“I’m sorry,” Logan pleads. “Please don’t leave. I’m out having a celebratory drink and it’s far less pathetic if I’m not by myself.”
Reluctantly, I take my seat again because I’m a sucker for Logan. Never able to push him away or say no. Why do first loves have such power over you? “One drink.”
He reaches for his beer again, a grin the size of Texas on his face. “It’s more than I thought I’d get.”
Logan picks up my ten dollar bill and shoves it in my open purse. Needles travel up my spine and throughout my body. I grab my cider and take two big swallows before coming up for air. He and I may have been near each other the past few weeks, but we haven’t been this close since the wedding. I’m going to need something more than a cider to ignore how he makes me feel. “What are we celebrating?”
Logan signals the bartender again who meanders over to us. We’re the only people in the bar but he takes an eternity. You’d think the guy would be eager to make some money. Apparently mot. The dude leans against the back counter and crosses his arms. “I know your bitch ass ain’t done with that beer already.”
I arch a brow, my gaze flicking between both men. I figured Logan must come here often, considering the dude knew which beer to bring without being told. Now I know it.
“Shots. The lady and I would like a round of shots.”
“Travis won’t like you poaching his girl,” the bartender says, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I already brought her one drink on your tab. Two is crossing the line.”
Logan chuckles and takes another swig of his beer. “Travis can suck a dick. Danika was mine long before he set eyes on her.”
I roll my eyes oddly thrilled to hear Logan call me his again. “I’m right here. I can hear you.”
The bartender drops his arms. “I’ll get her a drink and I’ll get you a drink, but if anyone asks I did not let you buy her a drink. Travis likes this one and I don’t want him siccing Bane on my ass.”
Logan grins and pulls out his phone. He dials Crazy Mother Fucker then puts the call on speaker and lays his phone on the counter. It rings a handful of times before a gruff voice says, “This better be worth it, Harris.”
“Bane, I’m at McGillicuddy's but the bartender is too chicken shit to serve me and my girl a drink.” Logan’s smirk is devious. Images of him on the football field flicker through my mind. I hope we aren’t gearing up for a fight.
“For fuck’s sake, Logan,” the speaker growls. “Whose bitch are you chasing?”
“Don’t fucking call her a bitch!”
“Hey, Bane.” I say over Logan’s snarl, ignoring the butterflies swarming inside me. “It’s Danika. Travis stood me up tonight and Logan seems to want to be my savior.”
Bane chuckles through the phone and Logan’s face lights up. “That sorry motherfucker doesn’t know what he lost. I’ll deal with Travis. Have fun, you two.”
The call ends and Logan smirks triumphantly. The bartender shakes his head, defeated. “You’ve got friends in low places, officer.” He glares at Logan, and, for reasons I can’t fathom, he looks angry.
“Bane and I have history that predates anything you know about me.” Logan’s expression hardens. “Now, I’d like two Lemondrops. Please.”
The bartender grumbles and slides two yellow shots across the counter. Logan takes one for himself then hands me the other. We raise our tiny glasses in touch-less cheers. The drink is sweet and sour all at once and surprisingly tastes exactly like a lemon drop candy. “Oh, my goodness. That was amazing!”
“Want another?” Logan’s lips twitch with amusement.
Maybe it’s the shot or the two beers before, but I’m not ready to leave anymore. “You don’t mind?”
“You’re the one who said one drink. ” He holds up two fingers again and the dude behind the bar starts pouring another round. This time without protest.
“You never answered my question. What are we celebrating?”
Logan hands me another tiny glass but doesn’t wait for me to shoot his down. “Do you remember Dr. Shaffer?”
I swallow my shot and lick my lips, looking for any lingering traces. “How could I forget?”
“His trial ended today.”
I sit up straighter, waiting for Logan to elaborate. I used to follow the trial religiously, growing increasingly more frustrated with each recess and delay. Each time Logan’s dad asked for more time, another kid came forward.
Alan Shaffer had been molesting kids for almost ten years before Logan forced him out of business. The oldest to press charges was thirty-two and the youngest was fifteen. Fifteen. Meaning the boy was a fucking toddler when that man started touching him. Disgusting. “Annnnd?”
“He got life without parole.”