“Say it like you mean it.”

A half-grin formed, and he rolled his eyes, letting my arms go. He scooted back to lean against the counter across from me. “Claire’s lucky we deemed her our friend. If we didn’t, she’d lose herself. She’s drawn to those types of people because that’s who her family is. They all just think about how special and important they are. They’re like plastic—fake and breakable, honey.”

I relaxed. When Jason started throwing out the honeys, he was being himself. I didn’t hear that word too often anymore. “Don’t hold back,” I urged him. “Tell me what you think of Claire’s family and friends.”

He’d been staring off into the distance, but his eyes moved back to mine, and we shared a smile. Jason had always thought Claire’s choice of friends was poor. We were the exceptions, and in his head this was because we’d chosen Claire. That was the truth, sort of. Jason chose me. He saw me in seventh grade and told me I didn’t need too much makeup, as I was just what the guys liked. Then he saw Claire beside me, took in her heavy makeup, and raised his nose in the air. He sniffed at her. “You look just fine, too.”

Her mouth dropped. She wasn’t confrontational, but that day she sputtered out, “Fuck you.”

Jason had paused, stared at her, and a slow grin formed. It had been best friendship at first sight.

“We all know how Claire’s life is going to end up,” he told me, looking around the kitchen. “She’s going to marry a politician who’ll cheat on her in some public scandal, and she’ll divorce him but not his money. Or she’ll marry some up-and-coming entrepreneur. If he loves her more, she’ll end up cheating on him. If she loves him more, he’ll cheat on her. That’s how it always goes with her. Either way, she’ll divorce him, end up with all his money, and have us over for margaritas.”

That sounded accurate. “I look forward to the margaritas.”

He laughed. “You and me both.”

We got mad. We got sad. Now we were laughing. All in all, this had gone better than I expected.

Then Jason sighed. “Don’t fall in love with him.” His eyes were solemn, almost sad again. “Don’t, Taylor.”

“I’m not—” I started to argue.

“You’re hurting.” He waved my words away. “I don’t know what happened with Eric, but you were with him for years, and then you weren’t, and you still won’t talk about it. I know you’re trying to put on a brave face and march on, like you always do, but I know you. I see you.” His voice softened once more. “A guy like Logan Kade is very dangerous to a girl like you.”

My eyes closed. Everything he’d said was true.

#CHEFLOGAN

LOGAN

Cheese—check.

Eggs—check.

Vegetables—check.

I stood back and perused the ingredients on the counter. I had everything…wait, I didn’t. Bacon—and double-check. We were good to go. Mission To-Build-The-Best-Omelet-Ever was about to commence.

“What are you doing?” Nate came in behind me, opening the fridge.

I blocked him and swatted his arm. “No juice for you.”

He moved back, sending me a frown. “I was reaching for the milk.”

“No milk for you.” I pointed the spatula at him and motioned to the table. “Sit. I am Chef Logan this morning.”

“Oh God.” He groaned, but sat. “What the hell is that?”

He was looking at the pile of fruit sitting next to the juicer. “That’s for the wide receiver when he wakes up.”

“Since no one else in this house plays football, I’m assuming you’re talking about me, and yes, he’s awake,” Mason said, coming into the kitchen. He stopped, gave the pile of fruit a lifted eyebrow, then ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, Logan. I said to grab a few pieces of fruit. You got the entire produce section.”

I smirked. “You don’t know. That could be my new pet name for Nate’s asshole. Wide receiver—”

Nate yelled, “Shut the fuck up!”

Laughing, I waved the spatula at both of them. “Calm your tits, Monson. I’m fooling, and yes, I meant my big badass brother, but no hate, Mase, on the fruit. I’m following Mama Malinda’s rules: Go big or go home.”

“My stepmother would not buy the entire fruit section at the grocery store,” Sam said as she followed Mason into the kitchen. But when she saw the fruit piled high on a platter, she sighed. “Never mind. She’d totally do that.”

I raised my finger and pretended to add a number to the air. “Score one for me and a big fat zero for the rest of you. As it should be in Logan Land.” I turned to my brother. “For real, though. I got all that shit for you. Don’t make me regret it.”

Today was Mason’s first home game. He asked the night before if I could get the fruit and juicer for him. Mason was always one for training, but since he decided to stay at school the last two years and get his degree before going pro, he was extra careful about his body—what he put into it and avoiding injury for the next two years. It was becoming rare to go to college all four years before the NFL. I knew Mason wanted to get a college degree no matter what, but as he started the juicer, I watched him glance over his shoulder at Sam. She was the other reason he had stayed.

I thought I loved Tate. That ended horribly. Then Sam came into our lives, literally moving in with us with her psychotic mother, and now Sam was family. Then there was my last girlfriend, Kris. She’d been young, with some of her own problems and an overprotective sister. I cared about Kris. I was with her for almost a year, and I was faithful. A lot of people assumed I was unfaithful, but fuck that. I wasn’t a weak-ass coward—not like my dad. I cared about Kris, but I knew I didn’t love her. Maybe that’s why Mason and Sam’s love was a bit much for me sometimes.