Friction

“I could use something to eat. Do they have a menu?”

A short time later, more beers were delivered, along with a stack of wings and loaded potato skins. Sarah gazed at the food adoringly and loaded up her plate.

“Ah, heaven.”

Logan watched her eat with a combination of admiration and humor, helping himself as well. Sarah seemed to have forgotten him altogether as she concentrated on the food, a slight flush coloring the fine skin of her cheekbones, a little bit of sauce from a wing clinging to her jaw. He reached over, swiping it away with his finger.

“I like a woman with healthy appetites.”

Heat sparked between them, and Logan didn’t know if it was the lateness of the hour, or the beer, or both. He didn’t care. Sarah was gorgeous, even stuffing her face with wings. He smiled when she sat back, sated.

“So, we can’t talk about work, but we can talk about other stuff. Get to know each other a little better.”

“Like what?” She frowned, wondering what he wanted to know, though in all honesty she was curious about him, too.

“Well…” He grinned in the direction of the band, definitely of the country-rock variety. “You apparently don’t like country music. What kind do you like?”

This was a safe enough topic. “I visit a lot of jazz clubs and alternative music spots in the city. Some punk, techno—that kind of thing. It’s where a lot of my friends hang out.” She decided to keep things in the present tense—she’d told him before she was from Brooklyn, and there wasn’t any reason to complicate things now. And she couldn’t explain her move without explaining her job. Depending on what was happening here, maybe it was best he believed she lived back up north.

“They’re musicians?”

“Some.”

“Techno, huh? Do you ever rave?” he asked with a smile and she smiled back.

“I’ve been once or twice. It’s a little too crazy for me, and I prefer to keep my mind and body clean. Drugs aren’t a requirement, of course, but they’re pretty prevalent in the clubs. Not my scene, really.”

“Me, either. But it sounds like an exciting life.”

“Not especially.” She smiled, thinking of the movie portrayals of hackers, all dressed in black with slick haircuts and shiny earrings, attending raves every night and talking the talk.

Some of that was true—there was a distinct “look” among her old set of friends—but the lifestyle wasn’t really all that glamorous or exciting. Sitting in front of a computer for hours—or days—on end wasn’t the stuff excitement was made of. Not unless you were into it.

“It’s just a life.” She took a swig of beer, looking at him over the top of the bottle. “So what about you?”

He shrugged. “I like most music, nothing in particular though. I go to outdoor concerts back home, but I have never really been to clubs or anything like that.” Except on raids, he thought quietly with a smile.

“Do you dance?”

“Sure, is that a hint?” His eyes sparkled and she almost retracted her question, but decided to let it stand. Why not?

“Well, this music is better than I thought—not the old ‘my-truck-broke-down-and-my-girlfriend-left-me-for-my-best-friend’ kind of thing. It has a beat.”