by Drew Elyse
The band meandered nonchalantly onto the stage a little while later. I can’t honestly say I noticed anything about Logan’s band mates as they entered, because when he stepped into view and began tuning his black Gibson, I was enraptured. Calling on more control than I would like to admit, I forced my eyes down to my hands. Just the sight of Logan with a guitar in his hands was overwhelming to me.
Logan took the mic. “Thanks for coming out,” he said with a sincerity that betrayed his cocky eminence. His eyes scanned the room and I squirmed gracelessly, knowing somehow that he was looking for me. He locked in on me a moment later. “This first song may be a little rough. We haven’t rehearsed it much. It’s dedicated to the voice that has been haunting my dreams,” he said without looking away. “Hopefully, we’ll do Robert Smith justice.”
With that I knew, even before his pick struck a single string, what song it was. My breath halted in my lungs as the band began a cleaner-sounding version of The Cure’s “Charlotte Sometimes.” Logan’s voice entered like a lament. I was completely lost in the sound, completely at sea in the the rough quality of his voice. I remembered Eli telling me that Logan was talented – and Eli was never one to judge musicians lightly – but this was beyond anything I had ever heard. Despite the hundreds of times I had heard it in the past, the song seemed brand new when he sang it.
When the song ended, I fought to fill my lungs, to clear the blinding fog in my mind. The rest of their set was made up of original songs. I wondered if Logan wrote the words that were painfully laden with truth and movingly emotional. Beneath the music that lived between folk and alt rock were lyrics with real substance. How could he write them? I thought to myself. Logan with his Spartan detachment from the women he fucked and hung out to dry. What could he know about that sort of emotion?
Yet, I’d seen hints of it in him before, like during or conversations my first night in Seattle, or when he knelt on the bathroom floor with me after my panic attack, or in his eyes when I said the move was a mistake. Suddenly, I had to be sure. I had to find out if the words that I could fall in love with came from the man who kept entrapping my attention. If there was more to him, I needed to know. It took longer than I could stand to liberate my phone from my purse. The text came frantically from my thumbs, a reminder of the desperation I was trying to deny. I only hoped Eli would respond quickly, because the band was already bidding the crowd goodnight. Logan looked directly at me before leaving the stage. I think he had been trying to get a read on my response, but the overwhelming mess of emotion I was feeling left my face blank.
Draining my beer quickly, I went over to the bar for another. Eli’s response had me frantic again. It lit up the screen and shook me to my core.
Eli: Yeah, he writes everything. Amazing, huh?
Coming up with no reasonable response, I let the phone get lost in my purse again. He wrote everything. There was more to him than he wanted people to see. Beneath the arrogant bastard with aversion to commitment was a spirit that called to me. The only place he opened up was in song. If anyone could understand that, it was me. Perhaps that was why he had chosen a song for me tonight. Maybe he wanted to finally let me in and see the man beneath the mask.
Would it matter though? Even if he could let me in, I doubted I could fully open up to him in return. God, I was pathetic. Here I had been judging him for playing everything so close to the chest, when I was the queen of doing just that. I needed stability, and he deserved it, too. I was anything but stable.
As I left the bar, I saw him standing at the table I had vacated. He was searching the crowd, looking sort of lost. It was clear in his expression that he thought I had walked out on him. As if I could have. Taking a large gulp of my beer hoping it would push down the lump in my throat, I made my way to him on unsteady feet. He turned my way just as I approached.
“There you are!” Beneath the annoyance in his tone was relief. He stared at me for a long moment. “You look… incredible.”
There was a lapse of silence as I flushed at his perusal. He hadn’t even seen the back, yet.
“Why didn’t you come backstage?” he asked.
I shrugged, rendered mute in the aftermath of his music and the glimmer in his eyes as he looked at me. He looked drained, like he had given everything to his audience, and a layer of sweat glistened on his skin despite having changed his shirt. He reached up slowly to caress my cheek, his thumb grazing my lower lip. I was completely spellbound.
