still a little early for Logan to be awake, but she needed someone to talk to. Someone she knew she could trust. Someone who was there to listen. Someone who gave her sound advice. Or not so sound. She wasn’t sure when Logan had become her best friend—or when the word friend had stopped making her cringe—but she was lucky to have him in her life.
She pressed his icon on her contact list, noting that he’d changed his picture to a dick pic.
Really, Logan? Was he afraid she’d forget what it looked like?
“Hello?” a woman answered.
Toni pulled her phone away from her face and checked to make sure she’d dialed the correct number.
Noting that it was definitely Logan’s dick she’d pressed, she asked, “Can I speak to Logan?”
“He’s in the shower.”
“Who are you?” Toni asked, her face inexplicably numb.
“I’m just his entertainment.”
Entertainment? What exactly did she mean by that and why the hell was she answering Logan’s phone?
“I’ll tell him you called,” the beautiful-sounding woman said. “Who is this?”
“It’s Toni. His girlfriend.”
The woman laughed. “He didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend. I’ll have to get after him for hiding that from me. But I will tell him you called, Tonya.”
“Toni,” she corrected automatically.
Toni was too stunned to voice the hundreds of questions swirling around in her head. Before she could gather her wits, the woman hung up.
She’d been gone for less than twenty-four hours and Logan was already fooling around with another woman? Apparently Toni was the fool for believing she meant something to him.
She took several deep breaths, fighting the ache in her eyes, her throat, and her chest. She wanted to give Logan the benefit of the doubt, but she’d seen too much over the past two and a half weeks. She knew how persistent those damned groupies could be. But if he couldn’t be faithful to her for even twenty-four goddamned hours, then she didn’t need him. Fuck him and his flattering words, his expert touch, his easy smile, and his irresistible charm. Fuck him.
Well, that was what her brain said, but her heart was too crushed to do anything but yearn for him. The fickle, weak organ wanted him to tell her that she was mistaken. Needed him to tell her that no woman could ever replace her in his heart or in his bed. She really was a fool.
She rose from her chair and began to unpack her gear. Work would help her keep her mind off what an incredible asshole she’d allowed herself to fall in love with. She’d start with the section on Max or maybe Dare, because she was pretty sure anything she wrote about the band’s bass player at that particular moment would be unbecoming to his character.
A couple of hours later, she’d found her zone. Her fatigue and hurt were forgotten as words and images, audio and video clips, all came together on the page. She’d designed the software interface herself, and it was pretty intuitive—similar to making web pages. She just had to drag and drop the sections she wanted into a template form and then add her text and supporting files.
When her cellphone rang and the ringtone Logan had chosen for himself—Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy”—interrupted her train of thought, she paused with hands hovering over her keyboard. Part of her wanted to answer and forget about work, but the pissed-off part of her moved her hand to her phone’s screen and rejected the call. It had taken him almost two hours to call her back. She knew how much trouble the man could get into in that length of time. Especially when he had a willing woman in his bed. She bit her lip, blinking back a sudden rush of tears. She wasn’t ready to face their inevitable breakup just yet. She’d been through too much in the past day to add another heartache to her agenda.
Less than a minute later, Right Said Fred was proclaiming himself too sexy for her party again. She took a deep breath, rejected Logan’s call, and shut off her phone, hiding it in her desk drawer so she wouldn’t be tempted to call him back or read any text messages or listen to voicemail. She needed to have her head together before she talked to him. She didn’t want to be his doormat and if she talked to him while in her current frame of mind, she knew she’d prostrate herself at his feet and gladly allow him to