Logan.

This had to be a joke. Was it some ridiculous attempt to lure me out on a Saturday night? The fact that it was his birthday, as well, didn’t go unnoticed. Whatever he was playing at tonight wasn’t working.

“You have thirty seconds to explain why you called me.”

“He’s been drinking, and…” Hilary sighed, her hopeful eyes imploring me to care. “And he needs a friend.”

“Great, glad Caleb’s here.” I turned on my heel to leave.

Hilary grabbed my arm. “What am I supposed to do? He won’t talk to Caleb or me. He’s just been sitting there knocking back drinks, looking miserable with a busted hand.”

“Busted hand?”

“Yeah, I gave him a clean rag, but he wouldn’t let me near it. Said he deserved worse.”

Deserved worse? For crying out loud, it was his birthday. Why the hell was he down at the bar drinking himself into a self-deprecating hangover?

“Fine, but next time, call Julia or Jax.”

“I did. Julia told me to call you.”

I huffed out a half chuckle, half sigh. Of course she did. When was that girl going to realize I wasn’t dating her brother, and therefore wasn’t responsible for him?

The moment I slipped off my coat, Hilary relaxed. I handed it to her, straightening my shoulders as I headed over.

“What are you up to, birthday boy?” I asked with sarcasm heavy in my tone, slinging my leg over the stool beside him.

He didn’t bother to spare me a glance. “Having a drink. What about you?”

I noticed his hand resting on the bar, knuckles splintered and raw, dried blood covering the wounds.

“Well, I was enjoying a pleasant night’s rest till I was called down here to talk you out of drinking yourself into a stupor. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

“You shouldn’t be here, driving at this hour with the weather outside. It was a waste of your time, and you could have gotten hurt...again. Go home. I’ll have someone escort you to make sure you make it there safely.”

“I don’t need an escort anywhere!” I snapped.

Still looking ahead, he sighed. “Good night, Cassandra. Go back to your warm bed.”

Logan lifted his finger to the bartender for another drink, but the moment the old man set down the filled shot glass, I shook my head slowly, spelling it out with my menacing scowl that Logan would be having no more. He took the hint, backing up with a single nod.

“I’m cutting you off and taking you home.”

The deep, throaty chuckle he let out washed over me, further alerting me to what I was dealing with—especially when he angled his dropped head just enough to catch my gaze.

After a long pause, he spoke. “You look stunning tonight…but then again, you always do.”

I rolled my eyes. The oversized pale pink button-down I wore had been my pajamas for the night, and was matched with a pair of jeans I tugged out of my dresser drawer in the dark and hopped into. Nothing stunning about it.

Before I could scoff in his face, his body leaned into mine, nose nuzzling my hair.

“And you smell so…sweet.”

My breath caught. I was going to need a drink. I threw up my hand to the bartender and when he looked my way, I called out, “I’ll have what he had.”

The bartender nodded, and I looked back at Logan.

“Not exactly sure you can handle that, sweetheart.”

“You have no idea what I can handle.”

His gaze bore into mine, searching the double meaning in my words. I was the first to break the stare, reaching out and grabbing his bloodied hand.

“What happened?”

“Life happened. My life,” he answered, staring down at the wound cradled in my palm.

“You might need stitches.”

“I won’t. It’s not that deep.”

“You should at least clean it up. A few bandages will help.”

He pulled his hand away, irritation heavy in his posture. I rolled my eyes and grabbed the rag sitting on the other side of him. It must’ve been the one Hilary brought. I pushed off the stool and stretched over the bar in front of him. His breath tickled my ear as I snatched the towel quickly and fell back in my seat.

“We need to at least clean the blood off.”

The bartender set down a shot glass and filled it with an amber liquid. “A water too—no ice,” I said, examining Logan’s busted knuckles.

I picked up the glass with my free hand and tipped it back. My tongue shot out as the liquor burned its way down my throat and warmed my stomach. My face pinched, and I tried to shake it off.

“I warned you. Not your type of drink.” Logan chuckled.

My mouth was still complaining when Logan took the shot glass and downed the remainder of the liquor. With a smug grin, he set it back down. The bartender interrupted our challenging stare when he set a mug filled with tap water in front of me.

I didn’t say a word, and instead dunked a side of the towel into it and let the water drip over Logan’s wounds before carefully wiping away the traces of his obviously unpleasant night. He sat there watching me, with eyes I couldn’t look up at as I tended to his care.

“So, seriously, what happened?” I prompted, finding the knuckles nearly shredded. “It’s your birthday. You were supposed to be celebrating.”

“Why didn’t you come? Julia told me she invited you.”

“Answer my question first.” I peered up for just a moment and watched his frown deepen.

“Oliver wanted Natasha to come, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.” He stopped, gazing down at the bar.

“And…”

“And she came. Oliver was happy, hooked onto her every word, following her around the entire time. She even read him a story and tucked him into bed.”

Wow, not how I pictured Natasha at all. Maybe I really did misjudge her.

“So what’s the problem?”

“She then made her way into my bedroom, undressed, and climbed into bed.”

I blanched, gripping his hand more tightly than I realized, gaping at him.

“O-oh,” I mumbled. Why was I suddenly feeling shell-shocked?

The wince on his face caught my attention, and I released his hand from my death grip. “Shit, sorry.”

He chuckled to himself. “You know, I think that’s the first swear word I’ve heard slip from your lovely mouth.”

Flushed, I focused back on his hand attentively, wiping the cloth over it one final time.

“All cleaned up. You sure you don’t want me to ask Caleb for the first-aid kit? It’s not a problem, and you really need to keep the cuts—”

His pointer finger shot out and landed on my lips, silencing me.

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

I nodded, unable to speak over the jealous wave crushing my chest. His finger trailed over my bottom lip until it reached the corner of my mouth and dropped away.

“I came in, found her there, and demanded that she get out. Unfortunately, she refused, and then informed me that she was moving in. Explained how she already told Oliver the wonderful news, and unless I wanted him to hate me for kicking her out on the streets, I had to give her a chance and come to bed.” His words turned into an angry hiss, his back teeth grinding together.