by Lex Martin
A reluctant smile tugs across my lips even though Logan does not look amused. “You did carry me.”
“Damn straight, I did. Every fucking time, Jojo. Every time.” He grips my shoulders. “And I’ve never complained or felt the need to. Do you know why?”
I shake my head.
“Because I love having you around.”
At first, I don’t say anything. I can’t. Emotion chokes my throat, and I have to blink back the crazy fountain that wants to erupt from my eyeballs.
“So you weren’t talking about me?”
“No, dummy.” He hugs me so tightly, I laugh.
“So… I misunderstood?”
“Yes.” He tilts my head up and stares back at me with such intensity, my heart catapults itself into the sand dunes. “And I hate that you thought I said that about you.”
Tears stream down my face despite my best attempt to keep them back. His rough thumbs wipe them away.
“Aww, Bitsy. You had such a shitty week and then you thought I said that? And I flaked on our holiday photos?” His eyes squeeze shut, like it’s coming back to him. “Wait. We were supposed to hang out after, but I took off… Fuck. I am an asshole.”
I’m in his arms again, grateful I’ve said my piece and feeling foolish I misunderstood on such a huge scale, even though he was being a self-absorbed douchecanoe that night, but one thing still doesn’t make sense.
Sniffing, I tilt my head. “Who were you talking about?”
“Uh… What?”
“If you weren’t talking about me, who were you talking about?”
“Oh, um.” He lets go of me to rub the side of his neck. Awkward silence stretches between us. “Just some female drama.”
My eyes narrow.
Last fall, I thought he and I had gotten closer. I thought maybe he was seeing me as something more than his sidekick, but I was obviously hallucinating if he was having “female drama.”
I nod and take another step away.
See, this is why I can’t trust myself around him. I’m always misreading him when it comes to our relationship. I can read him like a book when it comes to his interests or emotions, but I can’t figure out what I mean to him or how he feels about me.
But I do know one thing for certain—Logan goes through women like my brother devours a bag of Oreos.
Fast.
Without much discernment.
And with no remorse for gluttony.
If we do this, I know the outcome. I’ll have a big, fat broken heart, and he’ll be on to the next flavor of the month.
“This is a bad idea,” I say to myself and start back for the condo.
“Wait. Jojo. Come on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I hate that I hurt you.”
I give him a tight smile and keep going. “It’s fine. We’re good.”
Behind me, I hear him swear under his breath, and I walk faster.
How humiliating. I was thinking he was into me last fall, and I was wrong. Again. How many times am I going to be off base?
“Joey, don’t go.”
I don’t pause. What’s there to say? I’m tired of chasing after this boy. I’m not going to wear my heart on my sleeve for him anymore.
“What did I say? Why are you upset?”
When he jogs out in front of me to block my path, I skid to a stop.
“What do you feel for me, Logan? Am I just your former friend’s kid sister? Am I your zany BFF with the crazy hair? Am I just a hookup this weekend because I’ll be going back to Florida soon?” I fling my arms, feeling like I’m losing my mind, but I’ve kept my feelings for him locked away for so long, the words spew out of me. “I mean, why now? I’ve known you my whole life, and you’ve never kissed me before. Why today? What’s different? How are we different now than, say, last Christmas when I thought we were moving toward something more than being friends? But we obviously weren’t if you were dealing with other girls and ‘female drama.’”
I’m out of breath from ranting, every muscle tense. Because if the past has taught me anything, it’s that I’m going to get hurt. Logan has that power. As much as I hate to admit it, he has always held my heart in the palm of his hand. Even though I ran away last winter. Ran as far as I could go. And I’m so scared he’s going to obliterate me.
Part of me hates how much I just divulged, but I’m so freaking tired of this. Either he tells me what I need to hear, or we hammer the nail in this coffin before my heart is irreparably damaged. If that means I have to make a fool of myself in the meanwhile, so be it.
I need the truth. For once.
He pulls me into his arms so fast, I nearly trip. “Of course you’re not a fucking hookup, Joey. We’re doing this now because I missed you like crazy when you were gone. I thought… I thought I had lost you, but you’re back. And I feel like I’m getting a second chance to do what I should’ve done a long time ago.”
When his lips sweep across mine, he groans and tightens his arms around me, promising to never take me for granted.
Just like that, my heart squeezes in my chest, the muscle memory of being in love with him for so many years overpowering good sense.
And I give in.
17
Logan
The condo is dark when Joey and I bust through the door, which I promptly pin her against as I kiss her.
I don’t know what happened out there on the beach. I can’t begin to untangle my feelings for Jojo except I know they’re big and unwieldy.
I’m a fucking asshole. I see that now. I’ve taken Joey for granted and hurt her and there’s no way around how much I need to come clean and tell her what’s been going on, but right now, I need to touch her more than I need my next breath.
Her legs wrap around me when I take her tight little ass in my hands. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”
She smells like sunshine and flowers and that fruity lip balm she loves.
And I can’t get enough. Kissing her has uncorked something in me. Something I buried deep during a dark time in my life. Back when I was too stupid and she was too young.
She’s not too young anymore.