“I have to take our equipment back to the rehearsal space. Meet me at home? We need to talk,” he said.
“Okay,” I breathed. He smiled, not his usual bastard grin, but something genuine and slightly nervous that made my heart melt. I tried to repeat my own warnings, but I knew I had already crossed over into his boundaries. There was no going back.
I turned to leave, appreciating the less-than-quiet gasp Logan released when he saw the back of my dress, before he called out to me. “Charlotte?”
I turned back. “What?”
“I called you a cab already. Please take it. I don’t want you on the bus in that dress. You look too fucking good.”
We had all of the equipment packed in record time, mostly because I wanted so desperately to get back to the girl waiting for me at home. I stood in the alley beside the club with all of the gear while Josh ran around the corner to grab the van. My eyes were drawn to a figure standing on the sidewalk near the front door. I couldn’t help but think that it was Charlotte, though I hoped her cab would already have come. Staying beside the instruments instead of going to find out for myself was excruciating.
“Hi Logan,” a sniveling voice hit my ears.
“Kayla,” I replied curtly. She came out of the backstage access door. The bouncers probably let her through because of her blonde hair and over-emphasized tits shoved into a concert t-shirt that had been ripped almost past the point of recognition. She reeked of groupie. That was how you met her, dumbass.
She approached and snuck one arm around my neck, placing her other hand on my chest. I froze. “I know you didn’t mean what you said on the phone, sweetie.” I was struck by how idiotic she sounded.
“A. I’m not your sweetie,” I said pulling her arms off of me. “B. I meant every word. It’s done.” I glanced back up the alley to find that the person I had been watching was gone.
“Whatever. Like I need some pathetic wanna-be,” she retorted like a child, and sauntered off. Thank God.
Josh pulled up in the van a moment later. “Next time, you stay with the shit. I’ll get the car,” I told him.
When I finally unlocked the door to our apartment, I found it dark, again. Maybe she fell asleep, I told myself. Checking her room, I found nothing. Why wasn’t she back yet? I attempted calling her twice to no avail. On the second try, I left a message.
“Hey, it’s Logan. I thought you were coming home? I hope you’re okay. Please let me know you’re safe, at least. I’ll wait up.” And I waited.
Two hours later, I was still waiting. Not patiently, I might add. Hell, I was pacing like a madman and ready to rip my own hair out. I had called her several more times and sent a few texts. Where the hell is she? I thought incessantly. Eventually, I was forced to call Eli. He rang back a few minutes later to tell me she was on the way home. She’d refused to tell him where she’d been for nearly three hours. I could not think of another moment in my life where I’d been more worried, or more pissed.
A commotion in the hall pulled my attention. I heard her voice outside the door.
“Slow down,” her voice betrayed that she had completely lost control of the situation. She sounded drunk, and worse, she seemed nervous.
I flew to the door. Through the peep-hole, I could see her, pressed against the wall opposite our door by some drunken asshole who was sloppily attempting to kiss her fragile neck.
“No. Stop it,” she pleaded.
Blind rage overtook me. I ripped the door open, and immediately grabbed the prick by the neck of his s
hirt. Throwing all of my strength behind my right arm, I knocked my fist into his jaw so hard that he collapsed to the floor like the chicken-shit he was.
“Logan!” Charlotte shrieked.
“Charlotte, get in the goddamn apartment,” I ground out, trying to keep from screaming at her. The glare I pointed her way caused her to falter and retreat. I lifted the scumbag up by the arm. “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Here.” He crumpled back to the floor when I released him. The pathetic asshole was the least of my problems.
Charlotte was on the other side of the room when I entered, arms crossed in a way that spoke of indignation. Her contemptuous glare may have caused me to shrink if I weren’t livid. Oh, she wants to flip this on me, does she?
“What the hell was that?” she yelled.
“I believe that was me saving your ass from a sexual predator.” Calm, menacing, but calm. I would keep control of this.
“I brought him back here! You had no right!”
