Just Say Yes

Book 5: Kings

by Lena Hendrix

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Getting tangled up with an Olympic rugby player seems like the perfect way to forget about how my life is falling apart. Until I discover he’s my ex-boyfriend’s best friend.

Logan Brown walked into my small town with a charming grin and mischief in his eyes. He’s a world-class flirt and his confident masculinity is almost as distracting as those rugby thighs.

Given my inexperienced history, I’m no match for our undeniable chemistry. I vow to keep him at arm’s length. But with Logan, every lingering stare—every forbidden touch—awakens something inside of me I thought I had buried for good.

We both know we shouldn’t cross that line, but I have spent my entire life being a good girl, and suddenly I’m tempted to be very, very bad.
Especially when Logan tells me to just say yes.

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 416

Sample

Due to recent personal events, I will be going off the fucking rails.

There was no other explanation for why I was slipping out of my comfy teal scrubs and into a skintight bodycon dress when my shift at the assisted-living facility wasn’t even over. The tight quarters of the staff bathroom had me sweating. I balled up my scrubs and shoved them into my backpack.

Looking myself over in the mirror, I ignored the gnawing realization that I hadn’t been on a real date in months. Not that it mattered . . . in a small tourist town my options were men I’d practically grown up with or tourists looking only for a good time. Neither option appealed to me—I was over men seeing me as one of the guys, and I still hadn’t talked myself into being a one-night-stand kind of woman.

Yet.

Plus, it was damn difficult to date when you had four ridiculous older brothers who loved to insert themselves into your business.

A soft knock at the door rattled me. “One second!” I called and zipped my bag.

I haphazardly fluffed my mousy brown hair. It was flat and lifeless after my nursing shift at Haven Pines, but it would have to do.

I blew out a breath when a second knock sounded at the door.

I grabbed my bag and opened the door. Another nurse, Carol, stepped back with wide eyes and a surprised laugh.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t even ask.”

She smirked and moved into the doorway. “I thought your shift wasn’t over until seven.”

“Abbey is covering the last half hour.” I balanced in my heels.

Carol looked me over, waggling her eyebrows. “Hot date tonight?”

I smoothed a hand down my hips and tugged at the hemline that had somehow gotten shorter since I slipped on the dress.

I pinned her with a playful look. “Arthur Brown.”

Carol tossed her head back and cackled. “Well, that makes sense. He’s a charmer.”

I pointed a playful finger at her and smiled. “He’s a menace.”

We shared a laugh as Carol disappeared into the staff bathroom. Arthur Brown was an elderly resident at Haven Pines, and in the few months he’d been with us, he had charmed a dinner date out of at least six other nurses.

I was lucky fool number seven.

In truth, Arthur was one of the sweetest residents at Haven Pines. He was polite, gracious, and wickedly funny. My shifts had become a bit lonely since my longtime favorite patient, Red Sullivan, had moved into one of the semi-independent houses on the outskirts of Haven Pines. I was so happy for Red but found I missed having a crappy cup of cafeteria coffee with him during my shifts. I made a mental note to swing by his place this week to say hello.

As my shoes clacked across the linoleum floor, the sky-high pointy heels pinched my toes. They were uncomfortable but gave me a few much-needed inches on my short frame. I lifted my chin and blew out an unsteady breath as I walked toward the nurses’ station.

I slipped my badge from the pocket of my backpack. “Hey, Beth.” I scanned the badge to unlock the hallway door that led to the corridor where Arthur’s room was located. “I’ll be in room forty-two if anyone needs me.”

Beth didn’t even look up from her phone, but she waved a dismissive hand and continued scrolling.

I gritted my teeth and stifled a sigh. Beth was new—and a pain in my side. She looked at her job as a stepping stone for something better. I’d overheard her making comments about how nursing at an assisted-living facility was beneath her and she couldn’t wait to bag a wealthy neurosurgeon.

As far as I was concerned, she could take one.

I much preferred caring for the elderly—most were quiet, many were simply looking for a thoughtful ear, and they always had the best stories.

