Four Letter Word (Love Logic #2) - K.M. Neuhold Page 0,13
though.”
Of fucking course Hudson will be there. They’re friends. All these years, I’ve been gone, and Hudson has been here, spending time with Bishop, having the friendship I was missing. My jaw ticks, irritation and a hot wave of jealousy filling my chest like a balloon.
“Right,” I manage to grit out. “Guess I’ll stay home and order some takeout. Have fun.”
“Don’t pout,” he scolds. “You’re an adult, if you don’t want to come out with me and run into Hudson, there are a million other bars in the area. Go out, have fun, meet people, enjoy your Friday night.”
“Yeah,” I agree vaguely. “Yeah,” I say again after a few seconds, the idea holding some merit.
“I’m not sure how late I’ll be,” he says. I allow myself a brief moment to take him in again while he puts his shoes on. He looks good...really good. His jeans are molded perfectly to his ass, fitting him like a well-worn glove. His hair is just messy enough to give him that just got out of bed look, and the hint of stubble on his cheeks makes him look exactly the right amount of clean cut and effortlessly sexy. Am I an idiot for letting the idea of running into Hudson keep me from going out with Bishop tonight?
“Have fun and call me if you need a ride or anything.” I step closer until I can smell his aftershave, closer than a friend should stand.
His eyebrows scrunch for a second before smoothing out. He smiles, biting his bottom lip and swaying uncertainly on the spot briefly before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“Thanks. Night, Leo.”
Riot
“Hey,” the sweet voice I’ve been dreaming about all week cuts through the din of the bar, and I spin around fast enough that I slosh beer all over myself. His eyes go wide as I cuss loudly and switch the glass of beer to my other hand, shaking the moisture off and giving him a wry grin to cover my embarrassment.
It’s been seven days since our hookup, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking of Bishop—the taste of his lips, the feeling of his moans vibrating against my tongue, his body under mine. Fuck, and now I’m getting hard, and he’s standing only a few feet away.
“Hey,” I say as casually as I can manage. I didn’t expect he’d stop coming into the bar every Friday night, but I was anticipating that he’d avoid me like the plague. I wasn’t lying when I told him I don’t hook up often. I generally prefer relationships—however unconventional my relationships tend to be—but I do know enough to know that when a guy runs out before the cum on your stomach has even dried, it’s not the best sign.
One of the things I love about working at the bar is that the mindless tasks give my mind plenty of time to wander. The problem is that it gave me way too much time this week to obsess over the way he left the other night. I couldn’t stop wishing I’d handled it differently, told him the truth instead of letting him run out of there like he was fleeing the scene of a bank robbery. It might not have helped, but I should’ve tried. Maybe now I’ll have the chance to correct that oversight. If he doesn’t want to hook up again, I can make peace with that, but letting things go without laying my cards on the table feels wrong.
“I wanted to apologize,” he says.
“For what?” I ask with a chuckle. “We had a good time, nothing to be sorry about. Unless you’re sorry you ran out before round two? Because if that’s the case, I have an idea about how you can make it up to me.” I arch an eyebrow at him, and he dips his head, trying his damndest to hide his grin as his cheeks pink.
“We did have fun, and I just wanted to make sure you knew that, that’s all.” He raps his knuckles against the bar and starts to turn around to leave.
“Hold up,” I call out. “You dropped that bomb about two guys and then bolted before I had much of a chance to process or respond. I’m wondering if we could grab a coffee tomorrow and talk?” He’d surprised me and then left before I could get my thoughts in order, but if anything, his declaration made me more interested in him, not less.