“You didn’t seem so into it while he was forcing your shirt up in the damn hallway!” Well, that didn’t last long. She blanched, but said nothing. “Where the hell have you been?”
“A club,” she answered as if that told me anything.
“Eli and I have been worried sick.”
“Next time, you can leave my brother out of it.”
“You disappeared! You could have been kidnapped!”
“I can take care of myself!”
“Yeah, it really looked like it,” I challenged. “Is that what you want? Some drunken stranger taking you and not even caring about your experience?”
“What it’s supposed to be different when the drunk taking me is you?”
Given the choice between her words and a knife, my decision would have been easy. She really knew how to go for the kill shot, I’d give her that. Holy hell. The sickening thud of my heart in my chest was so painful I thought I’d drop right there.
“How could you think… I’d never…” I couldn’t form sentences. Hell, I could barely think. A few breaths got me back on track. “Why didn’t you come home? You said you would meet me here.”
Her delicate brow furrowed like she could not understand why I would be asking that. A few moments passed before she replied with icy disdain, “I figured you would be busy with your blonde groupie. Looked suspiciously like Kayla if you ask me, but whatever. I decided I might as well get my rocks off, too.”
Fuck. It had been her at the end of the alley. I could not make her face out at the time, but I was right under that flickering fluorescent light. She would have had a perfect view of that slut’s paws all over me, but had left by the time I pushed Kayla away.
“That wasn’t what you think,” I insisted.
“It doesn’t matter, Logan. You don’t have to justify your sex life to me. But if you are going to be off having emotionally devoid sex with half of the women in Seattle, you can spare me your lectures.”
My heart sank. I was the heartless asshole in her eyes again. All the progress I made at the show was reduced to an act to seduce her. “Charlotte, please,” I pleaded. “Hear me out. I haven’t touched another woman since you. I have no desire to. I told Kayla it was done. I told all of them.”
“That’s a pretty dramatic move to make over a failed attempt at a one night stand,” she snapped. She was furious and wanted a pound of my flesh in retribution.
“One night stand?” I whispered breathlessly. “You still think that’s all it was?”
Yes. I wanted to say it if for no other reason than to keep him at arm’s length. But there he was, looking both desperate from my attacks and petrified of my answer. He radiated a sincerity and vulnerability so different from the cocky bastard I knew. I’d seen that side of him before, but it couldn’t hold a candle to that moment. I had the sense that he had never been so open, so exposed. Maybe his usual demeanor was really just an act. Maybe the lost boy before me was the real Logan. I didn’t know what to do. Can I trust him? Can I handle letting him in and being wrong? Can I handle letting him in and being right?
“Charlotte,” he moved slowly towards me until we were only a foot apart. His miserable eyes were looking directly into mine. “You are so much more to me than that. I am so sorry that you thought otherwise, and I know that it’s my fault. But you have to believe that I’ll never make such a stupid mistake again.” He reached up and brushed a fallen lock of hair from my face. I lost myself in his sweet promise. “I want to be yours, Charlotte. Only yours. If you’ll have me.”
This gorgeous man with the voice of a god who could have anyone he set his sights on, wanted to be with me? The sweet oblivion of it had my reeling. The unbidden warnings rose from the back of my mind again. How can you compare to the women he’s had? He’ll never be happy dealing with you and all your baggage. Let him in and you will have to pick up the pieces later. I started to physically withdraw from him.
“I can’t.” My voice could not have been smaller. I hung my head, unable to look into his eyes and see what my rejection would do to him.
He didn’t surrender like I thought he would. “Hey,” he whispered, gently nudging my chin. “What is it?” I didn’t respond. “Look, I’m not the obvious bet, and I know I’m not good enough for you, but I will do whatever it takes to show you that I can change,” he voice was adamant, but desperate. I believed him, too. In my mind, I could still hear him singing “Charlotte Sometimes” to me. I knew – somehow – that the man before me could be all the things that he was promising. I also knew that I wasn’t worthy of it all.
“I’m not what you think I am. You won’t be happy with me.”
