A PSEUDO k********g.
NOT REALLY.
REALLY.
LOGAN
Taylor’s ex-douchefriend’s head had started to bob up and down, back and forth, before the first moan came from him. I put him on a couch in the garage and kept the lights turned off—except for one spotlight trained solely on him. The only door was locked, and I stood right in front of it. The dipshit wasn’t leaving without giving me some answers.
“Wha…” His head raised from his chest. “Huh?”
“You good?” I called over to him.
“What?” His eyes opened, but shut again right away. He groaned and coughed before asking, “Where am I?”
“You and me.” I walked over to lean against my Escalade. “We’re going to have a chat.”
“Wait.” He still seemed so confused. Looking around, he lifted his hands and touched his face. “I was at the bar. I wanted
