Real Good Love Read online

  “I know, right?”

  “She left you everything?”

  I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Everything.”

  “What about her daughter?”

  Every time I think about how shocked Dee Booker must have been when she learned her mother left everything to a former neighbor, my heart does this painful clenching thing, because I can almost picture it happening to me. The call from my mom’s lawyer saying that her last thought of me was . . . nothing.

  “She didn’t leave her anything.”

  “How is that even possible? I thought you said she hated you?”

  I sit up on the bed and rise to my feet to start pacing the room. “I was wrong, I guess. The lawyer made it sound like she changed her mind all the time.”

  Mentally, I’m kicking myself again for not clearing the air before she died. I hate that we left so many things unsaid. And she didn’t get a chance to see the final sex-toy lineup of Blush.

  “Thirty million . . .” A layer of awe has slipped into Logan’s voice. “Holy fucking shit.”

  “That’s basically what I said. I have to meet with her lawyer again, and her financial people, to sort all this stuff out and transfer it all over, so I’m going to be here longer than I planned. I had no idea Frau Frances had so much shit, which means now I have that much shit, and I have to figure out what I’m going to do with it.” I pause to take a breath. “But before you ask, I’m not staying in New York. I’m coming back.”

  “Goddamned right you’re coming back. I don’t care how much money you’ve got, I will drive up there and—”

  Logan’s adamant tone catches me off guard, and I interrupt.

  “Calm down, Wolverine. No need to get the claws out. You won’t have to come drag me back. I realized a few things.”

  I take another breath, preparing myself to get real with him. This isn’t a typical Banner activity, so I’m probably going to screw it up.

  “Even though Myrna just handed me the opportunity to stay in New York and go back to the life I had, I don’t want that life. Before, I thought New York had everything, but now I know it doesn’t have the one thing I really want. You.”

  My heart hammers at my declaration. This is as close as I’ve gotten to admitting that I’m kinda crazy in love with Logan, and even though I’ve promised myself I wasn’t going to say it first, I need him to know this.

  When all I get is silence, panic creeps in. “You can say something now. Really, anytime.”

  “I’m waiting for you to tell me the rest,” Logan says, his tone less harsh than before, but there’s something in it I can’t identify.

  “The rest of what?”

  Logan takes a breath before he speaks. “That you’re pregnant.”

  I spin around and slam my shin into the bed frame. “Shit!” I yell, jumping back on one foot and losing my grip on my phone. It lands perfectly on the corner before sliding across the floor. I dive after it, snagging it just before it hits the dresser.

  But I’m too late. The screen is shattered.

  “Fuck!”

  I sit up, wrap one hand on my screaming shinbone, and stare down at my poor phone. Behind the shattered glass, the screen is black. The call is dropped. I hit the power button and wait for it to come back on, but nothing happens.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” I say to the empty room. “There is no way my luck is this bad.”

  But two minutes of pressing buttons with absolutely no sign of life from my phone tells me otherwise.

  I reach for the hotel phone and then replace it in the cradle. I don’t know Logan’s number. I don’t know anyone’s freaking number anymore.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Laptop. Google. I’ll find the number for his shop.

  I tap my nails on the desk as I wait for my laptop to boot up, and by the time I connect to the hotel Wi-Fi and pull up my browser, I’m ready to tear my hair out. Patience has never been one of my virtues, and that’s not changing today.

  Thankfully, Google provides the number to his shop, and I call it.

  No answer, and the voice mail is full, so I can’t even leave a message.

  “Logan, you need to check your goddamned voice mails!”

  I call again. And again. And again.

  Finally, someone picks up. “Hello?”

  I can barely hear him over the sound of country music. “Why in the hell do you think I’m pregnant?”

  “Who is this?” the man asks, and I realize it’s not Logan.

  “I need to talk to your boss. Now.”

  “Logan?”

  “Yes!”

  “Hold on. He’s busy.”

  “He’s definitely not too busy for this call, so you just march over there and hand him the phone.”

  “Calm down, lady. I’m working on it.”

  I barely restrain myself from ripping into the guy for being rude, but I’ve got more important matters to deal with. The music in the background goes silent finally, and I can hear the man say, “There’s someone on the phone for you, boss, and she sounds pissed. You knock someone up?”

  Logan’s voice finally comes on the line. “Banner?”

  “If there’s a question of whether you knocked up more than just me, we’re going to have a serious problem, Logan Brantley.”

  “Why the hell did you hang up on me? And just freaking tell me—are you pregnant?”

  “I dropped my phone and it broke. I didn’t hang up. And no! Of course not. I told you I’m on birth control. I’ve been eating home cooking for two freaking weeks, but I’m not fat, so what the hell?”

  Logan releases a long breath. “Then why did you have a box of pregnancy tests on the counter in your bathroom with one missing?”

  Everything finally falls together, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Because my ob-gyn was probably breaking some laws when she said she’d mail me the birth control shot to give myself, but I had to take a pregnancy test first to confirm I was good to go.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me.” From the tone of Logan’s voice, I can tell this isn’t the response he expected.

  “Why didn’t you just ask?”

