Real Good Man (Real Duet #1)

“Your driver?”

When Logan’s gaze lands on me, I still. I don’t talk about my childhood much to anyone. It just slipped out.

I take a step toward the door. “My parents weren’t around much when I was growing up, and they definitely don’t drive. So, yeah, I had a driver as a kid.”

Logan’s expression is thoughtful, almost amused. “We really are from two different worlds. I pedaled my ass off three miles to school when I missed the bus. When I blew a tube, I walked.”

“Your parents didn’t take you?”

Logan shakes his head. “My ma worked graveyard, so she wasn’t awake until after I got home from school, if she was even there.”

“So basically we were both kids who raised ourselves because our parents were busy doing other things?”

Even though our circumstances were vastly different, it seems that Logan Brantley and I have more common ground than either of us realized.

The heat from his hand burns through my dress as he brings me closer to his side to miss a crowd of tourists snapping pictures and not paying attention to where they’re walking.

I look up to find those blue eyes fixed on my face.

“I guess you’re right. Our playgrounds were a little different, though.”

Breaking the stare, I point to the red awning to our left. “True. We’re heading right in there.”

Logan leads the way, and once inside, we find ourselves seated at a booth with menus and a waitress heading away with our drink orders.

I promised myself there would be no liquor tonight so I wouldn’t make any bad judgment calls like I did last night. Jesus. Logan probably thinks I’m some kind of split-personality psycho. I have to explain. Just like I do everything else, I barrel right into it.

“I was drunk last night. I told my friend not to let me drunk text, but I did it anyway.”

Logan leans back in his chair, his gaze dropping to his menu for a moment. “I figured that much out myself.”

“So we can forget that entire conversation ever happened?” My tone is hopeful, and probably a little naive for me. I grip the edges of the table while I wait for him to respond.

“Some of those things were pretty unforgettable, but I didn’t drive twelve hours for that, Banner.” His gaze is serious and intense, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s his normal state. “I’m not trying to be a dick when I say this, but I don’t need to come all the way to New York just to get a piece of ass.”

Something about his words has me relaxing my grip, and any momentary self-consciousness drains away.

“Look, you’re hot. You know it. I know it. Unless the women in Kentucky are blind and stupid, I can’t imagine it would be hard for you to get laid. Unless . . .” I pause and consider. “Do all Kentucky guys look like you? If so . . . holy crap.”

He throws his head back, and his rich laugh resonates in the bar and causes a weird flutter in my chest.

Note to self: Don’t let him laugh again. My body can’t handle it.

When Logan finally stops, he drops his menu on the table. “Let me put it this way. If you’ve got all your teeth, don’t live with your parents, and have a full-time job, you’re pretty much a catch in Gold Haven.”

My eyes widen at his words. “Then you’re like the Holy Grail in BFE.”

I realize my mistake as soon as he opens his mouth to laugh again.

“I don’t know about all that, but if I were trying to catch a woman there, it wouldn’t be too hard.”

Apparently it wouldn’t be too hard in New York either, because when a new waitress stops at our table to take our orders, she has to ask Logan to repeat his twice. It’s not his accent that’s giving her trouble . . . she’s too busy memorizing every muscle of his body to pay attention to the words coming out of his mouth. She’s not even attempting to be subtle, and it pisses me off.

Not because I’m jealous or anything. I swear.

“He said a cheeseburger. Medium rare. American cheese. Fries. Got it?” I repeat it for her a third time to confirm.

For the first time since she stopped at our table, she finally looks at me. Her perfectly arched eyebrows and perky tits might intimidate another woman, but not me. I stare her down and send the message that I will cut her if she doesn’t move along.

She gets me loud and clear.

“Got it. Thanks.” She flashes a quick look at Logan before backing away. “You let me know if y’all need anything else.”

All of a sudden she’s affecting a Southern drawl with that Jersey accent? Yeah . . . that’s classy.

“Are the waitresses here all so damn forgetful?” Logan asks as she heads to a computer to put our order in.

“Only the ones who are dumb enough to wonder if you could be persuaded to take her home instead of leaving with me.”

Logan’s eyebrows shoot up and his features take on an insulted expression. “Are you serious? What the hell kind of guy does she take me for?”

“A shallow one, probably like all the others she’s dated, and at least half the guys in this city.”

My real man questions must be coming back to him, because he’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “You really don’t have a friggin’ clue what a good guy is like, do you?”

I shrug. “They’re not exactly in overabundant supply around here. They don’t have to be. Maybe New York isn’t all that much different from Kentucky, because if you’ve got the right job, the right clothes, and the right attitude, you can impress a lot of women.”

Before he can reply, the waitress returns to the table with an obnoxious giggle. “I hate to bother y’all again, but I can’t read my own writing. What did you want for your side, ma’am?”

You’ve got to be kidding me. The ma’am is a swipe at my age, and I know it.

“I ordered the same thing he did.”

Embarrassment colors her cheekbones when she realizes her mistake. “Oh. Oops. I’ll just go put that in for you.”

“Thanks. We’re both starving,” Logan adds.

“I’ll ask the kitchen to put a rush on it,” she offers quickly.

Logan dismisses her with a nod before turning his attention back to me and reaching for his drink. “So, you gonna tell me how you got the name Banner? It’s unique, for sure.”

I smile and tell him the truth. “I’m named after the Hulk.”

Logan is in the middle of sipping his beer, and nearly chokes. “The Hulk? As in the Incredible Hulk?”

I nod. “The one and only.”

“Wait. Bruce Banner?”

“Yep. My parents are both über geeks, and my dad, despite being a world-renowned scientist, still has a comic book collection he won’t let anyone touch. When they found out they were pregnant, my mom was positive it was some kind of mistake, so she wouldn’t even discuss names. My dad picked Banner in honor of his favorite comic book scientist, and my mom didn’t argue.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t end up named Xavier,” he says, in reference to Professor X of the X-Men.

“Or Logan,” I say. “It suits you much better. You do have a sort of Hugh Jackman-esque look to you. Do you wear flannel shirts often? Or have metal claw thingies that shoot from your hands?”