I loved my job.

Which was why, when Arthur sweet-talked me into having dinner with him, I couldn’t say no. He also let it slip that he planned to dress up for the occasion. I found it endearing and figured faded, stained scrubs just wouldn’t do.

When I reached his room, I gently knocked and cracked the door open. “Mr. Brown? It’s MJ.”

He pulled the door open and beamed at me. Arthur was in his mid-eighties, short, and his shoulders stooped and rounded slightly. Despite his age, his eyes were bright and his smile was wide. His attention never left my face, and my heart swelled.

Old men are so much better than the ones my age.

“You are a vision, my dear.” He shuffled his feet and moved to allow me to enter.

Like much of Haven Pines, each room was carefully planned to look less like a hospital and more like a studio apartment. The rooms were small, but each had a bed, side table with two chairs, and a comfy wingback for reading books or relaxing by the tall window.

On the side table, Arthur had arranged a round tablecloth, two place settings, and a pair of chairs. I had expected this, because it was me who had convinced the maintenance staff to have it set up for him.

“Come in. Come in.” Arthur gestured toward the table with a smile.

“This is lovely, Mr. Brown.” I smiled and walked toward the table. “Thank you.”

“Please, call me Arthur.” Arthur hurried behind me and scooted out a chair. “Allow me.”

I obeyed and tucked myself under the small circular table. Arthur made his way to his side and sat down. His eyes twinkled as the papery wrinkles around his eyes deepened. Low music crooned from a bedside radio.

“How about we eat?” Arthur smiled again and removed the plastic lids from our dinner plates. It was the same Wednesday night supper that was on rotation at Haven Pines—marinated and grilled chicken breast, garlicky steamed green beans, and a dinner roll.

“You’re awfully kind, humoring a lonely old man like me,” Arthur said.

I looked across the small table at my dinner companion. I was so young when my grandfather passed away that I barely remembered him. My father, Russell King, had also been a difficult man—always controlling and emotionally absent. I had been happy to fly under his radar most of the time.

My father was awaiting trial for the murder of my mother, and suddenly my entire life felt like one big lie.

Yeah . . . this year had been a lot to unpack.

From the outside, I appeared strong and steady, but deep down I was aimless and floundering.

Maybe that was why I felt so at ease with the elderly residents of Haven Pines. Maybe on some level they served as the warm and loving grandparents I never had the opportunity to know.

I unrolled the paper napkin and placed it on my lap. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Arthur did the same, placing his napkin across his knees. When it slipped off and hit the floor, he struggled to scoot his chair backward.

“I’ve got it.” I smiled and inched my chair out to retrieve his napkin. The space between the table and chair was small and dark. The constricting fabric of my regrettable dress made moving even harder. I stifled a grunt and tried to tug at my hemline while reaching for the napkin.

“Hang on,” I said. “It slid all the way under the table.” Unsure how I was going to manage, I finally gave up on being ladylike and dropped to my knees. On all fours, I scooted under the table and snatched the white cloth napkin.

“What the hell is this?” A deep, rumbling voice startled me.

My head whipped up, cracking against the underside of the table. “Ow, fuck!”

With one hand on the back of my head and the other bracing myself on the armrest of Arthur’s chair, I looked up.

A man filled the doorway—not just with his size, but with a presence that was impossible to ignore, like a storm rolling in off the lake. My jaw dropped. He was tall—impressively so—with thick arms that crossed his chest. His wide stance showed off the thickest thighs I’d ever seen in real life.

Helloooo, stranger.

Even in the gross fluorescent lighting, he was undeniably handsome. His dark hair fell over his forehead, dipping down to dark eyebrows that cinched tight. His face was chiseled, and he had a mustache that stood out a little thicker than the rest of his scruff.

His mouth was set in a hard line.

The doorframe suddenly felt too small to contain him.

My attention bounced from the mystery man to Arthur and back again. I was on my knees, in front of Arthur, with my dress slipping precariously up my thighs. With Arthur’s back to the door, I could only imagine what it looked like I was doing on my knees in front of him.