  “Because this isn’t the kind of shit you talk about over the phone. This is the kind of shit you talk about in person.”

  He has a good point. “So you were going to wait and wonder until I got back?”

  “Yeah, but when you said you had to decide what you were going to do, I couldn’t wait.”

  Realization dawns. “You thought I’d have an abortion? Without ever talking to you about anything? Jesus, Logan, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Look, it’s your body and your choice, but you better believe I would’ve had something to say about it if you were going to go through with something like that.”

  “I’m not pregnant, so we can stop right here. But for the record, there’s no way in hell I would do that. I couldn’t.”

  “Well, that’s good to know.”

  The ridiculousness of the whole situation hits me hard, and laughter rises up in my chest. “I can’t believe you thought I was pregnant.”

  “You better not be laughing about this right now. If I could reach you, I’d spank that ass of yours for making me wonder.”

  “You have to admit that it is kind of funny.” I pause as tears stream down my face. “Or maybe I’m just an emotional freaking wreck because of everything else.” My laughter dies, but the tears continue.

  “Fuck, baby. I hate hearing you cry. Especially when I’m not close enough to hold you. Shhh, it’s gonna be all right. I promise.”

  I walk to the bathroom to grab a tissue and sniff back another wave of tears. “I’m sorry. It’s been a little bit of an emotional roller coaster lately.”

  “A little bit? Bruce, I think you’re making a hell of an understatement there.”

  “It’s just . . . God, you should have heard her daughter. She was so pissed. It’s like she hated her.”

  “Not everyone
gets along with their parents,” Logan offers.

  “I’m walking proof.” I pause. “But I’d like to think there’s no way I’d be so cold if someone called me tomorrow and told me my parents were dead.”

  “She’s probably dealing with it her own way. Everyone does.”

  “I know. But I feel sorry for her, and I don’t ever want someone to feel sorry for me like that.”

  “This may not be a suggestion you want to hear, but have you thought about going to see your parents while you’re there to try to mend fences?”

  I think about it before replying. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet. They didn’t think twice about leaving me to face being evicted by myself.”

  “That’s shitty, but if there’s anything I’ve learned lately, it’s that we’ve got no guarantees in this life. You might have to step up and be the bigger person.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Even a blind squirrel finds a nut now and again.”

  “I miss you,” I blurt out.

  Logan chuckles softly into the phone. “I miss you too, Bruce. Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take to get everything in order up there?”

  “Not really. I need to clean out the apartment and figure out what to do with Myrna’s stuff, and that’s alongside straightening out all the financial and legal things, which is way easier to do here in person, I think.”

  “I believe you. Take the time you need to get it sorted out. You know I’ve got plenty of work to keep me buried until this project is done, and I’ll be waiting here when you get back.”

  Relief that Logan understands the position I’m in sweeps through me. “How did you get to be so amazing?”

  Logan laughs, and I love the sound of it. “I’m not amazing. You are, Bruce.”

  “Can I call you later? I’ve gotta go buy a new phone and come up with a plan of attack for the apartment so I can work through this as quickly as possible.”

  “You can call me anytime. I’ll even give you my number again.”

  “Logan Brantley’s giving me his number,” I purr. “I feel so special.”

  “That’s because you are. Now, you feel free to remind all those New York guys that you’ve got a man at home, and he doesn’t share.”

  I laugh, but there’s something about his words that fills my chest with warmth. Gold Haven and Logan are home for me now. “He doesn’t, huh?”

  “My pie. I don’t share my pie.”

  “You sound like—”

  “A man staking his claim?” Logan interrupts. “That’s because I am. You better not have a single doubt about that.”

  “Then you better make sure all those women in Gold Haven know that Logan Brantley’s got all the pie he needs because he is taken.” I emphasize the last three words, and it feels good to stake my own claim.

  “Fair is fair, but that goes without saying. Call me later, Bruce.” He rattles off his number, and I jot it down before giving him the one to my room.

  I look up in the mirror after I hang up, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this big of a smile on my own face before.

  I’m in deep.

  Chapter 7

  Banner

  “Myrna was a dirty birdy!”

  After the highs of this morning, sorting through Myrna’s apartment all afternoon has been a definite low. At least until I open her nightstand drawer and find her collection of old-lady smut. Hidden underneath her bible is a stack of bodice rippers circa 1980 with titles like Taken by the Sheik, His Captive Princess, and The Pirate’s Prize.

  I hold them up for Sofia, who covers her mouth and laughs.

  “No. Way.”

  I’m sure Myrna would be rolling in her grave right now if her daughter hadn’t decided to have her cremated almost immediately and without a funeral. Grief and tears rise up at not having a chance to say a proper good-bye, but I shove them down. I’ll find a way to make a fitting tribute to her some way, and in the meantime, it’s easier for me to focus on the positives. Like the fact that Myrna had a strong love of capture romances.

  Immediately my brain clicks into marketing mode . . .

  What if I were to market to romance readers who need a little help with their one-handed reads? I grab my phone and make a few notes about the idea. Oh, and what if I rename the products for different types of lovers—the Sheik, the Billionaire, the Bad Boy, the Real Good Man.

