by Jay McLean
Two weeks ago, I found a bike on the curb in front of a house I pass on the way to work. It had a sign that read “Free to a good home.” I can’t exactly say that my home is “good,” but I took the bike anyway, left a note in the mailbox letting the previous owners know that I appreciated it. I really did. It was probably manufactured sometime before I was born, but hey—beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, it has a basket on the handlebars that can hold my groceries. Which means that I can buy ingredients for dinner more than just a day in advance. Seriously, I’m so weak I can’t even carry groceries. I remember what Lucy said about needing a man, and I smile to myself as I press down on the button that lifts the garage door. Gripping the handlebars, I wheel the bike out, then press the button again. While I wait for it to lower, I get out my phone, ignore Logan’s texts (not thinking about him) and change Rory to Lucy.
I send her a text:
Aubrey: Thanks for the orgy last night. Dinner wasn’t bad either.
Lucy: OMG! Lol. That was so fun. We should definitely do it again. This time, I’ll bring the butt plugs.
Aubrey: Sweet. I found a great deal on Amazon for a sex swing. Shall I?
Lucy: No. We already have one. We forgot to bring it out. (Not kidding)
Aubrey: OMG! I’m actually not at all surprised.
Lucy: Hey—come by the store tomorrow, okay? I have a list of books I want to lend you.
Lucy: …if you want to read them. No pressure.
Aubrey: I’d love that! Thank you so much.
Lucy: You like romance, right?
Aubrey: I love the idea of romance, sure.
Lucy: Logan wants to know why you haven’t responded to his texts.
Sigh.
Because I’m too clingy.
Too needy.
I pocket the phone and take my time peddling toward “downtown.” I stop by my shop, look at it from the outside: large windows, brick walls, enough stationery to last a lifetime. I make a mental note to study product display and merchandising when I get home. And, maybe if I have time, look at opening an online store. Entering the inventory would be insane, but at least I might sell something.
The town is dead on Sundays, besides the few stragglers. I worked this out after opening on Sundays for the first three weeks and not having a single customer.
The grocery store is the same on the inside as it is on the outside. There’s one register open, and I’m pretty sure the old lady behind the counter is asleep. I take a basket from the few they have by the entrance and pull out my list. Then I take my time perusing each aisle, because really? What else is there to do? I don’t see a single person on my walk, and I wonder if everyone is at church. Is church an all-day thing? I’ve never been to church besides three weddings and a funeral (a horrible movie, FYI). I grab everything I need and then head for the freezer section, contemplating whether or not ice cream is a suitable dinner. Fuck yeah, it is. There’s a guy standing at the floor freezer—a guy I hadn’t noticed before—and I slow my steps. Is the ice cream freezer in a grocery store like the men’s urinals? Is it weird if I stand too close? Should I come back? What is ice-cream freezer etiquette? My feet carry me to the other side of the freezer. This seems safe. Less awkward.
The guy looks up, smiles a half smile. He’s probably my age, maybe older, and he’s cute. In that quiet, unassuming way. Not at all like the boy I’m not thinking about.
Chewing my lip, I eye the tubs of ice cream as if they’re a work of art.
The guy hasn’t left, hasn’t made a move to open the sliding door and pick one out.
I glance up, catch him staring at me.
I drop my gaze, try to hide my blush.
“Are you new?” he asks.
“Apparently,” I laugh out.
“Sorry.” I look up to see him shaking his head. “It’s just that I haven’t seen you around before. Where are you staying?”
“Asks the stalker serial killer.”
He chuckles, short and deep. “Sorry,” he says again. “Is it less stalkerish if I ask where you’re coming from?”
I nod. “Raleigh.”
“I live in Raleigh,” he says, thumb pointed to his chest. “Well, sort of. I’m studying at NC State. Living in the dorms.”
“That’s cool. You home for the weekend?”
“Yeah. I don’t get—”
“Dude,” a familiar voice says, and I cringe at the sound. “They finally brought in flavored condoms!” Logan’s walking toward us, his gaze fixed on the back of the packaging. “Mint flavored for extra stimulation,” he reads. Then he looks up, sees me standing there. A cocky smile splits his face in two. “Hey, Red.”
“You know each other?” the guy asks.
Logan raises his eyebrows at me, as if he’s waiting for me to either confirm or deny. I press my lips together.
“I didn’t catch your name?” the guy says.
“Aubrey.”
“Aubrey, huh? Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
“Shut up,” says Logan.
“Hey,” I interrupt. “He can tell me I’m pretty if he wants. It’s not like anyone else does.”
Ugh. Needy. Clingy.
Logan glares at me. “You don’t need anyone telling you you’re pretty, Red.”
The guy chuckles. “I’m Leo.” He thumps the back of Logan’s head. “This punk’s older brother.”
I ask Logan, “Are you related to everyone here?”
Logan readjusts his hat, ignores my question. “Our parents had me because they failed so badly with him.”
Leo shakes his head, focuses his smile on me. “So maybe we can get together sometime, and you can tell me all the good places in Raleigh to see.”
“That sounds—”
“Like a giant fucking snore fest,” Logan cuts in, and Leo’s laughing, silent.