“Oh my god!” I struggled to maneuver out from under the table and onto my feet. The tight skirt of my dress restricted my movements, and my hemline crept higher.

Arthur looked at the man and grinned. “Logan.” He sat up in his chair. “This is unexpected.”

Logan.

The nurses were all abuzz over Arthur’s broody and pestering grandson Logan. Apparently he called near daily wanting to check up on Arthur or demand to know the ins and outs of his grandfather’s schedule. Rumor was that he was a bit of a princess and didn’t like the fact that our residents had autonomy over their days. Arthur was free to do what he pleased, and we weren’t required to get family approval before he tried pickleball or went to the local park to play dominoes with friends.

Maybe setting up dates with the nursing staff was a little left field . . .

Arthur stood and moved toward his grandson while I struggled to my feet next to the table, tugging at my dress and dusting grit from my knees. Logan accepted Arthur’s embrace, but his eyes raked over me, lingering a second too long on the short hemline of my dress. I tugged at it again as I stood frozen.

Arthur beamed at the man. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He gestured toward me. “MJ is my companion for the night.”

I’m sorry—what now?

I had sputtered and attempted to speak when Logan let loose a deep, rumbling sigh. “Grandpa, we talked about this. You can’t hire hookers to have dinner with you because you’re lonely.”

“Whoa!” I cut in, stepping forward with a hand on my hip. I wagged one finger in his direction. “First of all, I think the proper term is escort. Second⁠—”

“Whatever.” Logan cut off my rant just as I was gaining steam. He rolled his eyes, and my blood pressure spiked. “Grandpa, cut me some slack. We went over this. No hookers.”

Arthur laughed, clearly enjoying the fact that his ridiculously handsome grandson was grossly misinformed. I couldn’t blame him. He’d walked into the room to find me under the table, practically between his grandfather’s legs, but I was still annoyed.

I crossed my arms in anger, until I realized the gesture pushed my boobs up even higher, and I quickly dropped them.

Arthur held out his hand to me, gesturing for me to step forward. “MJ, this is my grandson, Logan.”

I gritted my teeth, then faked a smile and held out a hand. “Pleasure.”

He eyed it before manners won out and he wrapped his gargantuan hand around mine. He shook, then moved his attention to his grandfather. “Are you done here? I thought we could talk before I have to leave for my match.”

Annoyed, I cut in with a raised eyebrow. “Visiting hours were over at six.”

His eyes flicked over my too-tight outfit again. “Then what’s your excuse?”

My nostrils flared as Arthur simply chuckled. Clearly, the old man was enjoying himself. “Don’t be rude to my companion, Logan.”

I turned toward Arthur. “Okay, maybe stop calling me that.”

Arthur blinked innocently. I snatched my backpack from the floor. “I think I’m going to go.” Turning toward Arthur, I pleaded with my eyes, desperate to escape the entire incredibly embarrassing moment. “Thank you for the almost lovely dinner. I will see you next time.”

I stormed past a brooding Logan, bumping into him when he refused to step aside. “Did you get paid?” he shot over his shoulder.

My high heels came to a screeching halt. “Wow!” I spun on my toes. “You really go all in when you step in it, don’t you?” Fire was blazing in my chest. “Well, let me break this down for you, buddy.” I emphasized every word with a jab of my hand. “I. Am. Not. A. Prostitute. I don’t know who pissed in your protein shake, but I work as a nurse at Haven Pines, taking care of your grandfather. Something you would know if you had visited even once in the time he’s been here. Your grandpa is a sweet man. He’s funny. He is very charming. When he asked me to join him for dinner, I said yes. As a friend to a lonely old man—” I turned to Arthur. “No offense.”

Arthur only laughed and shrugged. “None taken.”

