Page 140 of Poet & Protector

“Are you stressed about the union?” I asked. “Do you have a lot going on because of it?”

He glanced at me again, this time with a smirk.

“Concerned about me, Mason?”

I didn’t miss his sarcasm. That was fair. Even if Logan hoped I would someday enjoy his company, he knew I was with him right now because I had to be.

Rather than answer the question, I worked my way around it. “If you’re under pressure and want to talk, I’m happy to listen.”

There we go. Maybe I could be Logan’s nice, sympathetic friend who gave him advice about Keeper stuff like hostile corporate takeovers or regime changes. It might not be helpful advice, since I knew nothing about hostile corporate takeovers or regime changes, but I’d make an effort.

“Hmmm.” Logan kept his eyes on the road, but he smiled. “Maybe we should talk about it, but I’d rather wait until we’re home.”

Not my home, I quickly reassured myself, because hearing him use the word in an inclusive way made me want to cringe. His home was not my home. Not now. Not ever. He already said I wouldn’t be living with him. I didn’t need to worry about it.

“Okay,” I said. “Whatever you like.”

His answer was a quiet, affirmative sound. That was progress. Kind of.

Now that I was pretty sure whatever was bothering him had nothing to do with me, I was curious about what he wanted to talk about.

Maybe it was something personal. Did Keepers have their own version of arranged marriages like Guardians? Logan wouldn’t like that. Maybe all his travel was to set him up with some Keeper heiress.

Not so much fun when it’s you, is it, Logan?

Then again, it could be an issue closer to home. Maybe he was arguing with his father. Efron might not agree with the way Logan planned to rule our pack. Oh man. I hoped it wasn’t about Sabine. The one silver lining of Logan inheriting the Haldis pack was that in our meeting he’d implied he would finally offer her an escape from Efron’s abuse. There was no way Efron would give her up without complaint. He was incredibly possessive of Sabine. I hoped Logan held firm on his promise despite the pressure he’d doubtless get from his father.

I sighed inwardly. That was probably another issue I could help with as long as I kept Logan happy, in the same way he’d suggested it was up to me whether Bryn and Ansel became mates. Damn, it sucked to be in this position.

The best I could hope for was to keep encouraging this vanilla dating/boyfriend approach Logan seemed to be going for. The longer I could drag out what he must view as a kind of traditional courtship, the better.

Logan remained quiet as he drove us into an underground parking garage. I’d been in here last week, but it was still hard not to gape at the millions of dollars’ worth of cars, vintage to modern, muscle to luxury.

We took an elevator—yes, an elevator—from the garage to the ground level of the house. Logan continued to be reticent as we climbed the stairs to the second floor. I trailed after him down the long hall and into his room.

“Close the door behind you.” He threw the comment over his shoulder.

It wasn’t that odd of a request, but something about the way he issued it, like a command, made me uneasy.

Logan took off his coat and hung it over the back of one of the dining chairs. I did the same, figuring it was best to take my cues from him. When he toed off his shoes and kicked them out of the way, so did I.

He walked over to a built-in shelf and fiddled with something that turned out to be a stereo, because a moment later music poured into the room from surround sound speakers. The music he put on was a dark, industrial mix of electronic and rock with throbbing bass lines and heavy drums; slow beats with lots of reverb. The sound was reminiscent of Eden, but at half speed. I wasn’t fond of the way it evoked unpleasant memories.

I busied myself by settling onto the couch and unpacking my bag. We’d used this space and the coffee table to finish our homework last time.

Logan turned away from the stereo but leaned against the wall rather than coming over to the couch to join me.

“Did you have a good day, Mason?” he asked. His arms were folded across his chest, his posture undeniably hostile.

“It was fine,” I replied, frowning at him.

“Did anything happen I should know about?”

“Not that I can think of.”

Okay, this was just as weird as when he was being nice. Was it some new kind of mind game he wanted to play? I was having a hard time keeping up.

I stood and walked toward him. Maybe he was pretending to be withdrawn because he wanted me to coax him into some kind of bonding moment. God, this was confusing.