“Call it,” Leo says. I assume he’s talking to Logan because I have no idea what that means.
“This isn’t high school, Lee. I’m not calling shit.”
Leo winks at me, pulls out his phone. “What’s your number, Aubrey? I’ll call you la—”
Logan interrupts, “Let’s get this ice cream and leave.”
Leo says, “I haven’t picked one out yet.”
Without looking, Logan slides the door open, picks out a tub, and slams it against Leo’s chest.
Leo laughs again.
“There,” says Logan. “Now we have one. Let’s go.”
Leo takes the ice cream, glances down at it. “Do you have a death wish?”
“What?” Logan looks as confused as I feel.
“This is Peanut Buttah Cookie Core.”
Logan groans.
Leo looks at me. “So, your number?”
Logan slams the tub of ice cream back in the freezer, picks up another one. “Let’s go.”
“Call it,” Leo tells him. “Or I call her.”
Logan turns his back to me, his shoulders squared.
After a second, Leo’s smile takes up half his face. “I’m sorry, little bro. I couldn’t hear you. What’d you say?”
Logan shakes his head. “Dibs! Okay? I call dibs!”
I frown on the outside, fist pump on the inside. “What the hell, dude! I’m not property,” I say, the same time Leo teeters on his heels, smiles over at me.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Aubrey. Have a pleasant day.”
And then they’re both walking away, Leo laughing, Logan attempting to trip him over with his foot.
I go back to existing, wishing I had a marketing team similar to Ben and Jerry’s because the names for these ice creams are—
A hand tugs on my sleeve, and I follow it up to Logan’s chest. “Hey,” he says.
I meet his eyes. “What’s up?”
“This.” And then he’s kissing me, both hands on my face, forcing me to rise to my toes and release my basket. He’s everywhere around me, inside of me. My eyes open the second I feel him pulling back, but his eyes stay closed a second longer.
I kiss him one more time. Quickly. And his lips lift at the corners. “You need a ride home?” he asks.
I shake my head, breathless.
“Sure?”
“I rode here.”
His eyebrow quirks. “On a bike?”
“No. On my gigolo.”
He laughs. “We can put it in the back of my truck. The bike or your gigolo.”
“I’m good,” I tell him. “Honestly, I could do with the exercise.”
He smirks. “Your stamina seems fine to me.” He kisses me again, this time slower, softer, more powerful. He has my back against the freezer, his hands in my hair, my hands wherever they land as long as they land on him.
“Oi!” the store clerk shouts at us.
Logan pulls away, adjusts my clothes, keeps the smile on his beautiful face.
The old lady behind the counter yells, “Quit groping the poor girl, you damn Preston Punk.”
Logan rolls his eyes. “She was groping me!”
I look over at her and nod enthusiastically. “I was totally groping him!”
Logan chuckles, runs his finger along my palm. He doesn’t hold my hand, but he comes pretty damn close. “I’ll see you later?”
“Okay.”
And then I spend the rest of the day failing at my task of not thinking about Logan Preston.
14
Logan
Some people hate Mondays. I actually don’t mind them. Fridays are the hardest to get through, because everything is so close, yet so far. Lucas, my oldest brother, calls me a functioning stoner. I’m not. I don’t smoke during the week. I make up for all that non-smoking between Friday and Sunday. He stopped making me piss in a cup when I stopped caring that they came out positive. My dad stopped trying to lecture me, as long as I somewhat function.
Working helps with that—the functioning—more than he probably knows.
On Monday mornings, my dad, Lucas, Brian (Dad’s head foreman, aka Laney’s dad, aka my boss) and Cameron (the Gordon in Preston, Gordon and Sons, who also happens to be an architect) have meetings before the work day begins. Six a.m., they’d sit down together at the diner and talk about the work schedule for the rest of the week. A few weeks ago, Dad asked if I wanted to join them. It may not have been a big deal for him (considering I’m part of the Sons that makes up Preston, Gordon and Sons), but it meant something to me. I don’t allow myself high hopes of taking over his role in the business, and I don’t want it—that’s all Lucas, and that suits everyone. Luke’s got that business sense in him. I don’t know shit. But, I wouldn’t mind taking over Brian’s job when he retires. It’d be tough, being the youngest on the job and expecting the same respect, but honestly, I think I could do it. If Leo hadn’t gone off to college, he would’ve been client relations, for sure. He’s good with people. Shows respect even when respect isn’t earned. I’d both suck and blow at that job. The twins have no plans of joining the family business, and besides, they make more money than I do on YouTube views alone. Punks. Lachlan… I can’t even think of Lachlan beyond his current age. The kid’s growing up way too quick. I wish he’d slow down, stay a kid forever… for everyone’s sake.
“So, we should be finishing up on the site on Fifth tomorrow, which means the Baker site should be ready to go first thing Wednesday,” Dad says, then looks up from his compendium. He should really go digital like I’ve been trying to show him for years, but he’s old-school, and I respect that. “Lucas, can you organize new portables for the Baker site for Tuesday morning, that way Logan can get in and set up all the equipment ready to go for Wednesday.”
