“’Scuse us,” he says, and the gleam of arousal in his eyes reveals exactly why he’s dragging Sabrina away.
Once they’re gone, I glance over at Dean with a quizzical look. “Why does she call you Richie?”
“Because she’s a fucking bitch,” is his answer, which is no answer at all.
“Aw, you look upset,” the redhead murmurs to him. “Let me help with that.”
In the next breath, they’ve got their tongues in each other’s mouths again.
I turn to Logan. “What just happened?”
“No fucking idea.” Grinning, he plants a kiss on my lips, then stands and pulls me up with him. “Come on, let’s go mingle. I think I saw Hollis and Fitzy around here somewhere.”
We leave the den and reenter the land of the loud and wasted, where Logan introduces me to a few more people before we track down some of his teammates. I’m not having a bad time. Not having a great time, either, but that’s not because of anything Logan says or does. It’s because as the party unfolds, I start to notice something that makes me feel…prickly.
The girls. Lots and lots of girls.
Lots and lots of girls who have no problem flirting shamelessly with my date.
The attention Logan receives is staggering. And really fucking annoying. It’s one thing for someone to come over and say hello to him. But these girls don’t stop with hello. They rake their manicured fingernails along his bare arm. Bat their mascara-thick eyelashes at him. Call him “baby” and “hon.” One even kisses his cheek. Bitch.
I try hard not to let it get to me. I knew going into this that he was popular. I also knew that hooking up had been a sport for him before he’d met me. But that doesn’t mean I appreciate having the evidence of his former player days smack me in the face every other second.
By the time the ninth chick—yes, I’m keeping count—sashays up to him and gets her flirt on, I’ve officially had enough.
“I need to use the ladies room,” I snap.
Logan blinks at my sharp tone. “Ah…all right. Use the upstairs one—it’s usually less crowded.”
The fact that he doesn’t ask me if I’m okay or offer to walk me upstairs is a tad grating. Gritting my teeth, I stalk out of the living room.
In the hall, I duck a group of guys, dodge a guy and girl who are screaming insults and accusations at each other, and march up the staircase. I’ve just reached the top when I hear Logan’s voice from behind me.
“Grace. Wait.”
I reluctantly turn around. “What is it?”
“You tell me.” Concerned blue eyes search my face. “You literally cut Sandy off mid-sentence and stormed off.”
“Oh no, poor Sandy,” I mutter. “Give her my apologies.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Okay. What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing.” I’m hit with a rush of embarrassment, because my eyes are stinging like I might actually cry. I spin on my heel and walk in the direction of the bathroom. Damn it. He’s right—what the hell is going on? I don’t know why I’m so pissed off. It’s not like he was flirting back. To his credit, he was trying to move away whenever one of those girls came close enough to touch him.
“Grace.” His hand lands on my shoulder, tugging me around to face him. “Talk to me,” he orders. “Why are you upset?”
“Because…” I bite the inside of my cheek. Hesitating. Then I release an aggravated groan. “Have you slept with every girl at this school?”
Logan looks stricken. “What?”
“Seriously, John, what the hell? We can’t walk two feet without some girl coming up to you and fondling you and saying, ooooh, I had such a good time with you last year, you big stud, we should do that again, wink wink, nudge nudge.”
His mouth falls open. Then understanding dawns, and a slow smile stretches his mouth. “Wait, this is about you being jealous?”
I bristle. “No.”
“Nuh-uh. You’re jealous.”
My jaw sets in a tense line. “I just don’t appreciate all these girls hitting on you when I’m standing right fucking beside you. It’s rude and disrespectful and—”
“Makes you jealous,” he finishes, and I feel like smacking that stupid grin off his face.
“This isn’t funny.” I attempt to shrug his hand off my arm.
But not only does he hold on tighter, he brings his other hand into play, planting both on my waist as he backs me into the wall. Then I’ve got six-feet and two-hundred-plus pounds of sexy hockey player pinning me in place.