I turned my attention back to Logan. His brow furrowed, and I ignored the tiny spark that burned low in my belly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to gather what’s left of my pride and go home.” I looked past Logan’s broad shoulders. “Mr. Brown, I will see you tomorrow.” My eyes flicked to a stunned Logan. I breathed deeply and smiled. “It is my sincere hope that I never, ever see you again.”

At my back, Arthur hooted. “You really did it now, kid.”

Logan grumbled something to his grandfather, but I didn’t stick around to hear it. The night had been humiliating enough, and I didn’t need the hottest man I’d ever seen to watch me fall apart.

I was annoyed that my pride could be so easily bruised by a handsome stranger. I should have known better. Men who looked like him meant only trouble.

I would know.

I sailed past Beth, not bothering to say goodbye. It was likely her fault Logan was allowed to disregard the visiting hours.

I considered changing back into my scrubs, but the last thing I needed was to come face-to-face with him again. My eyes flicked to the clock. It was five past seven, and my book club was just starting across town.

My feet ached, the back of my head throbbed from where it hit the table, there was a knot in my shoulder from helping a resident out of bed today, and something pinched beneath my ribs anytime I recalled the dark, annoyed look in Logan’s eyes.

I had to get out of there before I had to face him again.

If nothing else, the Bluebirds would understand.

Oh, yeah . . . I fucked up.

And not just a little. Full-scale, nuclear disaster fucked up. Implying the gorgeous woman who’d been kind enough to have dinner with my grandfather was a hooker? That wasn’t just a red flag—it was an entire marching band of shame parading through my head.

To make things worse, she wasn’t just gorgeous. She was fire. And I’d basically hosed myself down in kerosene.

Based on the fact my grandfather couldn’t stop laughing, I had really fucked up.

I crossed my arms. “It’s not funny.”

My grandfather laughed again. “It’s a little funny.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No, Grandpa, it’s really not.” I gestured toward the door. “I just called that poor nurse a hooker. Twice.”

He smiled. “You’re right. That was bad. MJ is so sweet too.” He clucked his tongue.

I groaned, thinking back to the gorgeous brunette who’d been dining with my grandfather. “Don’t make me feel worse.”

He shrugged and sat in front of his dinner. “You’re the one who made assumptions before getting all the facts.”

I pulled my phone from the pocket of my jeans. “You’re the one who texted me asking how much escorts earn nowadays.”

Around a green bean, he said, “I saw a Dateline episode about sex workers.” His shoulders lifted. “I was curious.”

“Followed up by, and I quote, ‘I have a date tonight and don’t want to be rude.’ I drove over to make sure you weren’t getting taken advantage of or forking over your life savings, only to find a woman under the table.” I looked at him expectantly, and he only took another mindful bite of his dinner.

“You know what? Forget it.” I shook my head. There was no reasoning with him sometimes. Sometimes Arthur Brown just liked to be a shit-stirrer, and I should have seen this coming.

“Maybe you were just jealous I was having dinner with such a pretty girl.” Grandpa waggled his eyebrows, his grin sly.

The image of MJ—the fire in her eyes, the way her dress hugged her curves—lingered longer than it should’ve. It was annoying that my grandfather was partially correct. “That is not true.”

Okay, fine. Maybe it was a little true.

“Who was she?” I finally asked when curiosity got the best of me.

Humor danced in his eyes. “Best nurse they’ve got. She’s sweet and always genuinely interested in the folks around here.” He gestured toward the door. “Not like some of them who make me feel like they can’t wait for me to shut up. MJ’s one of the good ones.”

Guilt rolled over me. I’d been a total prick to someone who’d taken a genuine interest in my favorite person. I looked at my grandpa. “She said she works tomorrow. Maybe I can swing by to apologize.”

He shrugged and rubbed his temple. “Don’t remember. Memory isn’t what it used to be.”

I sat back on my heels and huffed. “Your memory is fine, old man.”

Grandpa winked at me. “Ah, you got me there.” He popped another green bean into his mouth. “You know . . . she goes to a book club every Wednesday night. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to hunt her down to apologize tonight.”

“It sounds a lot less gentlemanly and a lot more stalkery when you use the phrase hunt her down.”

