Page 8 of That Last Secret
Burning hot coffee is poured down the entire front of my sweatshirt.
“Shit, shit, shit.” My voice trails off while I pull the fabric off my chest to avoid first-degree burns. “Ahhh.”
“Are you okay?” the now familiar voice asks.
When I look up at the set of eyes staring back at me, alarm bells ring in my head, and suddenly, it’s like I’ve stepped intothe inferno. His mouth morphs into annoyance as the realization hits him as well.
“Don’t you watch where you’re going, Lincoln Log?” I snap.
He has no right to be annoyed right now. I’m the one with coffee down the front of my shirt.
“Me? That’s rich, considering you’re the one who wasn’t paying attention to where they were going. You barged in here like you own the place.” When I don’t answer immediately, he continues. “But none of that matters right now. Are you okay?”
I groan loudly in frustration. I’m not okay, but Logan doesn’t need to know that. I turn to Brooke, and her eyes are wide in shock at my exchange with Logan.
Good, maybe she can drop the hottie cop comments and see it for what it truly is.
“I can’t go to class like this.” I gesture to the enormous stain down the front of me.
“If you had an actual jacket on, you could’ve avoided your sweatshirt getting soaked,” Logan cuts into the conversation. When I turn to face him, his shoulders lift in a shrug. “You realize it’s like thirty degrees out, right?”
“What are you, my dad?” I fire back before giving him a sarcastic puppy eye. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I left the house without a jacket again.” I school my features before I continue. “Unlike your ice-cold soul, I’m warm-blooded.”
His eyes narrow, but something else flashes through them. I can’t tell if it’s because I mockingly called him daddy or because I told him he had an ice-cold soul. Either way, I feel heat skate across every part of my skin with how he looks at me.
And it’s definitely not because of coffee this time.
I break his stare before sidestepping him to follow Brooke into the line so we can order. She already has napkins in hand, helping to dry me off. A few little napkins would not help this mess right now.
“Well, that was some run-in,” she deadpans. “No pun intended, of course.”
“You could say that again.”
“Well, that was some—”
I throw up my hand to stop her. “Don’t start,” I say as I attempt to pat some coffee off my chest. “Do you think I have time to run back to my apartment to change my shirt? I can’t walk into class late with Professor Mathis smelling like I bathed in coffee grounds.”
Brooke looks down at her phone to check the time. “I think we can make it. You having this insane need to be in class twenty minutes earlier than we really need to be is a plus right now. We just have to book it.”
A throat clears behind me, and I see Logan still standing there.
“What?” I practically growl.
“Still trying to make sure you’re okay. Judging by the growl in your voice, you’re fine. I’m also here because I need a fresh cup since mine was spilled.” He grins mockingly. “So relax, Emmy.”
“Don’t call me that,” I grit out through clenched teeth. He rolls his eyes in annoyance before I turn to face forward.
Brooke and I each order a coffee. No sooner do we finish telling the barista our order, when Logan jumps in and reorders as if he’s part of our tab.
“Excuse me,” I say as I spin around quickly. “I’m not paying for the coffee you negligently spilled all over me.”
“You’re not,” he says flatly.
The barista hands over his coffee first because, of course, he got a straight black coffee. Seconds later, the second barista comes to the counter to hand me the two iced coffees we ordered. Once she does, Logan hands her a twenty-dollar bill.
“This should cover the order,” he tells her.
“Oh,” Brooke coos. “Thank you. I’m Brooke, by the way.” She extends a hand out to greet him, a smile covering her face. “We’ve probably met briefly in passing at the hospital, but I figured I would introduce myself anyway.”