Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
I just hope my mom sticks with her resolution to stay away from him. I know enough about domestic abuse to guess she might have second thoughts. She might even sneak back to him. I’ll do what I can to prevent it. Having my mom back and away from Ronnie’s poisonous influence after so long is a privilege I never thought I’d get, and I’m not ready to let it slip away.
I meet Logan at a place called Cafe de Lorenz. It’s nestled on a small grassy strip of land surrounded by the lake. The lights of the city stretch across the dark waters, broken up by tiny ripples. The faint sound of classical music drifts along the chill evening air and reaches my ears, along with some of the most mouthwatering scents I’ve ever smelled.
Logan says something to his driver before the man pulls away, leaving us arm in arm in front of the restaurant. We cross through a small, but meticulously maintained garden path and enter through a terraced entryway. Logan wears an impeccable suit. His hair is pushed to the side and as usual, a few stubborn strands fall perfectly out of place. He has a few days worth of scruff on his face, too, completing the rugged look he so completely nails.
He’s quiet tonight, and I can’t help feeling the rift between us. Something is broken, and I don’t think either of us knows quite how to fix it. And now I’m holding the burning secret about Ronnie from him, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep it in.
I’m wearing a dress he gave me as a gift. I’ve turned down so many of his gifts I’ve lost count, but he’s persistent, and I don’t want to be rude. It makes me feel good that he wants to give me things so badly, but I couldn’t live with myself if I blindly accepted it all. I have enough trouble not feeling like a prostitute by working at Club Crave. The last thing I need is to start giving myself reasons to think Logan is buying me. I’m having enough trouble sorting through my feelings without that added burden.
The dress has a single, crossover strap. It hugs me in just the right places and does some very flattering things for my figure. I have my hair done up as much as I could manage without much time. I barely had the time to throw some blankets out for my mom to sleep on the couch before I had to throw the dress on and get ready for tonight. My head still feels like it’s ringing from all that has happened, and I’m already fighting the urge to keep it from Logan.
“You look stunning,” he says, sliding his arm comfortably around my waist and leading me through the entrance of the restaurant. A prim man in a suit nods at Logan like he recognizes him and leads us past the line of waiting patrons to a table near the huge windows overlooking the lake.
“Thank you,” I say.
A band plays soft, classic music on a stage set off to one side of the restaurant. There’s a quiet hum of conversation, clinking silverware, and muffled laughter. The entire restaurant is full, but the clientele are the refined type, and apparently that means they aren’t as loud.
Logan pulls my chair out and brushes any dust that might be on the cushion before protectively holding my arm as I take a seat. I like that he takes care of me the way he does. It’s as if he imagines any possible harm that could come to me and does whatever he can to prevent it.
Unless he’s the one with a paddle in his hand.
“What’s that look for?” he asks, sitting down and setting the napkin in his lap.
I clear my throat. “It’s nothing.”
He eyes me skeptically, but the waiter arrives and goes over the wine list, giving me time to gather my thoughts. Planning to hide something from Logan and actually doing it are two entirely different concepts, and I already feel like I might break out in a cold sweat soon, as if he knows I’m holding something back and won’t rest until he knows.
Logan orders us a bottle of something I can’t pronounce and looks at me over the candle burning in the center of our table. “Relax. Please,” he says.
I breathe out. “I’m relaxed.”
He smirks, standing in the middle of the crowded restaurant and moving behind me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and starts massaging me. My cheeks burn red when I notice a few heads turning at his show of impropriety, but it feels so good. It’s not just the massage, it’s his constant desire to claim me as his. No matter who’s watching or how inappropriate it is, Logan never seems to care. All that matters to him is keeping me happy and letting everyone know I’m taken. So why couldn’t I have just kept pretending to make him happy? Why did I have to be so fucking selfish?