the guy he’d come in with and caught me staring at him. His eyes narrowed briefly. “What?”
“What?”
“You’re giving me a weird look.”
His friend placed a pitcher of beer onto the table. Logan moved his feet so the guy could sit. As he did, he nodded to me in silent greeting.
Logan snapped his fingers. “Nate Monson. Taylor Bruce. You’ve been introduced.”
Nate nodded again, asking Logan, “Bruce?”
“Mason’s coach.”
I tensed. Some guys flipped out when they found out who my dad was, but not this one. I knew Logan didn’t care either. So I relaxed. Nate had jet-black hair and features that would’ve looked at home on a runway. He wasn’t as lean as Logan, but he was a little taller. As he got comfortable and poured some beer in a glass, I glanced back and forth between the two. Nate seemed reserved, quiet, and very unlike Logan, who watched me as I sized them up.
“Bruce,” Logan started, leaning closer to me over the table, his hand wrapped around the beer. “What are you doing applying for a job here?”
I glanced at Nate. Was he going to chime in? But he just lifted his beer to take a sip and turned to watch the bar. He didn’t seem to care about Logan’s question.
I shrugged. “I need a job.”
“Bullshit. I’ve seen that house you live in. You guys have money.”
Nate glanced at Logan then, a small smile on his face. Logan saw it, and his own lips curved, but neither said a word to the other.
Logan arched an eyebrow at me.
I shook my head. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I need a job. That’s it.”
I needed something to do outside of school and my studies. I didn’t want to depend on Jason and Claire to always be there to entertain me, and I didn’t want any other friends. I wasn’t ready to wade into the drama friendships sometimes brought.
Logan leaned back, raising his beer again. “I call bullshit, but whatever.” He glanced around. “This is a good place to work. Beer isn’t too watered down. We get free snacks.” He gestured to the popcorn machine. “And good tunes.” He nodded to the stage where a band was setting up, then to the jukebox.
Nate chimed in, a low, smooth baritone, “It’s far enough from school that you don’t get a lot of sorority chicks either.”
Logan nodded in agreement.
“Is that normally a problem?”
Both guys looked at me.
I shrugged, feeling a little intimidated. “I mean, don’t guys want drunk sorority girls at a bar?”
Nate grunted. “Sure, if you want a cheap lay. I’d rather have a sober girl at the end of the night, or at least one who knows who she is, not someone so insecure she’ll do anything I ask of her.”
“You guys are reverse snobs.”
They both frowned at me, confused.
“What do you mean?” Logan asked.
“Guys like wasted girls.”
Logan shook his head. “Insecure guys want wasted girls. I’ve got a rep. I know that. But none of those girls were wasted. No way.”
Eric always liked getting me tipsy. He didn’t care if I was drunk or not. This made me look at Logan a little differently. Something close to respect had started to form in me.
I needed to go. That was dangerous. I already looked forward to his jokes, but if I respected him, too? That was just bad all around. Those things could lead to something more, something deep, so I had to go.
I grabbed my purse and slid off my stool.
“Where are you going?”
“I, uh...”
Nate wasn’t paying any attention. He watched the band setting up on the stage. But Logan almost seemed disappointed. I grabbed the application, crinkling it into a ball.
“I have to go home.”
“You’re not going to apply now?”
“No.” My tongue lay heavy on the bottom of my mouth. I turned to go. My hand rested on the table.
“Hey.” Logan scooted off his stool and came around to me. He crowded in, moving closer so I could feel his body heat. He rested his hand next to mine and his finger grazed against mine. He barred me from slipping out and asked, “What’s wrong?”
He cared. I didn’t expect that from him. I reminded myself that I didn’t really know him. A week ago, I hadn’t known him at all.
“Taylor?”
“Use my last name.” I moved him back a little so I had some breathing room. I tried not to notice how good he felt, or how strong his arm was under my touch. “It’s more appropriate.”