Breathless

by Lex Martin

  I probably sound like a freak, but I don’t care because the dog likes my baby voice. He’s a big ball of brown and white fur with an adorable face like he’s a shih tzu or bichon. Like the kind of puppy I’ve always wanted, but we were too poor, and pets cost money. We never could’ve afforded vet bills, so I understood, although it didn’t make me want one any less.

  “It’s hard to believe, but he was even smaller when I got him.”

  “He looks like a baby Ewok.” I can let my inner Star Wars freak flag fly around Logan. We’ve watched the first six movies together in chronological order and in the order they were released. For the record, both of us prefer the original three movies.

  His smile widens. “I knew you’d love him.”

  “Can I kiss him and name him George?” I butcher the reference, but I’m too high on puppy love to care.

  Logan gives me a quizzical look, and I chuckle. “I forget you didn’t like Of Mice and Men. I guess the end was sad.” I read the classic out loud to him his freshman year. Yes, I was eleven, but he told me he wasn’t going to do the assignment because he couldn’t get into the book, so I sat his bratty little butt down behind the barn and read it to him. He Googled any words on his phone we didn’t recognize. Between that and his study guide from class, we managed okay.

  All I knew was I didn’t want him to get in trouble with his teacher because then Mr. Carter wouldn’t let Logan hang out with me. We spent the entire week eating Twizzlers and talking about Steinbeck.

  Being young, poor, and stranded in the country isn’t so bad if you like to read. Thank goodness there’s a decent library nearby.

  “You’re the only reason I got a good grade that semester. You and your enormous brain.” He taps on my forehead like a pest, and I swat him away.

  “I like big books and I cannot lie.”

  I thought that week was a grand way to spend my afternoons even if I didn’t understand everything about the story. Like why Curly kept his hand in a glove of Vaseline for his wife. I didn’t get it at the time, and if Logan did, he didn’t explain it to me.

  One day at the market a few weeks ago, I was squeezing an avocado to check the ripeness when it dawned on me that Curly wanted to use that soft hand for sex. Duh.

  Logan’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and when he checks it, he stills and glances at me, a guilty expression all over his face. “Need to take this. Make yourself at home.”

  My heart deflates as I watch him head toward his bedroom.

  He’s probably making plans with some hookup. And while he won’t go about it in front of me—he makes a point never to do that—I’ll hear about it from our friends. Because in a small town like this, someone always makes sure to tell me. Like they’re honor-bound to feed me the gossip so I’ll know the boy I’ve been pining over since I was a kid is a skirt-chaser.

  Life is too short.

  My thoughts wander to the bus ride here. Mrs. Reynolds is right. I need to rip off this Band-Aid and tell him how I feel. Maybe it won’t make any difference. But before I leave for Florida, I’m going to tell Logan Carter I’ve been in love with him my whole life. Then my conscience will be clear, and maybe, maybe I’ll finally be able to move on.

  Because he obviously doesn’t see me as anything but his friend.

  Not if he’s still making after-hours plans.

  A sad sense of resolve settles over me.

  Not wanting to overhear Logan making arrangements with another woman, I reach for the remote and click on the flatscreen, flipping channels until I land on You’ve Got Mail. Heck, yes, I could definitely use some Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks magic. A girl can never see that movie too many times.

  I take a minute to call my cousin Dawn and let her know I’m alive.

  She squeals in my ear. “Joey, the salon looks amazing! We just have to paint next weekend and hire two more stylists, and we’ll be all set.”

  “I’m so sorry you’re having to do all this work without me. I swear I’ll make it up to you when I get back.” The thought of leaving so soon feels like a leaden boulder on my chest, but I can’t wait around here for Logan to get a clue.

  Dawn and I catch up for a few minutes, and then she sighs. “How’s the dickhead treating you?”

  “He’s been great, actually. Not a dickhead at all.”

  “Yet.”

  “Yet,” I reluctantly admit.

  In the background, I hear her mother mumbling something.

