Real Good Man (Real Duet #1)

Now my heart is hammering so loud, my voice will probably be inaudible, or even worse—quaver when I speak.

Logan walks toward me with long, sure strides. He’s taller than I realized. And broader. And bigger. Everywhere. He’s wearing a black Henley that stretches across his chest, leaving no doubt of the fact that the man is built. And his jeans. Jesus. They’re worn and snug in all the right places.

The picture I found was clearly not recent, and it’s not just the fact that his brown hair is longer and shaggier. He’s one of those men who age well.

Logan stops in front of me when he reaches the tall bar table. He says nothing as his gaze drops to the toes of my boots and drags up every inch of my body.

“You’re a hard woman to find.”

His accent is absolutely delicious. The deep timbre reaches all the way to the very core of me, and I find myself uncrossing and re-crossing my legs just like the rest of the women in this bar.

“I gave you the address.” I shoot for casual, and thankfully my voice doesn’t shake.

“And for a guy with a dually truck and a trailer that had to park God knows where, that address was a challenge.”

I swear I feel all the blood drain from my face. “Oh crap. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think—”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m here. You’re here.” He holds out his hand. “Logan Brantley. It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Ms. Banner . . .”

It hits me that through all of our texts, I never told him my last name. “Regent.” I slide my hand into his as he closes his wide fingers around it.

“Banner Regent,” he says slowly, trying out my name.

My non-sexy black panties are never going to survive the way it rolls off his tongue in that drawl. All the dirty things I texted him last night are front and center in my mind and my girly parts.

No. I throw up a mental stop sign.

While my brain is being pulled in opposite directions, Logan is waiting for me to reply.

“You’re going to hate tapas,” I blurt out.

“I don’t even know what tapas is.”

“We should get out of here.”

He raises one dark eyebrow. “And go where?”

My knee-jerk reaction is to take him home and f*ck the living hell out of what might be the very first real man I’ve ever met. But that’s not happening.

Keep your legs closed, Banner.

“Have you ever been to Times Square?”

He shakes his head. “No. Never been to New York before today.”

I smile as I come up with the perfect way to keep myself out of bed with Logan Brantley.

“Then we better make it memorable.”





Chapter 9


Banner


Isn’t it strange how when you live in a touristy place, you don’t do any of the touristy things until someone comes to visit from out of town? I’ve always been a New Yorker, so unless there’s some specific reason to be there, I avoid Times Square like the plague.

But not tonight.

Tonight I need to be farther away from my apartment than this tapas bar, and I need to get whatever is between Logan and me under control before I give in to the urge to climb him. Bad Banner.

He might think this is a dumb idea, but I can’t think of a less likely place for me to jump this incredibly sexy man’s bones than a giant arcade.

I flag down a cab, and Logan opens the yellow door. I give directions to the cabbie as I slide in.

When Logan climbs inside next to me, the back of the taxi shrinks. Not only is Logan Brantley bigger than most guys I’ve shared the back of a cab with, there’s something else. It goes beyond size to presence. Logan Brantley has it in spades, and I’m squeezing my thighs together in an effort to kill the ache that’s building there.

I have to start talking, or God knows what I’ll let myself do.

“This might seem unorthodox and probably not what you were expecting, but instead of trying to get into a fancy steak house and waiting hours for a table where you could actually get man food, I made an executive decision to do something completely different.”

He’s watching me as I ramble, and that intense blue gaze isn’t helping me sound coherent.

“What did you have in mind?”

“There’s a huge sports bar arcade in Times Square, and I thought it would be fun.”

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “I can handle that.” He pauses for a beat. “You don’t seem like the sports bar or arcade type, though.”

It’s a fair observation, especially since he’s right.

“I’ve been to plenty of sports bars,” I tell him. “I am a New Yorker, after all, so I’ve got the Mets, Yankees, Giants, Knicks, and Rangers to cheer on.”

“You like to watch sports?” His tone is more than a little surprised.

It’s the moment of truth. Do I lie and pretend I’m some kind of real sports fan? Or do I just admit that I only go with friends when we’re drinking and I ignore the game? I’ve never lied to impress a guy before, and I’m not going to start now.

“Unless someone gets a box at a game, I don’t actually watch any sport. I go for the atmosphere.”

“Fair enough. I don’t usually have time, but I’ll try to catch a game on TV once in a while.”

As expected, the cabbie gets stuck in traffic when heading down Seventh Avenue, but Logan keeps the conversation going.

“What about an arcade? I can’t exactly picture you playing video games.”

I respond with a shake of my head before elaborating. “Never in my life. But I can play a decent game of pool, and a marginally passable game of foosball.”

“So this will be an experience for both of us then.” His smile tilts into a smirk. “Might have to make a bet on a game of foosball. I’m more than passable myself.”

I like the hint of challenge his words carry, and give him a sassy look of my own in return. “Oh, you’re going to get cocky now? Just wait.”

The cabbie interrupts from the front. “You wanna get out here? It’ll be faster to walk in this mess.”

“Sure, that’s fine.” I slide a twenty through the glass while Logan is still reaching for his wallet. He opens his mouth to protest, but I wave it off. “You can buy the first tokens.”

He nods. “I’ll be buying all the tokens.”

Logan’s hand closes around mine as he helps me climb out of the cab. He releases his hold when I step onto the sidewalk, but I feel it again on the small of my back as we make our way toward the entrance.

The Kentucky redneck is a gentleman. That shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. I shut my thoughts down as he pauses to scan the buildings behind us.

“It really looks just like what you see on TV. All the lights. Huge buildings. Cool for a vacation, but I don’t know how people get used to living in the middle of all of this.”

I turn and take it in through his eyes. Everything is bigger, brighter, and louder in New York. I can only imagine how chaotic it must seem to someone who isn’t used to it. Maybe about like the way Logan’s presence is making me feel.

“I guess when you’ve lived here all your life, you don’t know any different, though,” he adds, his observation accurate.

“Pretty much. When I was a kid, I would beg my driver to take the route through Times Square. It was a treat to see all the lights since he normally avoided it.”