Wild

by Sophie Jordan

  Eventually, he started watching it, too. Asking questions. We slid to the center of the futon, our shoulders touching as I caught him up on the various plot lines running through the movie.

  “So they don’t even speak the same language at all?” he asked, pointing to the couple on the screen. “That’s just wacked.”

  I shook my head. “No, that’s the beautiful thing about it. They fall in love anyway. They’re in sync without even knowing what the other one is saying.”

  I glanced from the TV and back at him as I was explaining, freezing when I caught the curious way he was looking at me. “You’re a romantic.”

  My cheeks flushed at the almost tender way he looked at me.

  I shrugged. “Me and every other girl.”

  He shook his head. “No. You’d be surprised how many girls don’t care about romance. Or love.” And then I remembered this was a guy who spent a lot of time at a kink club. I remembered his baseball game, too. The girls shrieking his name like he was some kind of teen heartthrob. Did they see him at all? Or just some hot jock with all the college scouts after him? A piece of meat they wanted to taste. Yeah, maybe Logan didn’t have a lot of experience with girls who believed in love and romance.

  I turned back to the movie, uncomfortable with these thoughts and realizing I hadn’t been that different from those girls in the beginning either. I hadn’t seen beyond his good looks and reputation. “You want a drink? Snack?”

  “I could eat.”

  I went in the kitchen and popped some popcorn. Tucking a couple cans of soda under my arm, I returned with a big bowl.

  We sat back on the couch and continued to watch the movie, munching on popcorn and chatting, covering a wide range of subjects. From why husbands always cheat with the secretary to why girls loved guys with British accents.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I insisted.

  “Oh. Come on. You can’t tell me that if I opened my mouth and started talking like Prince Harry girls wouldn’t drop—”

  “You’re not a proper test case. Girls drop their panties now when you open your mouth,” I accused.

  “Not every girl,” he shot back, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully at me.

  “Oh!” I blew out an outraged breath and tossed a handful of popcorn in his face.

  Chuckling, he grabbed a handful and hurled the stuff back at me. Buttery popcorn pelted me and my laugh twisted into a loud, indelicate pig snort.

  At the sound, I clapped and hand over my mouth and nose.

  “Oh, that’s nice.” He threw back his head, the tendons in his throat working as a deep belly laugh rumbled up from him.

  I plucked a piece from my hair and flicked it at him.

  His hand shot out and walked along my ribs. “C’mon. Do you always snort when you laugh. Let’s hear that again.”

  I looked down at his hand and back at his face, arching an eyebrow. “Sorry. I’m not ticklish.”

  “What?” He looked at me like I was crazy. “Everyone is ticklish.”

  “Nope. Not me. I’m an anomaly. It’s a freak genetic trait. My mother isn’t ticklish either.”

  “I bet you are,” he insisted, looking knowing and smug. And sexy as hell.

  I shrugged and shook my head. “Nope.”

  His eyes narrowed on me. “Well, let’s see then.”

  I held out my arms, inviting him to tickle me again. “Go ahead. I won’t laugh.”

  He stroked his chin, considering me for a moment like he was trying to decide his strategy.

  “Come on,” I taunted.

  “What do I get if I make you laugh?”

  “You can sleep in the bed.” His eyes darkened and a flock of butterflies took off in my belly. I quickly added, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Well, that would be kind of dick of me.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Ohh.” He shook his head. “It’s on. Prepare to laugh.”

  His fingers started at my ribs again and then drifted under my arms. Nothing. Well, nothing except that flock of butterflies in my belly got so seriously out of hand that I suddenly thought I might puke.

  His wide eyes fixed on me with awe. “You’re not human.”

  A burst of laughter escaped me and I held up a finger. “That didn’t count.”

  He moved his head side to side as if deciding. “Debatable, but okay.” His fingers hovered clawlike over me.

  I clenched my teeth, waiting for his touch again.