  The handheld heroes of Blush you can keep in your own bedroom.

  There’s no doubt which I prefer.

  I set the books aside, deciding to keep them for my own collection—for research purposes, obviously—and continue through the drawers.

  I found the big black cock earlier in the closet on the top shelf. With the silver accents, it could definitely be renamed the Billionaire. Apparently it was too much for Myrna, which is fine by me, because I’m not sure I could handle the visual anyway.

  I arrange for all of her clothes, well-made but twenty years old, to be picked up tomorrow by a company specializing in redistributing them to people in need. I keep her favorite Burberry scarf and hat, though, as well as a sweater for Jordana to curl up on.

  Myrna would be horrified, but I’m pretty sure she’d get over it if she knew how heartbroken her dog is right now. Luckily, the pup has her own trust, and Sofia is excited to take care of her.

  A few more hours of sorting is all I can take before I’ve had enough. I’ve got a stack of boxes I’m shipping to Myrna’s daughter, whether she likes it or not, because it doesn’t seem right to throw the family memories away.

  Sofia is feeding Jordy in the kitchen when I go in search of her.

  “I’m done for today. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  She lowers the pink dog-food bowl to the floor. “Me too. I’m exhausted even thinking about how much more there is to go through.”

  That’s the understatement of the day. Two of Myrna’s three bedrooms are packed with stuff, not to mention closets and cupboards. She had a lot of years to accumulate things, though, so I guess it makes sense.

  “You sure you’re good with staying here again tonight?” I ask Sofia as I wind down for the day.

  She dusts her hands off on a rag. “I’m not quite ready to say good-bye yet.”

  “I know what you mean.” I give her a quick hug before donning my coat and heading out the door. It’s strange to be back in this building, especially knowing part of it is mine and no one can take it from me this time.

  Deciding to walk instead of take a cab, I tuck my hands into my pockets and disappear into the crowd of people going home from work. I don’t miss being one of them.

  I pick up sushi from a favorite place and carry it with me, even though I’m supposed to bring some to Dr. Lady Lips, aka Dr. Brennan, for lunch tomorrow. Not having sushi is one of the things I really miss in Kentucky, so having it twice in two days is no hardship. But then again, watching a sushi chef doesn’t compare to the visual of Logan grilling a steak to perfection.

  Dammit, I miss him.

  This is still all so new to me, and I’m lost in my thoughts until I’m nearly to the hotel.

  “Banner! Banner!”

  I look around to find who’s calling my name. It’s unusual enough that there’s little to no chance of whoever it is calling to someone else.

  A tap on my shoulder has me spinning around to face Brandon Sidewalk, a guy I went out with once to a club opening, who didn’t understand that a short skirt was not an invitation to feel me up.

  Unfortunately, he’s standing there with a stupid grin on his face, so I can’t exactly walk away. But I can pretend I don’t remember him.

  “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

  His brow furrows. “Brandon Smith. We went out a few weeks back to the opening of Olivesque. I’ve been meaning to text you to see if you wanted to go out again.”

  I pretend to dig through my memory bank before letting a look of recognition pass over my face. “Oh, you mean the guy who tried to shove his hand up
my skirt without an invitation?”

  He takes a step back, shock lighting his eyes. “Uh. Ah. Well . . .”

  I narrow my gaze on him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. If you ever want to know how a real man acts with a woman, I’ll let you talk to my boyfriend. Actually, on second thought, he’d probably toss your body down a mine shaft for trying that, so maybe in the interest of making sure he doesn’t spend the next ten to fifteen in state prison, we’ll keep this between us.”

  He stiffens, and genuine fear radiates from him as he clears his throat. “Sorry. I guess you’re right. I don’t know you.”

  As Brandon Sidewalk turns and walks away, I wonder what I ever saw in the guy to make me accept even a single date. His shoulders barely fill out his suit jacket. His shoes and watch might cost more than some used cars, but they’re pretentious as hell. I know he only bought them because they’re designer.

  My list of Brandon’s shortcomings slams to a halt when I realize what I called Logan. My boyfriend.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve referred to anyone by that label. I continue toward the glass doors of the hotel as I turn it over in my head. Does he consider me his girlfriend? We’ve never even talked about it. And why would we?

  Part of me wants to ask him, and the other part thinks the question is ridiculous. Then again, he thought he knocked me up, so I guess we’ve crossed over some imaginary relationship line, right? I still have no final conclusion when I let myself into my room, set my sushi on the desk, and remove my coat.

  Halfway through what they should call an orgasm roll, my new phone rings. I grab it, thinking it’s Logan, but it’s Greer.

  “Hey, stranger!”

  “Hey, trouble. Sorry I missed your call this morning. It’s been crazy out here. Also, LA traffic can go screw itself.”

  “I still can’t believe you want to live there.”

  “It wasn’t exactly a tough choice when I considered what was important.”

  A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have understood what she meant, but now I do. It’s strange how much can change in such a short time.

  “I get what you mean.”

  “So, are you going to spill? What’s going on? Are you loving Gold Haven?”