Still feeling the effects of the shot, I decided against alcohol. “A Coke, please.”
“The same,” Logan said. “And I think we’ll both have the special cheeseburger and fry basket.”
The waitress looked at me. “How’d you like your meat cooked?”
“Medium.”
She looked at Logan. “The same,” he answered.
She walked away and I glanced at him. “You’re at an Irish pub and you don’t order beer with your burger?”
Amused, his chin was down but his eyes lifted to mine. “No.”
“Isn’t that part of the whole Irish experience?”
“You know, I never thought of it that way, but I guess a Guinness does typically accompany a burger in a joint like this.”
I dropped the subject. He didn’t drink. It was obvious—he hadn’t touched that second shot of Jameson’s at Molly’s. And I had a feeling there was more to it than he wanted to let on.
My thoughts started to wander.
He was a lot like Charlie.
Practical in his thinking.
Short and to the point.
Serious but also funny.
Charming.
However, there was that one difference: looking at him made me breathless. This strange sexual chemistry that existed between us hadn’t been there with Charlie and me.
Aside from Michael’s warning, Logan was just what I needed to help cure the restlessness I had been feeling lately.
Yes, I was in trouble.
“Here you go.” The waitress delivered our Cokes and I picked up my straw to help disguise the yearning I thought must be obvious.
“So tell me about yourself, Mrs. Robinson,” he asked. Logan knew what he was doing. How to set the tone and make the moment intimate.
I opened my straw and playfully blew my wrapper at him. “That’s enough of the Mrs. Robinson business.”
The comfort level between us was as high as the sexual tension. I’d never sat like this with a man I was attracted to and felt so at ease. Not even with Charlie. I almost felt like I was sixteen and out on my first date. Nervous in a way, but excited.
Growing up, I hadn’t been allowed to date, not that I ever would have wanted to anyway. No, my childhood memories wiped any dreams of knights in shining armor and Prince Charmings right off the table. I always looked at it like this—you either became someone like your parents or stayed as far away from being anything like them as you could. My sister became the former. I became the latter.
Logan’s fingers crunched the wrapper and he flashed me a flirty grin. “Let me try that again. Okay, Elle, how about you tell me about yourself?”
I fought past my emotional reaction to the question and turned the question around. “How about you tell me about yourself first, Logan.”
He reached his arms out. “I’m an open book.”
With my mouth barely around my straw, I mumbled, “For some reason, I doubt that.”
Just like me, he was able to compose himself in a moment’s notice. It was obvious; we were both good at hiding things. Which was exactly what he did.
Smirking, he said, “Fine, don’t believe me. Ask me anything.”
First-date questions should be easy. Like, what’s your favorite color? What do you like to read? But I wasn’t one for pretense. Small talk wasn’t my thing. I had questions I wanted to know the answers to. And besides, we both knew this was no first date. I put my elbows on the table and tucked my hands under my chin. “Okay. Why are you driving your father around?”
Quite abruptly, he turned his head toward the door before turning back to meet my gaze and whispered, “His driver’s license was revoked. One too many DUIs.”
Plausible. Still, I contemplated his answer. “Then why didn’t you drive him home after you left Michael’s?”
Elbows on the table, he leaned forward. “Because he’s a fucking hothead and he pissed me off, so I left his ass.”
I tried not to laugh. I was certain the situation wasn’t funny. Instead, I moved my head closer to him. “Sounds like you are too.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes I am, but I try not to be.”
I liked that he didn’t have a filter—it made him seem more honest.
On to question two of I didn’t know how many. I had way too many questions for the man who was somehow connected to my sister and Michael. “Why are you staying at the Four Seasons if you live in Boston?”
Logan picked up his glass and sipped from it. “I don’t live in Boston. I live in New York City. I’ve been coming here to help my father out with his practice for the last six months, but his house in Dorchester Heights is a shit hole.” When he finished speaking, any amusement he once had in his hazel eyes was gone. Seriousness had replaced it all. “Anything else?”