  “I’ve got a new tactic.” He gripped the hem of my shirt and tugged it up.

  I squeaked and grabbed his hand, stopping him.

  “C’mon. Don’t be a prude. I can’t really tickle you properly through your shirt. That’s an unfair advantage for you.”

  “You sure you’re not trying to get me naked?”

  It was his turn to look offended. “I don’t resort to manipulation to get girls naked.”

  Sighing, I released my death grip on his hand. “Fine. It still won’t work though. You’ll see.”

  He pushed my shirt up, stopping just below my bra. He stared at my bare stomach for a moment, holding one finger aloft.

  “Go on,” I said tightly.

  He flicked me an annoyed glance. “Patience. I’m trying a different approach.”

  That finger landed in the center of my stomach, feather soft. He dragged the blunt-nailed tip down, then up and around. His other fingers joined in. So slow and barely there that a chill ran down my spine. My breathing grew harsh, a hoarse rasp, and I squeezed my thighs together against a familiar ache. This was so not a good idea.

  He looked up at me from hooded eyes, braced over me like some sort of hungry beast. At least that’s how I felt. Like someone about to be devoured.

  “Nothing?”

  I shook my head, afraid to speak.

  He clucked his tongue. “That’s too bad. I guess I lose.”

  A ragged breath shuddered past my lips. My right hand dug into the side of the futon like I was hanging on for dear life. Only he didn’t move away. No. His fingers continued to work a lazy pattern over my quivering skin.

  I looked from his face to his hand, strong and tan, so much darker against the peaches hue of my skin.

  He traced a fingertip over my belly, his expression intent and serious. Like he was doing important work.

  I wasn’t even close to giggling. That was the furthest possibility. Moaning would be more probable. Begging him to keep touching? Check. Pleading with him to move his hand lower? Double check.

  He bent his head and fixed his gaze on the flesh above my navel, moving his finger in a deliberate, precise manner.

  My stomach muscles contracted and quivered. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “Writing my name.”

  And then I felt the letters there. His name written on my skin. L-O-G-A-N. As though he’d just marked me. Branded me for life. Yeah. Fitting, I supposed. That’s how I felt right now.

  Poised above me, he relaxed his hand, lowering it to my stomach, splaying each finger wide against me. He lifted his gaze to my face, his stare deep and penetrating, the pupils hardly discernible against the dark blue of his eyes.

  A muscle feathered in his cheek and I realized he was holding himself in check. Restraining himself above me. One word. One move and we would pick up right where we left off outside the kink club. He’d told me it was on me. All I had to do was say the word if I wanted this to happen between us. I just needed to open my mouth . . .

  “I have to get up early,” I blurted.

  He hesitated and then removed his hand. Settling back on the futon, he was relaxed and at ease again. “Then we better go to bed.”

  “Yeah.” I grabbed the bowl of popcorn and swept into the kitchen with it. When I turned he had stripped off his shirt, treating me to the familiar, mo
uth-watering sight of his chest again.

  I hurried past the futon and into the bathroom. Staring at my reflection, I brushed out my hair until it crackled and shone. My brown eyes looked both tired and exhilarated beneath my dark brows. This was the third night in one week that I had stayed up so late. My eyes looked bloodshot. And yet there was a flush to my skin and I was breathing hard.

  “Get a grip,” I whispered to myself. Shaking my head, I made quick work of brushing my teeth. Taking a final look at myself in the mirror, I stepped out into the dark apartment.

  “Need me to turn on the light?” Logan asked, his disembodied voice drifting from the futon.

  “I can get to the bed.” I made my way without mishap to the bed.

  Once under the covers, I curled onto my side and strained my ears for the sound of Logan stirring on the futon.

  Clearing my throat, I called out. “Good night, Logan.”

  “Good night, Pearls.”

  My chest squeezed at the nickname. For some reason it didn’t annoy me at all. Not tonight. It felt more like an endearment. I brought my knees to my chest, curling into a tight ball and biting down hard on the fleshy pad of my thumb, fighting the urge to invite Logan into bed with me.

