“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.”

“What?”

There it was again. Genuine confusion. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t getting defensive. He was just confused.

“What’s going on here?” He edged back one more step. “You okay?”

“No.” I waved my hand at him. “It’s you.”

“Me?”

“Because you’re bad.”

He smirked. “I know I am.”

I gave him a dark look. “You’re bad news. I can’t handle you.”

He groaned, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. “Do you know how many directions I could take that? Seriously, Tay—Bruce. Watch your words if you don’t want me hitting you with one-liners.”

I paused. “What?”

“Nothing.” He forced out a breath. “Go on. I’m bad news. Why?”

“Because I can’t hand—” I started to repeat my words, but Logan let out a closed-mouth half growl. “I can’t deal with the attention that follows you around,” I offered instead.

He let out a breath he’d been holding. “Thank you. I didn’t think I could hold back anymore if you didn’t stop.”

I pressed my lips together. I was trying to ditch him, and he was crafting his Loganisms, even if he wasn’t delivering them. Of course he was, and he was amused by the whole thing. The more his smile grew, the more I wanted to forget that I needed to stay away. Part of me wanted to stay. I wanted to hang out with him and Nate. They didn’t care. I didn’t understand, but I liked it, whatever it was they didn’t care about. I needed it.

Logan studied me, and it was like he could read my mind. He threw an arm around my shoulders, and a rush of warm emotions swept over me. He turned me back to the stool and patted my hip. “Okay. Hop up there.”

I ignored how good his hand felt, touching my hip. And once I was back on the stool, I didn’t think about how I missed the weight of him and how safe I’d felt, tucked into his side.

He sat on the empty stool next to me, across from Nate, and turned to face me. I thought he was going to put his arm around me again, and I wanted it, though I shouldn’t have. I held my breath, but he didn’t.

Logan filled the third glass Nate had brought to the table and nudged the beer toward me. “Come on, Bruce.” He touched the rim of his cup to mine. “I don’t like drunk girls to screw, but I do like drunk friends to hang out with.” His eyes peered right into mine.

I licked my lips. That damn flutter was back in my stomach. “Friends?”

He grinned down at me, his eyes darkening with promise. “To friends, Bruce.”

Still watching each other, we lifted our glasses and took a sip. That was when I knew it.

Logan Kade had really become my friend. God help me.

LOGAN

Shit.

I wanted to fuck her. No. I wanted to do a whole lot more to her, but she wasn’t ready. She wanted a friend, so fine. I’d be the best fucking kind of friend there was. I scanned her up and down, and I grew hard, looking at the cut of her jeans, how her shirt shifted and I could see the side of her breast. How soft her skin looked, how soft her hand felt.

Nope. I’d put on a hat I rarely wore and do what she wanted, and with that thought I glanced up. Two girls had been eyeing our table. I moved so I was facing them, and then I stared. That was all it took.

They shared a look between themselves, then grabbed their purses and their drinks. They came over. And I could sit next to the girl I wanted, hit on the girl I didn’t want, and be a friend.

Fucking hell.

TAYLOR

Three hours later I stared at my empty pitcher of beer. No, I wasn’t just staring at it. I was clutching it in my hands and inspecting the hell out of it—turning it over, looking inside, sniffing inside, and then placing it back on the table. All that beer. Was gone. Consumed by me.

I was drunk.

The first hour had gone by fast. It was fun being Logan’s friend. His one-liners turned from sexual to just wickedly smart. He liked to rile Nate up. I learned that real quick. A few choice words from Logan and he would stiffen, glare, then finally roll his eyes at himself and shoot back an insult. Logan lapped that up, usually turning the insult back on him.

The girls had come at hour two. That was when I learned I really was Logan’s friend. He still sat beside me, but he had turned toward the two girls standing at the end of our table. Nate had disappeared from the table with another girl. I nudged Logan and asked who she was. He said he had no clue, just that Nate liked to get some mouth-on-dick action when he could. He said it so casually, like he was telling me the time. That was the beginning of my solo journey with this pitcher of beer.