Page 51 of The What If Guy (The Guys Who Got Away 3)
Bryn: And THANK YOU. Your hands belong in a hand-porn contest.
Logan: And I am sure that’s a thing. Anyway . . . I think your mom’s advice is right. About exes and such.
Bryn: She was pretty wise. Are your parents around? Together?
Logan: Yes, healthy and happily married. Ridiculously so. My dad is a consultant, and my mom helped build his business. They’re one of those couples who still like each other after all these years. They kiss at barbecues and give each other a hard time with teasing and jokes, but he’s always touching her, and she rubs his shoulders, and it’s kind of awesome and weird at the same time. It’s only weird because they’re my parents. Mostly it’s awesome.
Bryn: That sounds exactly as it should be. I love that. I’m grinning like crazy, and I don’t think it’s the wine.
Logan: Wine and stories of happily-married-for-more-than-thirty-five-years couples can do that to a person.
Bryn: Are you close with them?
Logan: Yes. They live in Connecticut. I see them a lot. Amelia and I go there twice a month usually, and they also come into the city and we have family dinners with my sister. She’s the advice purveyor in the family.
Bryn: Best advice she’s ever given you?
Logan: This is a direct quote from Summer: Treat a woman like you treat your sister. Except don’t put a frog in her bed like I did to you.
Bryn: She put a frog in your bed???
Logan: Such a meanie, right?
Bryn: I love her already.
Logan: You would. I love her a lot. She’s outgoing and positive and funny and giving. She gives her whole heart to everything and everyone.
Bryn: I always wanted to have a sibling. Never did. Obviously.
Logan: I have to ask—is your dad out of the picture?
Without any tears or sadness, only years of reality, I insert a GIF of a plane.
Bryn: He took off long ago. Never knew him. Never felt I needed to. It was Mom and me against the world. It worked for us. She was mom and dad and friend and warrior.
Logan: Warrior. I like that. No wonder you miss her so much.
Bryn: I do miss her, but I’m grateful for good friends like Teagan and Amy. So now I have to ask—has the band turned out terrible? Is that why you’re talking to me?
Logan: Um, they’re still good, and I hate them for it.
Bryn: Are you ignoring your friends?
Logan: No, they ditched me! My buddy Fitz is talking to some guy at the bar. Probably someone who wants to go home with him. My sister and Oliver are dancing. I’m by my lonesome, texting you.
Bryn: Are you lonely?
Logan: No. Not at all. Not in the least.
Bryn: Me neither.
In fact, I’m having such a good time I’m thinking that, no matter how hard it is to come clean at work, I might seriously need to do it.
The choice I should make is becoming more obvious with each text.
Double bath bombs, wine, and a great guy I want to get to know have a way of making things crystal clear.
23
Queen LaTofu
The man was singing a happy tune. Heck, he was whistling. Clearly, all her plans to help him become savvier about the fairer sex were working.
As he clambered under the covers with her, she purred, her way of telling him that she was pleased with his progress.
“The cat’s not the only one succumbing to her charms,” he said. “I should probably stop texting her so much, but . . .”
She heard something new in his voice. A touch of hope? Hope for a little something special in his life? He deserved it. She stretched a paw and placed it on his arm, reassuring him.
“What do you think? I mean, it’s crazy. Because it’s only been a short time. But it feels like . . . it feels like there could be something there. Something special.”
She flipped onto her back, wiggling her front paws.
He laughed.
He hadn’t laughed like that in ages. She’d have to do everything she could to make sure he made that sound again.
She had that power, of course. She was a cat.
“You agree, Queen?”
She thumped her tail.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
24
Logan
The message makes no sense.
One word.
One terrible word.
Bryn: Liar.
Rubbing my eyes, I sit up, grab my reading glasses, and read her text again. It’s the first of many.
I scroll down, trying to understand what she’s getting at.
Bryn: I know I only had a few drinks last night.
Bryn: But the evidence on my phone points to only one thing.
Bryn: You have a foot fetish.
Bryn: Or possibly I do. Because last night . . . I sent you THREE PICS OF MY FEET.
Bryn: Can we pretend that didn’t happen?
I sink back into the pillows, laughing out loud, my chest warm, a smile spreading across my face, and it’s barely eight. Queen LaTofu pads across the bed, curling up next to my head.