  It was going to be a long night.

  By some miracle, my exhaustion won out and I fell asleep, waking again to an empty apartment.

  I sat up in the bed, blinking my eyes in the morning light and staring at the futon, seeing Logan there as he was last night, desperately trying to tickle me, tracing his name on me like some painter immortalizing his name forever on a piece of art.

  My hand drifted to my stomach, convinced I still felt his name there.

  Chapter 10

  MAY SLIPPED INTO JUNE and summer arrived.

  Logan didn’t ask to crash at the apartment anymore, and I tried not to wonder why. According to the shift schedule, he was still working. He just wasn’t knocking on my door at the end of the night. Maybe it got too weird that night he wrote his name on my skin. Despite the chemistry between us, I wasn’t going to sleep with him. Maybe he decided he already had one female friend and didn’t need another one. I did force him to watch a chick flick and then sleep on a bumpy futon. Whatever the case, the days passed without any more encounters and I told myself it was for the best.

  With the advent of summer, I didn’t need a jacket in the evenings anymore. Not that I was out too much at night. The mornings were still chilly though when I stepped outside Mulvaney’s into the smoky blue predawn for my morning runs. But by the time I finished my newly amended route that cut through a nearby park rather than campus, I was sweating and the crisp air felt good on my skin.

  I developed a new summer routine. After my runs, I showered and headed to campus. I worked in the library through the afternoon. Usually by myself. I hadn’t seen Gillian since our first meeting. Sometimes Connor would join me, although he wasn’t tasked with compiling statistics. I didn’t mind his company. Working on research was a solitary task, and his presence kept me from getting lonely. There were several more coffee dates at the Java Hut, and I guess they were dates because he always paid.

  I was usually home before dark. Lame existence, I knew. What twenty-year-old was in bed by ten? That was probably why I agreed when Connor asked me to dinner and a movie. To save me from total, utter lameness.

  It was nice. Nice to be out with someone with similar interests. Even if all we ever talked about was Dr. Chase’s research project and mutual classes we’d both taken and his grad program and what I might do after graduation. So very adult. So very boring. Nothing like Logan, who said outrageous things that made my face burn fire. But who needed that?

  I knew going out with Connor on a Friday night was a risk. I had timed most of my comings and goings around when Logan was working so we didn’t have to run into each other. The shift schedule was conveniently posted on a wall in the kitchen, and after I agreed to the date I had checked and seen that Logan was working that night. It had taken sheer willpower not to reschedule with Connor. I refused to be that big of a coward. So what if I saw him again? He wouldn’t try anything. He’d made that much clear. Not unless I expressly invited him, and that so wasn’t going to happen.

  Mulvaney’s parking lot was packed. I knew it would be on a Friday night. As Connor pulled up to the curb and peered through the window at the rowdy line snaking out the back door, he looked concerned. “Want me to walk you in?”

  “No, it’s fine. I can squeeze through.”

  “You sure? I don’t mind.”

  “I’m fine. Once I’m inside it’s a short walk to the kitchen and no one can go in there except staff. The door to my loft is in the back of the kitchen.” At his still dubious expression, I added, “It’s safe. Promise.”

  His gaze flickered to mine, the brown eyes softening. “I had a really good time, Georgia.”

  “Me, too.” I nodded, hating this part. The awkward good-night. Would he kiss me? Did I want him to? He must have read something in my demeanor because he settled back in his seat without making the dreaded move. “I’ll text you.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks for tonight.”

  When I opened the car door, all the sounds that had been muffled were suddenly amplified. It was like diving into a pool of voices and activity as I pushed through the back line.

  “Hey!” one girl exclaimed. “No cuts. We’re waiting.”

  I ignored her and kept moving until I spotted the familiar face of Chris, one of the bouncers checking IDs at the door.