He swatted a hand at me. “They like that nowadays. My friend Greta says the bookish ones are into dark romance.”

I closed my eyes. “Please stop talking.”

He hooted a laugh. “It’s the Bluebird Book Club—downtown Outtatowner. If you hurry, you can still catch her.”

Indecision gnawed at me.

“You can sit here moping, or you can find her. Women love a man who admits he’s an idiot.”

My eyes narrowed on him. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Grandpa shrugged. “Worked on your grandmother. God rest her soul.”

I was embarrassed that I’d assumed MJ was a sex worker—and said that to her face—but who could blame me? It wouldn’t have been the first time my grandfather had pulled some wild shit because he got bored.

Still, I couldn’t get the genuine look of hurt that crossed her pretty face out of my mind. I pulled up the map app on my phone. “What was the name of it again?”

“Attaboy,” my grandfather said. “Bluebird Books.”

When the vague directions to downtown came up, I frowned.

“Go get her, son.” Grandpa chuckled.

With a shake of my head, I left my grandfather behind looking all too pleased with himself.

* * *

Outtatowner was the kind of coastal Michigan town I was familiar with. Having grown up in Western Michigan, it was the kind of place you visited in the summertime, fighting crowds of tourists for a spot on its pristine freshwater beaches.

After high school, my blossoming rugby career had taken me across the country, and it wasn’t often I found myself back in my home state. Still, Michigan had always felt like home.

It was dark, but when I crested a small hill, the downtown strip of Outtatowner came into view. My truck slowed at the four-way stop. Off in the distance, about a half mile down the road, Lake Michigan’s inky waters sparkled in the moonlit darkness. The roadway cut through the quaint little tourist town. Mom-and-pop shops dotted the sides, but nearly all the storefronts were locked up for the night. A bar on the corner had a few patrons coming in and out, but otherwise the town was quiet.

I scanned the app on my phone and noted the bookstore was just ahead. I swung my truck into a parking space, and my heartbeat ticked higher when I saw MJ, still dressed in sky-high heels and a tiny dress, stomping up the sidewalk toward the bookstore.

I didn’t want to scare her, so I called out. “Excuse me!”

Her head whipped around, and her long hair tumbled down her back. When she recognized me, her eyes rolled toward the night sky. “You have got to be kidding me . . .” MJ moved to turn away.

“Wait,” I called out. “Hold up.”

She kept walking toward the bookstore. “Leave me alone.” She yanked open the door, and I caught it with my hand.

“I just want a second.” All I wanted to do was apologize, but the tiny firepot in front of me was making that all but impossible.

Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a dangerous spark in her hazel eyes. A spark I had no right liking as much as I did.

“How dare you follow me!” MJ’s chin was high and her fists were clenched, like she was ready for a fight.

Inside the bookstore the lighting was dim. I followed MJ through the low stacks of books toward the back, where her book club seemed to be meeting. Women of varying ages were sitting in an eclectic assortment of plush seating arrangements.

Their jaws hung open as they watched me follow MJ deeper into the store.

“Relax, Thunder.” A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. “You might hurt yourself if you keep stomping around like that.”

“Thunder?” she shouted, stepping forward. Because I was so much taller, her chin lifted higher, but she didn’t back down.

Oh, I like that.

From the corner of my vision, I noted curious eyes peeking from behind the high backs of the chairs, staring directly at us and soaking up our interaction.

I scoffed and settled on my heels. “Yeah.” I gestured toward her small frame. “You’ve got this whole storm-cloud vibe happening. It’s cute.”

When my gaze floated over her face, I licked my lip.

“Cute?” Fire danced in MJ’s eyes. “You are absolutely unreal. Do you know that? First you skulk around an assisted-living facility—after hours, let me remind you—then you have the balls to insinuate that I’m a—a—a lady of the night!”

I was suddenly tickled by her account of what had happened tonight.

