Chaos series by Kristen Ashley
I couldn’t help it that time.
I stared at her.
God, she honestly was this cool.
“Yeah,” Logan agreed. “And Thanksgivin’ is comin’ up and we agreed I got the girls this year ’cause you get ’em most of the time but Millie’s kickass pad doesn’t have a dining room. So now, we can all come to your place.”
“Done,” Deb decreed. “Mom’ll love it. She told me to say hi, by the way.”
“Hi back,” Logan muttered, tipping his head to the side and taking another massive bite out of taco. As he did this, he must have caught sight of my tray and my lack of interest in it because his eyes came to me, and through a mouthful of taco, he asked, “Babe, why aren’t you eating?”
“I will when I quit freaking out,” I answered.
He straightened his head, swallowed, and drew his brows together. “Freakin’ out about what?”
“I… you…” I looked to Deb and announced, “You’re very cool.”
She smiled but didn’t say anything because Logan did.
“Told you she was.”
I looked to him. “I know you did but you didn’t say she was cool.”
“Not sure how I can say she’s cool when I’m sayin’ she’s cool, which means Deb’s cool,” Logan returned.
“Cool is not cool,” I replied.
“Beautiful, also told you she was a decent woman who wants me happy. So how you can’t get that her cool is cool I have no clue.”
I quickly looked to Deb and stated, “No offense,” before looking back to Logan and stating, “Women don’t work that way. Rarely are we that cool.”
“Jesus, that’s fuckin’ ridiculous,” Logan returned.
I opened my mouth to retort, not knowing what I intended to stay, just knowing it would likely be heated, but I didn’t say it because I heard Deb snort prior to busting into laughter.
Logan and I looked her way.
“I get you,” she said to me through her amusement. “And I get you,” she said to Logan, tamped down the mirth, and went on, “And I just realized something. You asked what would make me happy, High, and I’m good. I’m happy. But when I answered you, I didn’t know I’d get more of that happy knowing you’d finally got yours.”
“And there it is!” I declared, pointing my still loaded with unhealthy salad fork at her. “More cool.”
She burst into laughter again but this time did it while Logan chuckled.
I belatedly stuck my salad in my mouth and chewed.
When I was done chewing, I also had pulled myself together.
“I don’t know if Low’s told you this, but I’m a party planner so whatever you need for birthdays and such, I’m your go-to girl. Family discount. Meaning free,” I said to Deb.
“Perfect,” she replied.
“And just to say, I’m attempting a new recipe on Friday night. I haven’t decided what yet but whatever it is, it’s gonna be awesome. When you drop off the girls, you should consider staying.”
“Got no plans,” she replied. “I’d love to.”
I grinned, then noted, “Your handbag is the bomb.”
“Stella McCartney,” she told me.
I stabbed salad, smiling at her. “I pegged that. Saks?”
“Neiman’s.”
“This season?” I asked.
“Yep,” she answered.
I turned my attention to my salad, murmuring, “Quick trip to the mall before going back to work.”
“If you do, there was an Alexander McQueen clutch, black, skull clasp, rhinestones for eyes. I have absolutely no reason to own it but since I saw it I can’t get it off my mind. I’ll give you my number. If it’s still there, text me. I’ll swing by this weekend.”
“I’ll text,” I told her, then asked, “You want me to put it on hold?”
“That’d be great.”
“Now, I want someone to drill a bullet in my gut,” Logan groused.
Both Deb and I looked to Logan. He looked mildly annoyed at our lapsing into girl talk and less mildly bored as he shoved an entire piece of buttered corn bread in his mouth.
At that, it was my turn to burst out laughing.
And I was tickled pink when Deb laughed with me.
* * *
“Babe!” Logan bellowed.
I moved to the door of the laundry room, which was perhaps five feet from where I’d been while in the laundry room, and when I stopped I was perhaps three feet from where Logan stood at the back door, bellowing.
“I’m right here,” I told him.
He turned to me. “You hear my bike in the drive?”
“Yes,” I replied. “But I was separating colors.”
“You greet me,” he declared.
“I…” I shook my head. “Sorry?”
“I come home, you greet me. Since we been back, I come home, you’re waitin’,” he stated.
This was true. If I heard his bike or truck, I was often waiting in the kitchen, close to the back door. But if not, I was in eyesight and my attention was on him coming in said back door and as soon as I could, I made my way there.
“I’d never been separating laundry when you got home,” I explained.
“Millie, I come home, you greet me.”
These words were firm.
These words were a demand.
“You’re being bossy.”
My words were a warning.
“I come home, you greet me,” he repeated.