you.” I take it from the smug man and ignore the fact that I didn’t take any liberties in really making myself look even the slightest bit professional before rushing in for food. Boy, wouldn’t Maggie have heart failure at my lack of etiquette right now.
Logan’s eyes dart to the blonde mess piled up on top of my head and suppresses a smile when he takes a step back.
“You’re going to have to get up earlier if you want to get any good breakfast around here,” he tells me as I pull the plate of bacon and eggs out of the warm oven. “Most mornings the guys have devoured all of it before the sun rises. I can’t guarantee that I can save you some everyday.”
“Sorry. Still on west coast time.” I test a piece of bacon and find that it’s not too hot to shove its entirety into my mouth before I even put the plate down or grab a fork. Mostly because I don’t know where the forks might be. When I turn around to figure out how to turn the oven off, I think I hear Logan chuckle as he opens a drawer. After standing there staring at the complex oven for longer than I probably should, a fork dances in front of my face. Turning I find Logan smirking at me.
“The middle knob.” Something about the swirling blue and green in his eyes as he watches me mesmerizes me and causes all thought to escape.
“Huh?”
“The oven knob is the one you’re looking for. It’s in the middle.” That smirk gets hidden behind a glass of nasty greenness as he hands me the fork and reaches out to turn the oven off for me.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Logan Lassiter was trying to flirt with me. And if I’m being honest, I’m kind of liking it.
I pick up my plate and start to make my way to the table until I spy a Keurig sitting on the built-in shelves next to the breakfast nook. Turning I find Logan watching me with a blank face. That was a quick change of pace.
“May I?”
“Help yourself. Just don’t change the channel.” I turn to find—and wonder how on earth I missed—the flat screen on the top shelf airing the morning edition of Football 24 . Stacey’s glowing face is muted as she highlights what reports have come in from those teams who have started their training camps.
And just when I thought this morning couldn’t get any better.
“I swear, this place is heaven,” I mumble as I pick up a black mug and put a dark roast cup in the machine.
“I kind of like it.” I didn’t realize Logan had heard me, let alone taken up a seat at the table with me.
“It really is wonderful. I don’t think I could have gotten better accommodations anywhere. Thank you.” A tight smile stretches across his face as his attention turns to the warming morning.
“Listen, Allie, while you’re here, I want you to make yourself at home, but I do ask that you respect my privacy. I—”
“I think we covered this already, Logan. I’m not here to make you out to be some masked villian or anything. I have one goal: show America a man they can love.”
The hot coffee finishes brewing and he’s still staring out at the open field when I turn to take up the seat across from him.
“I’m not looking for love, Allie.” The words hang between us like like a veil, clearly dividing where we stand. “I’m looking for respect. It doesn’t matter to me if there are twenty or twenty million people cheering my name from the stands. Just as long as they know what I stand for and can accept that this is who I am, that’s all I need.”
His eyes finally pull themselves to look me dead on and I feel like there’s something he’s not telling me.
“And what is it that you stand for, Logan?”
His chin drops as heavy footsteps hit the porch, and a moment later a tall man in a tight t-shirt, snug jeans, and the dustiest pair of cowboy boots I’ve ever seen enters the kitchen.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. Just wanted to touch base.” The man looks to be in his late twenties, with hair buzzed
Logan’s eyes dart to the blonde mess piled up on top of my head and suppresses a smile when he takes a step back.
“You’re going to have to get up earlier if you want to get any good breakfast around here,” he tells me as I pull the plate of bacon and eggs out of the warm oven. “Most mornings the guys have devoured all of it before the sun rises. I can’t guarantee that I can save you some everyday.”
“Sorry. Still on west coast time.” I test a piece of bacon and find that it’s not too hot to shove its entirety into my mouth before I even put the plate down or grab a fork. Mostly because I don’t know where the forks might be. When I turn around to figure out how to turn the oven off, I think I hear Logan chuckle as he opens a drawer. After standing there staring at the complex oven for longer than I probably should, a fork dances in front of my face. Turning I find Logan smirking at me.
“The middle knob.” Something about the swirling blue and green in his eyes as he watches me mesmerizes me and causes all thought to escape.
“Huh?”
“The oven knob is the one you’re looking for. It’s in the middle.” That smirk gets hidden behind a glass of nasty greenness as he hands me the fork and reaches out to turn the oven off for me.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Logan Lassiter was trying to flirt with me. And if I’m being honest, I’m kind of liking it.
I pick up my plate and start to make my way to the table until I spy a Keurig sitting on the built-in shelves next to the breakfast nook. Turning I find Logan watching me with a blank face. That was a quick change of pace.
“May I?”
“Help yourself. Just don’t change the channel.” I turn to find—and wonder how on earth I missed—the flat screen on the top shelf airing the morning edition of Football 24 . Stacey’s glowing face is muted as she highlights what reports have come in from those teams who have started their training camps.
And just when I thought this morning couldn’t get any better.
“I swear, this place is heaven,” I mumble as I pick up a black mug and put a dark roast cup in the machine.
“I kind of like it.” I didn’t realize Logan had heard me, let alone taken up a seat at the table with me.
“It really is wonderful. I don’t think I could have gotten better accommodations anywhere. Thank you.” A tight smile stretches across his face as his attention turns to the warming morning.
“Listen, Allie, while you’re here, I want you to make yourself at home, but I do ask that you respect my privacy. I—”
“I think we covered this already, Logan. I’m not here to make you out to be some masked villian or anything. I have one goal: show America a man they can love.”
The hot coffee finishes brewing and he’s still staring out at the open field when I turn to take up the seat across from him.
“I’m not looking for love, Allie.” The words hang between us like like a veil, clearly dividing where we stand. “I’m looking for respect. It doesn’t matter to me if there are twenty or twenty million people cheering my name from the stands. Just as long as they know what I stand for and can accept that this is who I am, that’s all I need.”
His eyes finally pull themselves to look me dead on and I feel like there’s something he’s not telling me.
“And what is it that you stand for, Logan?”
His chin drops as heavy footsteps hit the porch, and a moment later a tall man in a tight t-shirt, snug jeans, and the dustiest pair of cowboy boots I’ve ever seen enters the kitchen.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. Just wanted to touch base.” The man looks to be in his late twenties, with hair buzzed
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