“Yes, sir,” Lucas says, typing away on his laptop.
Dad asks me, “You need anything for the setup?”
I sip on my coffee, shake my head. “I got it.”
Lucas looks over his laptop screen at me. “You aren’t taking notes.”
I tap my temple. “Set up computer equipment in portable office on Tuesday. Got it.”
“What about passwords and—”
“Lucas,” Dad interrupts. “If Logan says he’s got it, then he’s got it.” Dad’s the only one who seems to have any faith left in The Family Fuck Up: me. I wonder if it’s a father-son thing. Like, our shared blood is the only reason he still believes in me. But then again, Lucas and I share that blood, and he treats me like a dumbass. Can’t blame him. I am a dumbass. A self-deprecating one, apparently.
The meeting goes on; Cameron giving us timelines for drawings, Dad and Brian talking about the roster.
I pull out my phone, send Aubrey a message:
Logan: I had a dream about your boobs last night.
Aubrey: I hate my boobs, and I’m asleep. Why are you up so early?
Logan: I’m in a work meeting.
Aubrey: Thinking about my boobs?
Logan: I like your boobs.
Aubrey: They’re too small.
Logan: I like your boobs, Red.
Aubrey: …
Logan: And your nipples.
Aubrey: I’m going back to sleep.
Logan: They remind me of cookies.
Aubrey: My nipples?
Logan: Your boobs and your nipples. Together. They remind me of Subway cookies… the strawberry and white chocolate chip ones.
Aubrey: Really? My boyfriend says they’re too small. Not proportioned to the rest of me. He says he likes me better from behind.
Logan: *Ex-boyfriend. Also see: Motherfucker. *Said/used to say. *Liked… Unless you’re still talking to him, in which case, I’ll kill him.
On the screen, three little dots appear, showing that she’s typing. They disappear. Appear. Over and over. A whole minute passes before I get her response.
Aubrey: When are you coming over again to eat my cookies?
I laugh.
Logan: Friday.
“Logan,” Dad says. “Focus, son.”
I shove my phone in my pocket. “Sorry.”
Halfway through the work day, Dad calls another “managers’ meeting.” Niall, an old-timer on Dad’s crew, finds it necessary to announce everyone’s entrance onto the site by shouting their name three times. Like a warning siren. Only he doesn’t use our real names. Dad is Bossman. Brian is Big Man. Lucas is Junior Boss Man. Laney (when she comes on site) used to be Baby Big Man. That changed when she and Lucas (finally) started going out. Now she’s Junior Boss Lady. Cameron is Suit.
“Suit! Suit! Suit!” Niall shouts. His warnings used to annoy me when I first started. Now, it’s kind of cute. Like, old man cute, you know? I don’t know what he actually does on the job. I haven’t seen him with a tool in his hand yet. I’m pretty sure Dad just keeps him on to help him out. Plus, Mrs. Niall provides lunch for everyone at least three times a week. That’s always a bonus.
Cameron offers Niall a lip tilt, then walks over to me, already loosening his tie. Unless he’s in a meeting or taking measurements or talking to clients on-site, he normally works in his office above Lucy’s bookstore. He meets with clients a lot. I guess that’s why he’s stuck wearing a suit and tie. Sucks for him. “You coming?” he asks.
“Where?”
“To the meeting.”
“It’s a managers’ meeting.”
He’s on his phone before I know what’s happening. “Hey, sir.” He still calls my dad sir. Not Tom, not Dad, not Mr. Preston. Sir. “You want Logan in on this?” I don’t hear Dad’s response, but Cam nods, jerks his head toward Dad’s office. I guess since I’ve started sitting in on the meetings, I’m now management.
Rad.
I don’t mean to walk with a swagger in my step, my head held high, like I’m fricken royalty, but it feels good. Luke and Brian are already in Dad’s office, leaning against the wall, and another guy sits in the chair opposite Dad, facing him. If they asked me in here to fire someone… but then the guy turns around and it’s Garray, aka Dumb Name, Luke’s best friend.
“What’s up?” he says, standing up to slap my back, kick the back of my knee. He and Luke have been friends si
nce I can remember, so it’s no surprise he treats me like a brother. He does the same for Cameron, minus the kick, then sits back down opposite Dad.
I lean against the now closed door, Cameron next to me. There are too many people in such a small space, and the air already feels thick. I say, “Aren’t you supposed to be in your fifth year of college?”
Dumb Name looks over his shoulder at me. “I deferred.”
“You mean dropped out.”
“Shut up, Logan,” says everyone.
Dumb Name looks to my father. “You heard they closed down the tile plant, right?”
Dad nods. Then his eyes widen. “How’s your mother?”
“That’s actually why I’m here,” Dumb Name says. “Ma—she’s been having a hard time trying to find a job. She’s worked there all her life, and now she’s too under-qualified for anything. So, I deferred,” he says, the final word directed at my smart-ass, “to help her out with the rent and stuff.” I feel like an asshole. “I know it’s not the same as working for you over a few summers, but if you got any positions—”
“Can you start today?” Dad cuts in.
