Smoke & Mirrors by Skye Jordan

19

Logan

What I’m feeling for Isabel is in no way casual, and I didn’t expect feelings this fierce. I’ve done casual, I’ve done serious, I’ve done everything in between, yet she slipped right under my skin without me noticing until it was too late.

Last night in bed, a huge shift happened. I couldn’t say when or how, just that it did. I’m not on my game tonight at all. Since that domestic call, I’ve been edgy and anxious, my thoughts dark.

Isabel opens the bathroom door, slips in, closes it, and leans her back against the wood, smiling like she’s got a secret. “Hey.”

We meet in the middle of the bathroom, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her body against mine in a bear hug. The relief uncoiling all my muscles is so incredible, I moan. She links her arms at my neck and pushes up on her toes so our bodies meet everywhere. All those amazing curves I explored last night are still here, confirming our night was not a figment of my vivid imagination.

I pull away just enough to lower my head and kiss her. Her mouth is warm and sweet, and I want to drown in her. It’s been a hell of a shift, and it’s not even half over. I feel like I’m running on fumes and she’s my fuel.

Breaking the kiss, she scans my face like she’s looking for an answer to the unasked question, Are you okay?

I stroke her cheek and slide one hand into her luxurious, thick dark hair. “I’ve been thinking…”

She laughs. “I’m not sure anything good ever starts that way.”

“Hear me out.”

She steps back. “Eesh.”

“Why don’t you let me call Cocksucker?” She’s already shaking her head while I continue. “We can have a man-to-man talk about this. Set up a way to give the gun back.”

“I appreciate the thought, I really do, and if I thought that would work, I’d be all for it. But he’s not a normal guy. He’s intensely competitive. I actually think having you call him would make things worse, not better.”

She’s probably right. “Okay, but can you just give me his name so I can have Sosa run a background on him? We could find out something that would be useful in resolving this. I can’t stand the thought of a guy somewhere out there with a grudge against you.”

“It’s Aiden McBride.”

I’m surprised at how willingly she gave his name. She must want this over as much as she says she does. “How old is he?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Lives in Manhattan or…?”

“Yeah, Manhattan. I’ll text you the address.”

I nod, desperate for more answers to questions I’ve had floating around in my head since she arrived, but I don’t want to push my luck either. I want to build on this trust until she’s comfortable confiding in me.

A knock at the door makes her jump, and she presses her face against my chest to muffle her laughter.

“Logan.” It’s not a human voice coming through the door, but Dolly’s. “Food’s here. Squawk, food’s here.”

“Don’t go getting creepy on me, Buchanan,” I warn, only to hear Dolly’s laughter fading as she and Royal move away from the door.

“Damn,” Isabel says, smiling, “that’s a little freaky.”

I lift Isabel’s face to mine and kiss her again. I swear I could never get tired of kissing her. “Hockey, Saturday night? And Portland sometime this weekend?”

She’s grinning as she nods.

“And, while I’m on a roll, how about meeting in your room tomorrow morning? I’ll bolt back to the motel if I know you’re waiting for me.”

“I just happen to have tomorrow off from the bakery.” She kisses me one more time before she turns for the door and smiles over her shoulder. “I’ll keep the bed warm for you.”

I catch her for another kiss before she leaves the room. Then she’s gone.

Back in the dining room, I sit down to a family-style meal with my team and watch Isabel as she continues serving people at the bar, then cleaning up and stocking when she’s free. She’s fluid, the movements automatic, like she’s been here from the day we opened, four years ago. She must have bartended in college, but that sixth sense tingles across the back of my neck, the feeling that there’s a lot about her I don’t know.

Everyone is trying their best to put the morning behind them. Royal’s feeding Dolly a snap pea from the plate of Google-approved foods Mike brought for the parrot, and the guys are trying to teach her new words or get on her good side.

Underneath the table, Lucky is systematically untying everyone’s boot laces.

Isabel stops often to talk and refill drinks. She laughs at our stupid jokes and at Dolly, who gives her a catcall whistle every time Isabel passes the table.

On our way out, I pull Isabel aside for one more kiss, then head back to the station with the idea of calling Sosa and asking for a favor.