  “My mom says not to let that boy bamboozle your heart again.”

  I chuckle and agree to be strong. After we get off the phone, I kick off my flip-flops and curl up on the couch and tuck Rambo under my arm.

  It’s a comfort to see that everything in the living room is the same. From the hand-me-down couch to the horse magazines on the coffee table and the worn recliner, it’s tidy and clean. Logan’s a neat guy and takes care of his things for the most part. And despite the money the farm is raking in these days, he lives a modest life.

  Reaching behind me, I grab the blanket that’s draped over the back. Logan loves to keep the house chilly at night, probably because he works in a sweltering barn.

  The long day catches up to me, though. Meg Ryan hasn’t even met Tom Hanks yet when I pass out. I’m pretty sure I’m drooling on the puppy when a knock on the front door jars me awake.

  “Keep the change.”

  Hearing Logan’s voice makes me smile. I’ve missed him so much.

  His footsteps draw near before the pizza box hits the coffee table. “Whatcha smiling about, Bitsy?”

  My throat is scratchy and dry, but the words tumble out anyway. “Just like being here with you.” It’s an honest moment. Maybe too honest.

  I crack open one eyelid to see how he’s taken what I said, but he’s grinning. Of course, food might be the reason for his joy. The couch dips with his weight.

  “I like having you home too.” He stuffs a slice in his mouth like he’s been starved for a week.

  Rambo nestles closer to my neck, and I take a big whiff of his sweet puppy fur.

  Logan lifts an eyebrow. “Did you just sniff the dog?”

  “Maybe.” I scratch under his ear, and he pants in my face. “Though I have to say I never had you pegged for this kind of pet. I thought you’d get a rottie or a boxer.”

  Logan’s eyes shift to me. “You saying Rambo isn’t manly enough?”

  I snort and shake my head. “No, I’m saying this fuzzball is more my speed than yours.” Quietly, I add, “I always wanted a puppy, but my parents never let me get one.” We didn’t have the money for food and clothes, so a dog was out of the question. By the time it was just Silas and Gran, I had too much going on to take care of a pet.

  “I remember.” He returns his attention to ESPN. “You should have some pizza.” Before I have a chance to respond, Logan tosses two slices on a paper plate and hands it to me. “Eat up, buttercup.”

  With a groan, I set Rambo on the ground and try to sit up, but every muscle in my body protests. I’m tangled in the blanket and too tired to deal. I flop back in defeat.

  “You okay?” Logan unwinds the fabric from my body and helps me swing my legs to the floor.

  “Just sore. Twenty-seven hours on a bus will do that to you.” When he doesn’t say anything, I glance over at him. His shoulders are tense, and his brows are tight. “Why are you ticked off?”

  He runs a hand through his messy blond hair, an exasperated sound coming from his mouth. “Because you took a bus, by yourself, across the country, when you could’ve told me you were coming, and I would’ve gladly paid for your airline ticket. I saw the shady characters who came off the bus today. How many of them hit on you?”

  “No need to get your panties in a twist, Sherlock. Did you happen to see the granny who sat next to me for most of the ride? I’ll have you know she threatened the guy who made a pass at me, and I didn’t have any problems after that.”

  That was the wrong thing to say because he looks angrier. “And
what if Granny Do-Gooder hadn’t been around? I’m grateful she was, but after I heard you were taking the bus, I Googled ‘bus-related crimes,’ and I read things that would light your hair on fire. Did you know a girl was beaten up at a rest stop in the bathroom? If you insist on going back to Florida, I’m buying your airline ticket, so don’t sass me about it.”

  I open my mouth—to say what, I don’t even know—but I close it again and stare at the boy I’ve loved nearly my whole life, gratitude filling my heart. “You don’t need to worry about me, but thank you for caring.”

  He nods and grumbles, “We’ll run you a bath tonight. That’ll help your sore muscles.”

  He may only love me as a friend, but that’s more than what I got from most of my family growing up. And maybe that’s part of his allure. My parents were strict and narrow-minded and never affectionate. Would it have been so hard to give me a hug every once in a while?