“You been thinking about my balls, Thunder?” Goading her was probably a mistake, but my grandfather’s sense of humor was something I came by honestly. I shifted my stance as a few giggles tittered through the crowd of curious onlookers.

MJ threw her hands in the air with a frustrated growl. “You think this is funny?”

“Not funny. Amusing. There’s a difference.” I sighed. “I came to apologize.” My voice was thick, but I hoped it sounded as sincere as I’d intended.

It was enough to stop MJ mid-rant. Her mouth hung open for a second before she snapped it shut.

Seizing the opportunity, I continued: “I had just gotten into town and wanted to say hello to my grandfather. The girl at the front desk said a quick visit wouldn’t be a problem.”

Her hazel eyes gazed up at me, and I stepped forward, drawn into her space. “Safe to say I was surprised to see a woman who looks like you having a candlelit dinner with my eighty-six-year-old grandfather.”

MJ’s fists clenched again, but the fire in her eyes had dimmed to a low smolder.

“You said your piece then.” An older woman stepped beside MJ, placing a supportive hand between her shoulder blades. “You’ve disrupted our evening enough. Good night.”

I looked around, and a sea of wide eyeballs were staring at us.

My grin widened as I raised my hand. “Hi.” I chuckled and shook my head. The night could not have been more of a disaster. “Bye.”

A few of the women waved back, stunned into a disbelieving stupor.

Before I walked out the front door of the bookstore, something stopped me. I looked back at MJ, who was still as pissed off as ever. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Thunder.”

MJ rolled her eyes with a huff and turned her back to me, walking straight toward her book club friends. “I need a drink.”

You and me both, lady.

Amused, I made my way back to my apartment but couldn’t shake the image of the pink in MJ’s cheeks and the fire in her eyes. That tiny little spitfire was a lot less like a thundercloud and more like a tsunami.

I dropped my keys on the entryway table and plopped myself onto the couch with a huff. My temporary apartment was a few miles from Outtatowner, nestled between it and Star Harbor, another tourist town up the coast. As a kid from a no-name town in Michigan, when my star rose quickly in high school, my mom eagerly followed her only kid around the country. In fact, she and I had moved so much, it was hard to consider anywhere home. Somewhere along the line Mom had gotten tired of all the moving and settled back into our hometown.

I looked around the quiet, lonely apartment.

Just as good a place as any, I guess.

Fuck, I wanted a beer, but the image of my coach frowning popped into my mind. Only a few weeks off our recently successful Olympic run and I was still carrying around his voice in my head.

Apparently, even a gold medal didn’t earn you a break.

A few of my teammates planned to keep up with their training in the World Rugby Sevens—international tournaments used to promote the sport. I’d had every intention to play, but one nasty concussion and a tweaked knee had pulled the plug on that plan. I needed the fall months to focus on a full recovery so I was prepared to show up in February at peak performance.

At thirty-four, I was already hearing the whispers—too old, too broken. Another bad injury and I’d be watching matches from the stands.

I needed focus. Recovery. Quiet.

Instead, I’d gotten thunder in stilettos, glaring at me like I was the worst thing to ever happen to her. And the part that irritated me most? I couldn’t get her out of my head.

All I needed was to focus—any slip could mean losing everything I’d worked for.

Spending the fall and winter in Michigan with my grandfather and playing in a handful of exhibition games would be my life for the next few months until the real season started back up in the spring.

I stared at the clock as a minute, then two, ticked by.

“Fuck it.” I pulled myself up from the couch and padded to the kitchen. When I yanked open the fridge, I made a mental note to head to the grocery store—wilted lettuce and a dozen eggs weren’t going to cut it. I pulled a beer from the untouched six-pack and popped the cap.

With a deep pull and audible exhale, I closed my eyes.

Immediately the image of MJ flashed in my mind. She hovered above me, eyes glazed, mouth lax. Her lush lips taunted me as she looked down at me, her hands bracing her weight on my shoulders.

Damn, that’s good.

I’m pretty sure I was referencing the beer and not the feisty brunette who was haunting my thoughts, but based o. . .