Wild Girl (Wild Men Texas #3) - Melissa Belle Page 0,50

soul mates…”

Ginny grimaces. “It sounds torturous, honestly.”

I sigh. “I know. Subject change—is anything new with you?”

Ginny smiles. “Nickel wants to date me.”

I hug her. “I would say I’m surprised, but you so clearly had him wrapped around your finger from the get-go.”

“And Mama’s just started to speak to me again in a normal voice,” she says. “I guess a week’s not bad considering how much pain she says I put her through.”

“Yeah, for your mother, a week’s pretty impressive.”

“Do you think maybe we’re afraid to be different than our mamas?” Ginny says.

I look over at her. “You think?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, they’re from a completely different generation, and they had totally different childhoods, yet…” she pauses. “And yet they both always say how much we’re like them. I don’t think I would’ve married Dave if I’d known how wrong they were.”

And maybe I wouldn’t have fought so hard to never let a man in.

“I spent this whole summer poring over my old diary entries, trying to make peace with my childhood,” I murmur.

“And what’d you find?” she asks me.

“I’m just realizing what I found. Nearly every entry had Logan all over it. My first kiss, my first everything.”

“It’s so romantic,” Ginny squeals. “Like a real love story written in your own hand!”

I swallow hard. “I read it from front to back, and all of it was there. And I couldn’t see it until he was already gone.”

After Ginny leaves, I paint my toenails, wash and dry my hair, and spend nearly forty-five minutes painstakingly separating and then pulling my entire head of unruly waves into a French braid. I admire my work in the bathroom mirror and then order in a double cheeseburger, onion rings, and a vanilla milkshake for lunch. After I eat, I half-heartedly pack, knowing that after tomorrow, I won’t have the heart to do much else besides try to get my ass to the airport on time.

I wish I could skip Logan’s wedding. God, I wish I could skip it. But I feel like that would be too mean. I call Ben and ask him to cover for me at The Cowherd tonight. When he asks why, I tell him I’m not feeling well.

I have a momentary happy distraction when, after four form rejections come in from agents, a fifth one emails and asks for the full manuscript. I’m so excited I send it off to her naively and then realize this probably won’t lead to anything momentous. But it’s a start.

Finally, around seven p.m., with the rain pouring down outside, I lie down on my couch and fall into a fitful sleep.

My cell phone is ringing. Over and over. I lift my head off the pillow and drag myself off the couch to go answer it. But I can’t find it anywhere. Every time it rings, I go in the direction I think I’m hearing it from, and it’s not there.

After forever, it stops, and I give up and head for my couch again.

I’m walking past the front door when my doorbell rings.

Sure it must be Ginny, I reach for the handle without looking out. “Did you forget something earlier?”

Logan’s standing on my steps.

I take a step backward and widen my eyes.

Logan Wild is standing on my steps.

Chapter Thirty-One

Logan’s truck is in the driveway.

He’s standing in front of me with his dark brown hair and his whiskey eyes with those long lashes. He’s dressed in his blue t-shirt and worn jeans and cowboy boots. He’s getting wet from the rain pouring down, and I can’t stop staring at him long enough to invite him inside.

Because he’s supposed to be in Florida.

I take him in slowly.

Dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days, his pale face a stark contrast to his day-old sexy stubble, but his cheeks wear a familiar flush. That flush he has when he’s happy about something. And the sparks in his eyes are frenzied as he takes me in hungrily like he hasn’t really seen me in months.

I look at him, then back to his truck, then back to him.

“What—” I start to say. “Why—are you here?”

“To find you,” he says simply.

I stare up at him as my lips part.

His gaze is unrelenting on my face, and then it drifts to my green and white checked cowgirl button-down shirt, my denim cut-off shorts, and my bare feet with freshly painted pink toenails. He drags his gaze back up to mine and tugs at my braid. “I like your

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