  In contrast, Logan’s family never ran short on affection. His mother hugged me nearly every time she saw me. Logan used to hug me all the time too until I sprouted boobs, and then he migrated into these funny side hugs. I used to think he was afraid of my tits, but I knew his reputation, so I figured it was just my body that somehow freaked him out. Puberty is weird, so I couldn’t blame him.

  We eat in silence, side by side, the room dark except for the side table lamp, the light from the kitchen, and the TV.

  “What’s on the agenda this week?” My teeth sink into a slice of pepperoni. Heaven. “Tori said you would help me coordinate, Mr. Wedding Planner.”

  “Ha, ha. I only helped her get the flowers because I have a friend.” He gives me a good-natured shove and pulls out his phone. “Let me text Tori for the schedule.”

  A minute later, his phone vibrates, and he swipes it open, and he frowns.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He hands it to me. “Nothing. Just a lot going on.”

  Tori sent a detailed spreadsheet with the wedding party itinerary. Wednesday the girls have a dress fitting. On Thursday, we’re having a family lunch with Tori’s parents. And on Friday, the weekend before the wedding…

  My eyes dart to Logan. “We’re going to the coast?”

  “Guess so.” He sighs.

  It’s a joint bachelor-bachelorette weekend. It looks like most of the wedding party and a few friends are going.

  “There’s a link to the condo.” Oh, wow. “This looks like fun. What a cool idea.” I’m so excited, I almost forget I can’t afford it. “But… how much is this going to cost?” I saved up for my bus ticket and dress and a few nights eating out, but this will blow my budget. Plus, I still have to buy some clothes since who knows what Silas did with my stuff. I didn’t pack a ton because I figured I had a few outfits at my grandmother’s house. Which the mother-effer sold.

  Logan reaches for a napkin. “I got you covered, home slice. You’re good to go.”

  This. He’s always doing things like this, which makes it hard to keep those walls erected around my heart.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’ll pay you back. I promise.” Even if it means I skip lunch every day for a month, I’ll pay him back.

  Sure, I used to feel like he took me for granted sometimes, but he still looked out for me.

  “Jo.” He waits until I look at him. “You don’t owe me anything. This is what friends do for each other. You’ve always had my back, and I got yours. It ain’t a big deal.”

  Friends. Right.

  I can pretend all I want this is enough, but when he says that word, it feels like a neon DO NOT ENTER sign above his heart.

  I nod and force a smile on my face. “Well, thank you. I’m grateful.” I truly am.

  But if I’m going to get through the next two weeks, this is a good reminder of where I stand with him. Even if I make my big declaration about how I feel, I won’t get my hopes up because chances are slim to none that he feels the same way.

  7

  Logan

  Rambo trots after me, his tiny paws clicking on the hardwood floor down the hall.

  Joey’s bedroom door is ajar, and I peek in, smiling when I see her flopped like a starfish on my mom’s bed, the blankets and sheets a heap around her. I close the door quietly so I don’t wake her up when I rummage through the kitchen.

  It’s barely five am, and I’m not expected at the ranch for a few hours, but I need to run some errands first. The wedding activities are throwing a wrench in my schedule. I’d completely forgotten about Ethan and Tori’s plans for the weekend, which is not like me, but I’ve been running on fumes.

  I feed the pooch and scratch his head. He’s damn cute for a puffball. “Be fierce, my man. Look after Jo.”

  Grabbing my keys, I head for the door. I’m not sure I told Joey I had to work today, but I’ll send her a text later so I don’t wake her up. I hate when my phone buzzes on the night table and wakes me. Sleep is a precious commodity, and that girl is exhausted.

  After our late-night pizza, I ran her a bath, and she was so sore, I could hear her moaning and groaning through the door as she changed her clothes.

  That sent my filthy mind into overtime.

  And I might’ve had a weak moment.