No, the Josephine in my arms is one hundred percent woman.
My fingers toy with the tie on her bikini top and test the limits of my restraint.
Over the years, I’ve tried my damnedest to not think of her this way. To not notice the way she’s filled out. To not notice the way her ass looks amazing in jeans or that her tits are so round and perky.
Now that we’re doing this, it’s like I’ve been smacked by a tidal wave of lust.
And all I can think is fuck yes.
Those plump lips skate across mine before she opens to me again and our tongues slide against each other. She’s slick and wet and so fucking sweet. It makes me want to taste the rest of her. My cock throbs at the thought.
I could have her cutoffs on the floor in a heartbeat and be inside her in ten seconds.
Pulling back, I rest my forehead on her shoulder and try to catch my breath.
This is too fast.
I’m definitely screwing this up.
Because the last thing I want her to think is she’s a hookup, and if we continue at this warp speed, that’s exactly how I’ll make her feel.
She’s not a quick fuck. This is Jojo, my best friend. She deserves more than me groping her where any of our friends could walk in and see us.
“What’s wrong?” Her fingers delve gently into my hair to push it off my face.
I hate the uncertainty in her voice.
How have I not understood? Not seen the want in her eyes? Not admitted my own need for her?
“Nothing, baby. For the first time, nothing is wrong.” I let her feet drop to the floor before I place a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s get cleaned up. We’re gonna get sand everywhere if we don’t.”
I adjust my hard-on before I flip on a small lamp so the rest of our condo mates don’t kill themselves when they retur
n. Darting into the kitchen, I grab a couple of bottles of water and a bag of cookies and then reach for her hand.
“We’re gonna need a snack later to keep up our strength. Trust me.” I wink and drag her down the hall to our room, loving the sound of her laughter.
“What about Rambo? Should we go get him?”
“I’ll stop by my brother’s to get him before we turn in. Ethan gave me a spare key.”
Because if Joey and I do go farther tonight, I don’t want Rambo interrupting.
Once we’re in our room, I hand her a towel and direct her toward the shower. “You first. After my turn, we’ll meet back here.” I kiss her. “We’ll pick up where we left off. Just not somewhere Patrick or Renee or whoever can walk in on us with our goodies hanging out.”
She snorts, and I laugh with her. “Good thinking.”
She sashays into the bathroom and closes the door. The water turns on. I imagine her untying that tiny bikini top and the shiny fabric sliding to the floor. I’ve slowly been going insane today watching her in that swimsuit. Seeing her nipples pebble in the breeze and wishing I could warm them. With my mouth.
Jesus knows I’d give my left nut to join her in the shower, but taking a little breather might be for the best. I don’t want our first time to be memorable because we had half of Port A up our cracks and seaweed in our hair. We spent the whole day at the beach or in the pool, and tonight will be much more pleasant if I wash the sand off my dick first.
Anyway, I need to slow this down. Make tonight special. Maybe jerk off in the shower so I don’t blow my wad in two minutes. I’m usually proud of my stamina, but being with Joey makes me feel like a teenage boy touching his first tit.
Can my sweet little best friend handle all the ways I want to corrupt her? God forgive me, but I plan to find out.
Fifteen minutes later the water shuts off and the door opens. A cloud of steam billows out as Jojo emerges, a vision in a white t-shirt and panties, smelling so good I want to tackle her to the ground and taste her.
Fuck me sideways, she’s hot. I can see her tiny nipples on her perfectly plump breasts poking through the thin material.
“This is gonna be the fastest shower in history.” I smack her ass as I bolt for the shower and wash the goods in record time.
18
Joey
Calm down.
Taking a deep breath, I try to get my heart to stop racing, but after a few minutes, I realize I’d have better luck attempting to fly home by flapping my arms than trying to relax.
I lean back on the bed, reclining on my elbows before I tuck my damp hair over my shoulder and try to seem relaxed.
Does this look dumb?
Should I put on some sleep shorts?
Am I trampy for just sporting undies underneath this top? Logan saw me today in a bikini, and I’m technically wearing more clothing now.
Frowning, I twist my legs sideways and pull my t-shirt this way and that.
For Pete’s sake, I feel like a moron lying here, trying to look sexy. With a groan, I flop back and cover my face with my arm.
Of course this is the moment Logan steps out of the bathroom.
“Babe, you okay?”
My lips pull up. Not sure I’ll ever get used to him calling me that. Am I your baby? Yes, please.
I open my eyes and take in the raw masculine beauty standing before me.
Holy half-nekkid hottie. Someone call the fire department for the nine alarm.
Logan gives me that sexy smirk I feel everywhere.
Those long dark eyelashes intensify his crystal-blue eyes, and drops of water glisten over tan, taut muscles. Light brown hair, now dark from the shower, hangs rebelliously in his face. Never mind the small towel barely clinging to his narrow hips…
Jesus, Mary, and all the saints, I don’t know how I’m going to survive this.
While I’ve hoped for years that Logan and I would get to this point, I guess I thought I’d be more sexually experienced by now. More confident in my sexual abilities.
I’ve only done this once.