After a moment of silence, I glanced up at him through my lashes. I expected him to say something, prolonged silence was so unlike him. He looked completely dumbfounded at my words, but slowly concern and sadness began to prevail. Suddenly, he dragged me into his arms. One muscular arm wrapped around my shoulders while my head leaned onto his chest under the soothing strokes of his fingers through my hair. He leaned down to rest his cheek against my head. The warmth of his body and lulling rhythm of his breathing slowed the frantic trembling that I hadn’t noticed in my own. His lips moved to brush a kiss against my hair.
“Why do you think that?” His voice was soft and cooing, but it didn’t cover the dismay beneath. I don’t know exactly how long he just stood there holding me. Relaxing more, I let my hands lift up to his chest, laying one hesitantly over his heart. His heartbeat was strong as I expected, though it seemed a little fast. Was that my doing?
Eventually, he pulled back a bit to meet my eyes. “Please give me a chance, Charlotte,” he whispered. He brushed his thumbs over my cheeks beseechingly. In that moment, I knew there was no other option for me. Slowly, I forced a nod.
His eyes widened in shock. With a speed I couldn’t comprehend, my body was crushed back into him and his lips took mine. The passion that unfurled from his kiss left me breathless. When he pulled back after a minute – or several, hell maybe it was an hour of suspended bliss – later, my equilibrium had vanished. Keeping my face cupped between his hands, he smiled down at me more adorably than I had ever seen.
“God your lips are incredible. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you in the rain. It’s been hell,” he breathed like a confession against my lips, then leaned in for a gentle peck. “It was worth the wait.” Then, he was kissing me again with renewed vigor. His lips and tongue molded mine in a delicious dance. It occurred to me that Logan kissed with the same overwhelming ardor that he possessed on stage. Briefly, I wondered if he always kissed that way, but forced myself to chase the dark thought away.
I could feel the energy between us shifting. What started as a light buzz grew until it was a fervor, rising all around us, completely entrapping us. His deft hands gripped tighter onto me, as though he couldn’t get me close enough. As I ran my hands along his upper arms, I could feel the muscles and sinew growing taut. He sucked my lower lip into his mouth, sending a shockwave through my body. A
pleasant, but desperate feeling pooling in my belly. His hand splayed out across my lower back, nearly encompassing my not-overly-small frame, and pressed me tightly against him. I could feel the stiffness of his erection pushing against me. I moaned in spite of myself, but the immediate way he gripped me tighter had my discomfort dissolving. Somehow, the desire and the muscles tightening down there didn’t scare me, but had me pressing back into him, needing more of the delicious feeling. I allowed myself to succumb to the want and sought the friction my body was screaming for.
He pulled away from me again, catching his breath before he spoke. “Charlotte, I want you, but I will wait as long as you need. I need to know that you’re ready.” His eyes were hooded with his desire, and I knew he must really mean it to pull away when his want was so clear. It reminded me of all the lessons in group therapy about leaving physical intimacy off until you felt comfortable, respected, and safe. Despite my reservations about sex that pushed the bounds into fear, I was sure I felt all three of those requirements were met with Logan. For the first time, I felt like I really could give him that part of me.
“I want you, Logan,” I whispered. “I’m yours.”
His breath hitched, but he spoke again anyway. “If you change your mind, if you want to stop at any time, we will. Promise me you’ll tell me if you need to.”
“I promise.”
He stared at me for a moment completely still. It was like he was waiting to be rudely awakened to find out this was all a dream. I could relate. Then, that dazzling smile reappeared; a grin that combined both joy and mind-boggling sex appeal. He deftly backed me against the wall, causing a whole new wave of longing to crash over me. His lips frantically kissed and sucked the skin of my neck. My hands found their way to his hair and I ran my fingers through the short length. He touched me everywhere, urged on by the knowledge that I was his. I was ready to burst from the overpowering sensations elicited by this man. This man that wanted so desperately for me to be with him. This man that had given himself to me. This man that was mine.