  Once we both went to bed, I locked myself in my room and sought out my favorite porn on my phone, but nothing did the trick. I threw it on my bed, closed my eyes, and everything I’d tried to ignore yesterday came rushing back to me. Like Jojo’s incredible body in that tank top and how she’d felt when I’d hugged her at the bus station. The way her thick golden hair tumbled over her shoulders and her voice when we talked on the couch, low and sweet and soft.

  I popped off like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.

  Now I’m feeling the guilt. I’ve always managed to avoid jerking it to thoughts of my best friend, and I need to get this shit on lockdown if I want to survive living with her for the next two weeks. No more naked thoughts of Joey.

  I stop at the gas station to fill the tank and grab a crappy cup of coffee, and then I’m on the road again. When I get to the Stock Yard, I’m the first one here, but that’s nothing new.

  The Stock Yard is a mom-and-pop store two towns over that sells everything a rancher could need. I’ve worked in the back, restocking their supplies and taking inventory a few times a week for the past two years, usually in the middle of the night. But since Ethan’s wedding and honeymoon take precedence, I need to rearrange my schedule.

  An hour later, I’ve shelved the incoming feeds and reordered everything on my list when Hank, my boss, arrives.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” He gives me a wide smile. “I could’ve sworn you were a vampire. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here during the day.”

  I let out a laugh. “Thanks for calling me back so late last night. This wedding stuff is more high-maintenance than I thought. Won’t be able to do any late-night shifts until the end of the month.”

  “You do what you got to do for family. I understand.” He wipes his sweaty forehead. “You gonna take some time off for yourself after that? Been burning the midnight oil for a long time now, son.”

  I know he wants to ask me why I do this when I run a successful business with my brother, but Hank’s good people and knows when something’s private, so he never pushes.

  “Nah. I couldn’t bear it if everything went to hell while I was away.” I give him an easy smile and reach for my keys. “I’ll be back tomorrow to take care of the rest here, but then I’m headed out of town for the weekend with my brother and the wedding party. I’ll hopefully get a chance to work Monday night. But I’ll keep you updated.”

  He nods thoughtfully. “If you need more time, just let me know.”

  More time off means not getting paid, which means I can’t do it. “Thanks again, sir.”

  I don’t have to call him ‘sir,’ but he works himself to the bone for his family, for his lovely wife and kids and grandkids, and has nothing but my respect. Fidelity and loyalty are tough things for some
guys to grasp, but he’s a shining example of what a man can have if he keeps it in his pants.

  As I’m crossing the parking lot, my phone rings. Only three people call me this early, and since I’m about to see Ethan and my mother, I’m guessing it’s not them.

  The name flashes on my phone, and I let it go to voice mail.

  Speaking of fidelity…

  I’m running late, and if I pick up now, there’s no telling how long this call will take.

  A text comes through as I’m starting the truck.

  Stop avoiding me.

  I roll my eyes and reluctantly respond. I’m not avoiding you. I need to get to work. Texting while driving is illegal, remember?

  Are you trying to be charming? I’m in no mood for your games.

  I laugh out loud. I’m the one playing games? Jesus Christ, the balls on this woman.

  Samantha used to be laid back, but in the last several months she’s become super clingy. I make a mental note to encourage her to go back to school where she can make more friends, and then I try to redirect this conversation.

  I promised Zach I’d take him to the movies to see the new Marvel flick.

  Is Zach all you care about?

  Pretty much. Yeah. But she already knows the score. Can we talk later? I promise I’ll call you tonight.

  My phone is blissfully silent after that last message. I already know what she wants, and it ain’t happening.

  When I eventually pull up to the ranch, I have a headache that might split my brain in two, but I plaster on a smile as I stroll into the kitchen.

  “You’re late.” Ethan glares at me over his breakfast. He looks like he’s already put in a good two or three hours in the barn judging by the sweat soaking his T-shirt.

  “Dad always said, ‘Better late than never.’ Sorry, I needed my beauty sleep.” I hate quoting my father, but this headache is taking its toll on my ability to bullshit.