And it wasn’t a great experience.
Okay, it was a terrible experience. I cried. Like, a lot.
Earlier today, I didn’t have time to think. I was in the moment and just reacted. We kissed and groped, and I was running on pure animal instinct and a lifelong crush.
But now my brain has caught up to the reality that my Logan fantasy has a good chance of coming true.
If I had any clue what to do right now.
With a panicked groan, I toss my arm over my face again.
He chuckles. “I know. I’m freaking out too. Let’s just hang out, okay?”
I mumble back in agreement.
I can handle hanging out. I think.
But you’re in your underwear, you little freak!
I’m in a full-on panic until I hear clothing shuffling around. Oh, my heavens. Is he taking off that towel? I owe it to the female population to witness this.
I peek out from under my arm in time to catch him pull dark gray boxer briefs over his taut backside.
I was so caught up in him when we made out earlier I didn’t fully appreciate what was happening, or I would’ve made an effort to feel those buns. I feel a little deprived for not thinking quicker on my toes.
My attention is drilled to that vicinity when he turns around and I get an eyeful of man bulge.
And I hold my breath.
Because there’s no way that monster’s gonna fit.
I didn’t think Trent, my summer friend with bennies, was that big, and sex still hurt. Logan’s Titan-sized dong can barely be contained by his briefs.
Shaking my head, I squeeze my eyes shut again, my brain flooding with the negative thoughts I’ve racked up over the years about my relationship, or lack thereof, with Logan.
I have no clue what I’m doing.
Logan’s too experienced.
Logan loves experienced women.
Trying to learn how to have sex while watching PornHub has to be one of my dumber ideas. Nobody gets that excited being pounded. I mean, I can’t imagine that to be the case.
I flinch when the bed dips next to me and look up to see the gorgeous face that’s starred in most of my fantasies since I was young.
“Hey.” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “Let’s do what we always do.”
Um.
“We’ve never been in the same bed half-clothed.”
When he laughs, the brightness in his eyes does something to me. How long has it been since I’ve seen him smile like that? It makes me wonder what’s been going on in his life that’s dimmed his light.
“What I mean is let’s have fun.” Leaning down to press a feather-light kiss on my mouth, he whispers, “Let’s relax and enjoy our weekend. Nothing too serious. Nothing more than you feel comfortable doing.” His eyebrows pull together. “Nothing too fast that we can’t handle. This goes at our speed, okay? And we can continue figuring this out when we get home.”
I’m nodding at how sensible this sounds. Loving how this feels like more than a weekend fling. How this seems like a bridge to something more significant.
Because do I want to have sex with Logan? Heck yes.
Am I terrified of going that far? Abso-freaking-lutely.
I’m like a Pee Wee player who got called up to the big leagues and is still figuring out how to wear a jock strap, much less hit the ball.
Warmth spreads through my body as he shoots me another megawatt smile and kisses my forehead. Reaching for his jeans, he points to the bedside table.
“Pick out a movie on my phone. I already connected to the WiFi so we can watch Netflix. I might as well swing by Ethan’s next door to get Rambo.”
My trigger-sensitive butterflies take flight when he covers me with a blanket. With a wink, he heads out.
Logan Carter.
If my heartbeat had a sound beyond the thump in my chest, it would be his name.
I sigh like a lovesick teenag
er.
Smiling to myself, I flop back on the bed. I’m pretty sure Logan has never told any of his fangirls things would continue when they got home.
Common sense battles with my emotions, warning me that I am more invested in this emotionally than I have any right to be when the only thing we’ve done is kiss. I shut down that train of thought before I sabotage my mood and reach for his phone, which lights up with notifications.
I chuckle at his drunk dudebro texts.
Patrick: Cant find my walllllet. Got a condum?
Cash: This chick puked on my shoe. Im gonna be sick from the smell.
Sam: Youre suck an asshole. Why cant you come over?
Jordy: I just pissed on a cat. Wuuups
How those knuckleheads survive is beyond me.
I’m still scrolling through Netflix when Logan returns and our puppy gives me a happy little ARF!
“Hey, cuteness.” I lean over the bed to pick up Rambo.
“Careful. He’s still damp. I washed his feet before I brought him inside so he wouldn’t track in sand.”
“Good thinking.” I jump up and grab some towels to make a nook for Rambo on the floor next to me. He must be wiped out from a day at the beach because he promptly curls up.
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed when a big arm wraps around my waist and pulls me back.
Giggling like an idiot, I settle back against Logan’s bare chest.
“You’re so warm.” He nuzzles his face against my neck, and I squirm from the shock of his cold extremities.
“You’re an icicle.” With concerted effort, I sit up and yank the covers over us before we lean against the headboard and a few pillows.
With only the side lamp on and Back to the Future glowing from his phone, we settle in to watch something we’ve seen a million times together.
But I can’t focus on the movie. My attention is too drawn to the way his arm drapes over my shoulder and his thumb slides up and down my bare arm. I’m too cognizant of the rise and fall of his chest against my side and his scruffy chin at my temple. Too aware of the roughness of his jeans against my bare legs.