  He waved me through, snapping at people to get out of my way and let me pass.

  “Thanks,” I said loudly over the din. He nodded and flashed me a smile.

  I continued ahead, trying to hurry toward the kitchen, but there were a lot of people crowded around the counter, ready to place their orders, and they were very protective of their space, glaring at me like I was trying to cut ahead of them in line.

  I felt out of place in my maxi dress. It was sleeveless, held up only by tiny halter straps that wrapped around my neck.

  Good for a date, but not exactly what one wore to a bar, and I felt that keenly in the lingering looks I was getting.

  “Excuse me,” I said to a trio of guys who blocked my path to the hatch door in the counter that I needed to reach. They all wore baseball caps and their faces were flushed from beer and heat.

  They stopped talking and looked down at me.

  “I’m trying to get through,” I explained, pointing beyond them as though that would help make them understand.

  The taller guy in the group pointed to his chest. “Through us?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Excuse me,” I said again.

  “What will you give me?”

  I blinked.

  He pushed back his cap, revealing sweaty dark hair at the crown of his head. “Yeah. You gotta pay a toll.”

  I laughed nervously.

  I was about to start my third year of college. I’d been to plenty of bars. Been hit on by drunk guys. However, I was usually in the company of Emerson or Pepper or Suzanne. And usually it was Emerson’s mouth that did the talking—telling guys like this off.

  “Come on, guys,” I coaxed. “I’m not cutting in line. I just need to get to the kitchen.”

  He looked at his buddies and cocked his head as if considering my request. “Maybe just a kiss?”

  His friends laughed.

  Anger flashed through me. Who was he to make demands of me? I get that some other girl with a few beers in her might not have minded the attention. She would probably be happy to play his game, but I wasn’t one of them.

  He leaned down until our faces were on level. “Come on. Give me some sugar.”

  I clenched my jaw, tempted to take a swing at that face with those puckering fish lips. My fingers curled into a fist, ready to take a swing at his ruddy,
perspiring features. “Get out of my way.”

  Then suddenly he was out of my face. Logan was there, stepping around me. He shoved Fish Lips hard against the shoulder and knocked him off balance. The guy staggered. Clearly the alcohol didn’t help his equilibrium.

  Regaining his footing, he came back at Logan with a double-handed shove.

  Logan stood his ground, hardly budging from the force. He stared Fish Lips down, indifferent to the two guys on either side of him who suddenly looked ready for a fight. I licked my lips and glanced around to see if help was coming from any of the other bouncers. Three to one weren’t the best odds.

  And then Fish Lips’s gaze flicked to the Mulvaney’s logo on Logan’s shirt, clearly recognizing him as staff. Some of the tension ebbed from him as he demanded, “What the fuck, man?”

  Some of the fight went out of his buddies, too. They no longer looked ready to jump Logan.

  Fish Lips went into instant restrained-pissed-guy mode, puffing out his chest and practically standing on his tiptoes to match Logan’s six-feet-plus frame. “What’s your problem?”

  Logan jerked his thumb in the direction of the back door. “You can take your boys and go for the night.”

  “You’re kicking us out, man?”

  “Harassing girls is something we frown on, man.”

  Fish Lips looked ready to argue, his hands flexing open and shut at his sides.

  One of Fish Lips’s friends clapped him on the back. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Come back in here and harass any girl again and you’ll be blacklisted from Mulvaney’s,” Logan added.

  Fish Lips snarled as he started walking away with his boys, his body twisting beneath their hands. “Like I’d ever step foot in this shit hole again.”

  I turned an uncertain gaze on Logan.

  He was staring at me unwaveringly. That stare alone made me feel like I needed to apologize. For what, I didn’t know. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  I moistened my lips. “You didn’t need to do that.”

  Both his eyebrows winged. “Oh, no?”

  I shook my head and then yelped as he grabbed my hand. “What are you doing?” I demanded over the buzz of voices as he pulled me through bodies.