Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1) by S. M. Smith Page A

pick him up though, not wanting him to strain himself trying to get off the couch again. He takes off as soon as his paws touch the ground, making a break for his master. Logan leans down to scratch the top of his head causing Hank’s dripping tongue to loll out the side of his mouth.
    “She’s spoiling you, you know. When she leaves, it’s back to your own chair again, you know.” The dog snorts at him again before leading the way to the front door.
    “Am I doing something I’m not supposed to?” I ask as I follow the waddling pooch.
    “Nope.” His lazy smile tells me I am but he either doesn’t care or he’s trying to be as civil as I am. The poor dog just had surgery though, I think he deserves a little spoiling.
    We all walk down the porch toward Logan’s big black truck when Hank turns around and looks up at us expectantly, I reach down and pick up the hunk and carry him to my side of the truck. It isn’t until I try to juggle him that I realize that Logan has followed us to open the door for us.
    “Thanks,” I say, still trying to decide how I’m going to climb up into the beast of a vehicle with the fifty pound pup in my arms.
    “Here.” He holds his arms out for Hank. In the process of handing him over, our arms get tangled up, sending those zings through my body. I watch as Logan’s thick chest expands, making me wonder if he’s having the same reaction. I shake the thought from my head and gracelessly dump the dog in his arms. I turn and try not to climb into the truck without sticking a butt or leg or foot in Logan’s face. Knowing he’s watching my every move makes it hard for my graceful tendencies to make an appearance.
    By the time I get settled into my seat, brush the mess of hair that falls in my face in the process, and reach out for Hank, Logan’s face is alight with amusement.
    “What?” I ask a little to harshly.
    “Nothing. Here.” He lays Hank in my lap, one hand brushing the top of my knee and I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. Embarrassed, my eyes find Logan’s in time to watch that strong jaw of his tick. He shuts my door a moment later and I watch him circle back around to the driver’s side, his hand brushing through his dark curls just before he reaches for his own door. He pauses and I look down to find Hank’s black eyes watching me amusedly.
    “It’s gonna be a long night, handsome.” I ruffle his ears and he licks his jowls in appreciation.
    Logan gets in unceremoniously and immediately rolls his window down. Hank shuffles in my lap so that he can put his front paws on the door panel. Before I know what’s going on, my window is sliding down and Hank leans up to let his fur fly in the wind.
    “Just so you know, he drools when he does that.”
    I shift toward the middle console and get the honor of hearing Logan actually laugh. I try not to let the tug in my stomach get to me as the wind blows around us, but feeling a laid back Logan next to me and smelling his unique scent of soap and outdoors has my brain swirling.
    “So, Mexican…” I try to make conversation but thoughts and questions tug at my conscious. My brain is telling me that now is not the time for my investigative side to make an appearance.
    Logan nods silently, not giving me anything.
    “Why Mexican?”
    His fingers tighten over the steering wheel. “Is this on the record?”
    “Maybe. Are your reasons for wanting ethnic food article worthy?”
    He shoots me an unamused glare from across the console and I suddenly have no qualms with getting drooled on if it means that I don’t have to sit so closely to Mr. Inscrutable.
    “It’s my favorite. It may seem cliché, especially since we live so closely to the border, but it…” he swallows as if the words get stuck inside are hard to say. “It feels like home.”
    I want to gape at him, but I’m trying really hard not to scream, “was that so hard to say?” Logan’s thoughts are locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
    “It