Chaos series by Kristen Ashley

I put them in my mouth.

There was cheese, a sharp cheddar. There was garlic, not too much. Fresh ground pepper, which was nice. And something else savory and flavorful that I couldn’t put my finger on.

Then I did.

A hint of oregano providing a pleasant surprise.

Damn, Logan put oregano in his eggs.

God.

The food was still warm. The bacon crisped to perfection. The toast lightly and expertly toasted. And my coffee had a splash of creamer, no sugar, very strong, like I liked it.

Like I’d always liked it.

I forced down the food, enjoying it too much, but doing it telling myself I was not going to cry.

I was going to eat and pass out and wake up with my head clear and then I was going to find the words to communicate to Logan that our game had been played, he won, and I was leaving him to his life in Denver.

Logan cut into my thoughts. “How many of pairs of those jammies you got?”

“Several,” I muttered, biting into a slice of bacon, ignoring him using the word jammies again, or more accurately, how cute I thought it was.

“Mmm,” he murmured. It was rough and growly, which was not cute in the slightest, and I felt tingles hit my thighs.

I did not need tingles.

Ever.

I focused on my bacon, deciding to speed things up, so I took a bite and chewed fast.

“Dumped snow last night,” Logan stated. “Serious. Snowed all yesterday and all night and it’s still goin’. Two feet and we’re gonna get more. They say you don’t gotta go anywhere, don’t.”

Oh no.

Was I going to be shut in my house with Logan during a blizzard?

That could not happen.

I turned to him. “Then you need to eat and leave.”

He took a bite of toast and looked to me, speaking and chewing. “Say it one more time, babe. Not leavin’.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Why?” he asked back.

“Yes, High. Why?”

He tipped his head to the side, opened his mouth, and shut it.

He studied me and he did this for some time.

Then he looked back at the plate he was holding in front of him and said, “We’ll talk after we eat.”

“If it’s snowing that bad, you need to get going,” I pointed out.

He looked back to me and his voice was quiet when he replied, “Let that go. That fight you ain’t gonna win. We’ll talk after we eat but I’m not goin’ anywhere, Millie. And I mean that in a lotta ways, so you best start gettin’ used to it now.”

Panic assailed me and I twisted farther his way. “High—”

“Eat,” he ordered inflexibly. “Then we’ll talk.”

I stared at him, fear beginning to infuse my bloodstream, then I turned back to my plate and ate.

Fast.

Forking it in, swallowing it down, cleaning my plate in no time.

I then turned back.

“Done,” I announced, mouth still holding half-chewed toast.

His lips were curled up as he replied, “Christ.”

I swallowed with difficulty and declared, “We’ll talk in the living room.”

Before I could move, he dumped his plate on mine on the tray and took the tray off my lap. He then leaned so deep into me his stomach was pressed to my thighs and he did this so he could drop the tray to the floor with a clatter.

Before I knew what he was about, he arched up, took hold of me, shifted, hitched, twisted, and hauled so he was under the covers with me. He’d pulled me over his body in a roll and pinned me to my back in the bed with him on me.

Panic gripping me, I started panting.

Then I caught the look on his face and started gasping for air.

“I get it,” he whispered.

“Y-yes,” I stammered. “You did. I gave it to you. And now it’s supposed to be over.”

“I get it,” he strangely repeated.

“Logan, I told you so this would be done.”

“I get it and I’da done the same thing.”

I stared up at him.

He lifted his hand, the tips of his fingers tracing my hairline along the side of my face and he kept talking.

“Found out it was me, found out I couldn’t give it all to you, I woulda done the same thing, Millie. I would have made it so you got it all and I would have done it ugly so you’d walk away from me and never look back so you could have it.” He dipped his face closer to mine. “So I get it. I get why you did what you did. I totally fuckin’ get it.”

Okay.

That felt good. Better than good. It loosened the grip that took hold of my heart the second he turned and walked away from me, letting it pump again, almost like normal.

But no.

It was good he knew. It was great he understood.

But this was over.

“I’m glad you understand,” I replied. “And thank you for sharing that with me,” I went on. “However, what I don’t understand is why you feel the need to do that lying on top of me in my bed.”

His head jerked back a few inches.

“Say what?” he asked.

“It’s all out there, High, the game has been played. There are no more moves to make. So it’s over and it’s time we both put it behind us and move on.”

“Put it behind us and move on,” he parroted incredulously.

“Yes. What we have is damaging and unhealthy and we have to put a stop to it and get on with our lives.”

He stared down at me and I tensed when his expression started to turn stormy.

I tensed even further when his face suddenly cleared and he roared with laughter, his weight bearing into me, his head dropping so his forehead rested on my cheekbone, his hair tickling the skin of my face.