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She was approachable. Plus, she had the benefit of knowledge other women didn't. After growing up with two brothers and her dad for company, she understood men better than other women. Hell, she was practically one of the boys... Didn’t anyone find that sexy?
She was perfectly respectable just the way she was.
Besides, it wasn’t like Logan was exactly the pinnacle of fashion, either. He’d had frosted tips far longer than they were in fashion, and she’d once seen him sporting a non-ironic Hawaiian shirt. Even she knew those were clear fashion mistakes.
So, it was settled.
She was definitely, unequivocally not going.
She scrolled through her phone, desperate to find his number, but when she dialed, a cool female voice informed her that the line had been disconnected. Great.
She plopped down in front of the computer and opened up her browser. The odds of finding his number on the Internet were unlikely, but not impossible. But, when her homepage loaded, she sat back and sighed, momentarily sidetracked from her mission.
The huge sports publishing company hosting last night’s gala had apparently made quick work of plastering pictures all over the Internet. There, on her front page, was Logan, smiling warmly at the camera, some beautifully disinterested woman clinging to his side.
Andy clicked on the link beneath and scrolled through the gallery, flipping quickly past a photo of Shay and Matt looking perfectly quaffed on the red carpet. When she was almost to the end, she nearly stopped looking—convinced she’d have never wound up in a picture, but then there she was.
In the picture, Logan stood tall, all shaggy brown hair and strong, broad shoulders, his huge palm wrapped around her shoulder. Then there was her—at least a foot shorter, baggy clothes and messy hair, despite all of her best efforts. She looked like an out-of-work 1980’s secretary, and the two of them together were a beyond ridiculous pairing. She looked like she was half a second from asking for his autograph.
Beneath the photo were some words and averages about Logan’s performance in the last season and, as always, the mention of his part in Matt's accident, but all the words had blurred together where she'd been concerned. There wasn’t even a mention of her or the company, no notion of his potential as a client. She may as well have been invisible.
And the fact that she wasn’t made it all the worse.
Her stomach twisted and she jumped from the computer chair. So, she wasn’t exactly photogenic. That was okay. You didn’t have to be beautiful to succeed in business.
But you have to be gorgeous to be with Logan…
Ugh, where had that come from? The image of his beautiful, statuesque date ran through her mind and she shook her head. Logan was a dream—no, he had been a dream. Now, he was nothing. A friend. She didn’t actually want to be with him.
She wanted to be with him the way women wanted to be with Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt. It was a nice thought, but it simply wasn’t realistic. It was just a silly fantasy.
Brushing the thought away, she stood in front of her mirror and smoothed her shirt. It was an old jersey her brother had given her, but it was a favorite. Ultra comfortable and easy to wash. Her jeans were faded and ripped at the hem, but they fit well. They didn't dig into her skin or ride ridiculously low. She looked good. Average. Casual.
She didn't need a makeover, no matter what Logan or the Internet said.
But then there was the thought of him, standing in front of the store, waiting for her.
She couldn’t just leave him stranded, so she picked up her car keys from the beat-up wooden table next to the front door and made her way to the Jeep.
Going at all was a bad decision; she knew that much already. But she had no other option. She’d simply have to drive down the street, park next to his ludicrously bright yellow Mustang, and let him know that she would help him if he needed it, but she wasn’t going to be privy to whatever jollies he got from giving her a makeover.
And besides, how was she supposed to feel about his thinking she needed a makeover in the first place? Why didn’t he just—
She shook her head. No, the less she said, the better.
She would say her piece, leave, and then the whole thing would be behind them. Easy as that. And maybe, just maybe, she’d finally be able to put aside that weird, swirly thing her heart did when she looked at him, too.
Yeah, right…
The ride was blissfully—and somehow painfully—short, and when she saw the dreaded yellow Mustang, she popped her car into park beside it and steeled herself for the inevitable.
Logan was leaning against the hood, his dark wash jeans slung so low on his hips that she could just make out the top of his rust-colored boxers. Not that she was looking.
When she pulled in, he hardly looked up from his phone, opting instead for an impassive nod.
Good. Maybe he doesn’t want to be here, either. This might just be easier than I thought.
Of course, she should have known better. Before she'd even made it around the front of the car, he was talking. “You’re determined to make this job difficult, aren’t you?"
