Secrets & Lies

15| Pit Stop

I tried desperately not to think about what and who I was leaving behind when I checked out of my hotel. 

I grabbed my clothes from the bed and shoved them into my duffle bag. I hated this part. It was the part when one, or both, of us had to made the sacrifice of not seeing the other. At least we didn't fight this time. There were a few times that ended with harsh words, slammed doors, and regrets. But not this time.  

Last night at Jack's Bar wasn't that much of a surprise. The instant Logan left my hotel, and I saw that fucking leather jacket on the chair, I knew it. I knew he was saying goodbye. Either that, or he was going to have to—and he did. I had no idea what his dad said to him this time, but it seemed to do the trick. He was pushing me away. Again.

I guess I couldn't really blame the guy. I mean, he was engaged to be fucking married and I had a girlfriend at home. Well, I might have a girlfriend at home. I haven't spoken to her in almost two days, which wasn't a good sign.

I knew I couldn't lie to her when I got back. I needed to talk to her about what I did and see where we stood. She's never done anything to deserve this, and I owed her the truth. As much of the truth as a I could give her.

When I walked into the bathroom to collect the rest of my essentials, I couldn't help but wonder what Logan was doing right now. I knew they were having a party—but was he drinking and having a good time? Was he kissing his fiance? Or was his dad giving him another one of his talks?

Was he thinking me? Or us? I had no idea. More importantly, I didn't have a right to know. Suddenly I remembered the night we spent together at his place. The one that didn't end well.

I stood in Logan's living room, trying not to look at the pictures of him and Rachel hanging on the walls.

"So, why did you invite me over?"

Logan chucked from the kitchen. "To hang out. Its been awhile."

Yeah, it has been. The last time we hung out was when we slept together for the first time. We barely spoke after that. Until tonight.

When Logan came from the kitchen carrying two beers, I watched him curiously. I couldn't help but wonder what had him reaching out to me tonight.

Then his eyes met mine when he stopped in front of me—and I knew. I knew what he wanted. And it pissed me off.

“So,” I snapped, “did you just bring me here to fuck me?”

Logan leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. “Would you leave if I said yes?"

I should. I should leave right fucking now. I should grab my keys, get in my car, and get the fuck out of here.

But I knew that wasn't happening. That's why I was so pissed off—because even though I knew what I should do, common sense seemed to be non-existent where Logan was concerned.

“No,” I whispered, unable to deny him. “I wouldn’t.” 

After it happened that night, I woke up next to Logan and I panicked. I panicked and I said a lot of things I didn't mean. Like the fact that I only—

Ring—ring

I frowned at the unknown number on my phone. I pushed the green button and put it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hi," a female voice said into the receiver. "Is this Grant?"

I ran my hand through my hair. Who the hell was this? "Yes. Can I help you?"