. Trust me, I know people, and they can be creepy fuckers sometimes. I’d freak out too, but I want to keep this badass act up as long as I can.”

She laughs. Good. “You’re so not a badass. You may look it, but you’re more of the good guy hiding behind the bad boy image.”

“Dammit. And here I thought I had everyone fooled. I need to work harder on this image thing.” I scratch the back of my head, trying to figure out what to do for the rest of the night. “I know this twenty-four hour diner that serves the best potato pancakes you’ll ever have in your life. It’s near my apartment. It’s usually crowded for breakfast or at like two or four in the morning, when drunk asses crave munches. But around this time, it’s usually dead. Wanna go there?”

“Okay.”

* * *

Jenna orders the banana French toast and a side of one potato pancake, which I told her was a bad idea because once she tastes it, she’ll want another. I order my usual, the big man breakfast meal, which comes with two of everything: eggs, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and potato pancakes. Yeah, I’m that hungry. I’ll devour my entire plate and then some.

Like I figured, the diner isn’t too busy. There’s probably a handful of people in the entire place. Jenna and I are seated at a booth in the far back. Though I can tell she feels a bit more comfortable, I still find her looking around. She’s keeping an eye out for something, but I don’t know what. It’s not weird, just different. Her mind always seems to be preoccupied with other thoughts.

“Is it weird we’re having breakfast for dinner?” she asks.

“Nope. Best time to have it, if you ask me,” I say, drowning my pancakes in syrup.

A slight moan escapes those pretty lips of hers when she takes her first bite of the French toast. “You’re right. Best time to have it. I’ve never had breakfast at any other time, never for anything other than breakfast.”

“Well, I like to break the rules sometimes. You know, to keep that bad boy image alive and stuff.”

Jenna leans back in the booth, patting her belly. “I’m stuffed.”

“You barely ate,” I point out.

“I ate half of it. Sorry I can’t clean off my plate like you.” She giggles. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“No problem. It’s my pleasure, really.”

And just like that, it’s like she’s somewhere else, blankly staring at her plate. She lifts her hand to the side of her face, pressing on her cheek.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

Jenna blinks, then looks up at me. “That I don’t know you. That you seem really nice. That I want to know more about you.”

“Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Where you grew up, your family, your likes and dislikes, everything, Logan.”

I nod, leaning back in the booth. “All right. Uh, let’s see, where can I start? Oh! Once upon a time—”

“I’m serious!” She laughs.

“So am I. Let me tell my story.” She rolls her eyes, then nods. I go on. “Where was I? Ah, yes—once upon a time, there was this small, snot-nosed, pain-in-the-ass kid named Logan Reed. His mother couldn’t handle him. No one even wanted to watch him because everyone believed he was the devil’s sidekick, if not the devil himself.”

Jenna lets out a laugh, adjusting herself a bit to get more comfortable. She crosses her arms on top of the table and leans in. I continue, “But for some strange reason, his mother still loved him. So when it came to his mom, he was a bit of a pussy, or to say it nicer, he was a momma’s boy. His only father figure was and still is his uncle George because his biological father was serving time in prison.”

“Really? I’m sorry, Logan,” Jenna whispers.

“Yeah. It’s cool, though. I can’t complain. I’ve lived a good life. I had a family that always stuck by one another. I was always loved, still am. Just because I didn’t know my father, doesn’t mean my life was ruined. I didn’t blame him for anything. I may have missed out on a lot of things, but not having him in my life doesn’t define who I am now.”

“Where is he now?”

I suck in a deep breath. I had sometimes wondered if I should’ve reached out to my father, but before I even attempted to make a decision, it was too late. “Dead. He died in prison of a heart attack or something like that. He was doing time for drugs. Not just little shit. He was involved with a crime organization, busted in the middle of a huge drug deal. I wasn’t even born yet; my mother was pregnant with me when he got arrested. Gotta love the eighties.