Chapter 2 – The Meet

Logan’s POV

The barracks never felt this empty. Hell, even my condo feels too quiet lately—white walls, expensive leather couch, TV on mute. And me? I’m stretched across the bed with my phone glowing in my hand like it’s the only thing that matters.

Her name lights my screen. Aria.

She’s not like the others. Most women on these apps fire off selfies, or nudes if I push. Aria? She makes me chase. Smart comebacks. Teasing that cuts and strokes in the same breath. Half the time I’m grinning like an idiot, the other half I’m hard as fuck.

Her latest message pops up:

Aria: You talk like a man who gets in trouble often.

Me: Baby, trouble is my middle name. Want proof?

Aria: I’m afraid to ask.

Me: I once let a woman drive my Harley. And she didn’t even have her license.

Aria: Reckless.

Me: Worth it. She wore a red dress and no panties.

I smirk at the ceiling. She takes longer than usual to reply, and I imagine her biting that lush bottom lip she tries to play off as casual.

Then it pings.

Aria: You’re impossible.

Me: You love it. Admit it, princess.

Aria: Don’t flatter yourself, soldier boy.

Me: I don’t flatter. I observe. You like dangerous men. You like me.

Her typing dots flicker, vanish. Reappear. She’s hesitating again. Always keeping me at arm’s length. Like she wants me but something’s holding her back.

Me: Tell you what. Two months of this back-and-forth, and I’m done waiting. Let’s meet. Dinner. Wine. A little trouble after if you’re brave enough.

Pause. Long pause.

I rake a hand through my hair. Christ, she’s beautiful, but she’s got walls like a fortress. And me? I want to climb them, kick them down, whatever it takes.

Finally:

Aria: I don’t know if that’s a good idea.

I frown, sitting up.

Me: What, you scared I’m not as good in person?

Aria: Maybe I just like you better in messages.

Me: Bullshit. You want me. I can feel it through the damn screen. So what’s the problem?

Typing. Stopping. Deleting. Starting again. She’s wrestling with something.

Then her reply:

Aria: Just… let me think about it, Logan.

I toss the phone on my chest, jaw tight. I don’t buy it. She wants me, she just doesn’t want me close. And I’m not letting that slide.

Her last words still burn on my screen.

Just… let me think about it, Logan.

I don’t let women waste my time. Life’s too short, and I’ve already had too much stolen from me. So I leave it. Drop the phone on my chest. Try to ignore the gnawing itch crawling under my skin.

I last ten minutes. Maybe less. Then the phone vibrates.

Aria.

My pulse spikes as I swipe it open.

Aria: Okay. Dinner. One night. That’s it.

Me: You say that like you’ll want to stop at one.

Aria: Don’t get cocky. I’ll send you the place.

A second later, the address flashes across my screen.

Not here. Not even my city. She picked somewhere else, a slick little rooftop spot in the next town over. Neutral ground. I see her play clear as day—control. Distance. She thinks that makes her safer.

I grin, sharp and wolfish. Baby girl has no idea.

The next evening, I’m on the road.

My truck eats up the highway, engine growling, headlights cutting through the dark. I don’t mind the drive; the hum of the wheels is better than the silence of my condo, better than the nightmares waiting when I close my eyes. At least this feels like a mission. Clear target. Clear objective.

And the objective? A woman who’s been under my skin for weeks.

By the time the city skyline rises against the evening sky, it feels like adrenaline before a firefight. My blood’s up, restless, hungry. I’ve got one thing on my mind tonight, and she’s waiting inside a fancy rooftop bar.

Aria.

Two months of late-night texts, dirty jokes, the kind of banter that left me grinning in the dark like a fool. And now I’m about to meet her for real.

I park, kill the engine, take a second. My reflection in the rearview stares back—black T-shirt, leather jacket, dog tags. Military neat, bad boy edge. Exactly who I am.

“Relax, soldier,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “She already wants you.”

Still, my pulse is punching harder than it should as I head inside.

The bar smells like money—aged whiskey, leather booths, designer perfume. I scan the crowd, hunting. And then—

There.

Back to me, standing at the bar. Slim figure. Red dress hugging every curve like it was stitched for her alone. Black hair pinned up to show off the kind of neck you want your mouth on. She’s tall, poised, untouchable.

My grin spreads. That’s her. Has to be.

I stride over, confidence in every step, slide a hand around her waist and spin her gently toward me. “Well, well. Look what the universe served up—”

And my words cut. My smile falters.

She’s gorgeous—no denying it. Elegant, striking, the kind of beauty money can’t buy. But she’s older. Lines at the corners of her eyes, a maturity you don’t fake.

Not twenty-five. Not even close.

The laugh dies in my throat. “You’re not twenty-five.”

Her eyes widen, lips part, but no sound comes.

I step back, jaw tight. My chest feels like someone just cold-clocked me. “What the hell is this? You’ve been lying to me for a month?”

Conflict

“Logan, please,” she says quickly, voice soft but desperate. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to?” I cut her off, heat flaring in my voice. “You used a fake picture. You let me believe you were someone else. That’s catfishing, Aria.”

Her cheeks flush. She looks around, like the whole bar is listening. “It was stupid. I know. I just—”

“You just what?” I snap. “Wanted to see if you could reel me in? Test the waters before telling me you’re old enough to—” I stop myself, biting back harsher words.

Her eyes shimmer, hurt flashing there. “I wanted to feel wanted again. Is that a crime?”

It hits like a sucker punch, but my pride’s louder than my sympathy.

“You should’ve been honest,” I growl. “You don’t fuck with people like that. You don’t fuck with me like that.”

She flinches, just barely. And God help me, it makes me want to hurt her worse.

Before she can answer, a bubbly brunette waitress appears at my side, balancing cocktails on a tray. “Hey there—are you two ready to order?”

I don’t even hesitate. I flash her a smile, the kind that’s gotten me into and out of trouble more times than I can count. “Depends, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

She giggles. “Maya.”

“Maya,” I repeat, tasting it. “Tell me you’ve got something stronger than what’s on that menu. Maybe your number?”

Aria stiffens beside me. I watch Aria out of the corner of my eye. Her grip tightens on her clutch, knuckles white, her mouth trembling like she’s swallowing words that might shatter her.

The waitress blushes, scribbles something on the corner of her pad, slides it onto the table. “Maybe I do.” She winks and flits off.

I pick up the slip, twirl it between my fingers, grinning like I don’t care who sees.

“Logan…” she says softly. Not angry. Not cold. Just… broken.

Aria’s eyes blaze. She stands, spine straight, dignity sharp as a blade. “Enjoy your drink, Logan. And your waitress.”

“Aria—”

But she’s already walking away, red dress cutting through the crowd like fire.

I watch her disappear into the night, chest tight, ego burning, pride screaming.

And all I can think is—fuck.

Because even though she lied, even though she made me feel like a fool…

I still want her.

To Be Continued…