by Mj Fields
He blindly reaches in the back seat and pulls out another white hat with an SU logo on it, puts it on his head, and pulls it down. Performance over, curtains drawn, which is a good thing.
“I offered you a ride. It’s not even seven in the damn morning and you’re a mile from your dorm.”
“I was at the...” I pause and start again. “It’s none of your business where I was!”
“I don’t recall asking where you were. I offered a fucking ride. You shouldn’t be out running the streets alone.”
I am frustrated because he’s right; he didn’t ask. Annoyed because it doesn’t negate the fact he is so damn bossy. And pissed because here we are again, fighting.
“Well, I certainly can’t ask my dorm mates to get up at five in the morning and go for a swim because I’m struggling with voice control,” I snap.
“You ran all the way to Archbold at five in the morning?” He cups the brim of his hat and pushes it down even farther. “You’re not that fucking stupid.”
“No, I’m not, and if you really feel the need to know my every move, I Ubered there then decided to run back.”
“You should have Ubered your ass back,” he declares rather gruffly.
“Don’t you worry about my ass, Logan,” I retort as gruffly as I can.
“You think I’m worried about your ass, London?” He laughs without humor.
“Well, Logan, what are you doing out, perusing the mean streets of Syracuse, if not to torment me?”
“I was just heading to the gym myself.”
“You live near the South campus gym; what did you do, decide to take the long cut?” I huff.
“Well, that’s none of your damn business, now is it, London?” He shakes his head.
“Oh, well...” I try to hold back my shock. I mean, why would I be shocked? He’s Logan Links, and his dick is on Yelp. “Good for you, Logan. Go you.” I fist bump the air. “I’m sure it was an award winning perform—”
“What the hell are you doing?” He pushes his hat up and looks at me like I’m deranged.
I slam my back against the seat and shake my head. “I don’t know. Weren’t we gonna try to be friendly? I was trying to give you much-deserved accolades for possibly getting laid last night.”
He chuckles. “Possibly getting laid?”
“Okay, fine, baller, for getting laid, bumping uglies, boinking, knocking boots, burying the bone.” I try to sound unaffected.
He takes his hat off and runs his hands through his hair, still chuckling.
I sigh. “What did I do now?”
“Baller?”
“You play football,” I point out.
“Baller in sports terms is a basketball player.”
“It’s also someone with bitches and dough.”
I don’t know why, but he smiles really big like he does with Lexi or Maddox’s little girl Piper when no one is looking. Then he starts laughing. His eyes shine, his dimples...God, they are so deep and beautiful.
“What?” I force myself not to smile.
“God, London.” He shakes his head and puts his hat back, covering his messy wet hair and shielding his eyes, but those dimples are still there. “For someone who has seen the world and lived through hellacious circumstances, you’re still cherry.”
“Oh, so you’re picking on me?” I sigh again. “Laugh it up, Logan. Enjoy your moment.”
He smirks as he looks over at me. “Not a bad thing. Actually, pretty fucking impressive.”
He shrugs, pulls his hat down, and looks away. “London, you wanna go running, I run at least four days a week. I’m not afraid of the early morning. But I don’t wanna see or hear about you getting nailed by some fuck driving down the road on a cell phone, okay?” He glances over and waits for me to process what he just said.
“Is that how T...? Is that why—”
“My assumption is yeah. No one pays a-fucking-ttention anymore. Scary as hell if you think about it.”
I look down at my hands knotting on my lap and decide to sit on them. It’s an annoying habit when I’m anxious, and right now, I’m full of anxiety.
I miss Thomas. I miss him so much. What happened to him isn’t fair. Not fair at all.
“So, London, you wanna run, you tell me when. I’ll show you where, and you better be able to keep up. I have a crazy fucking schedule, and this is it for me—last semester.”
“I have a crazy schedule, too, you know.” I nod. “So, I’m not a child, okay, Logan? I’m not. And I’m not stupid.”
“Never said you were. Just...” He sighs and shakes his head. “You afraid to run with me or something?”
“You call me kiddo,” I remind him.
“Well...” He pauses, and I slug him. He laughs as he rubs the opposite arm. “Fine, I’ve now seen you’re not a kid.”
When he grimaces, I know he’s talking about my boob show the other night. Although I don’t want to discuss it, I really do, but ugh...
Uncomfortable silence. Total, excruciating, uncomfortable silence.
He pulls his hat down and glances over at me. His head dips ever so slightly, and I am sure he just looked at my boobs.
I look down then want to dive under the seat because, yeah, they seem to perk up lately when he’s around.
“I guess no one will see us in the morning, so they won’t think we’re friends, or you know...” I leave it hanging.
“I know what?” he asks with just a hint of amusement in his voice.
I shrug. “Well, as you said, guys can’t be friends with girls.”
“Yeah, well, you aren’t the normal girl.” He smirks. “You’re London, a giant pain in my ass.”
My heart sinks slightly, but I won’t allow it. We’re talking normal, not fighting.
He starts to put the truck in gear then stops and looks over. “You buckled?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
After a few red lights, I notice the route he is taking and smile to myself. He’s wasting time.
Why?
I think I know, but really, I don’t know men who aren’t like Brody, Maddox, and my father. And for some reason, I want to.
“Why did Mitch lead Christy to believe he wanted her when he wanted Jamie?”
He looks over at me uncomfortably then back at the road and shrugs.
“You live with him, play with him, hang out with him; how do you not know?”
“I don’t bring it up. Don’t wanna know.”
“Okay, fine, if you were him, then what would make you do that?”
“I’m not him.”
“Come on; give me something.”
“Really, London?” he groans.
“Really, Logan.”
“My guess is Christy was the easiest.”
“What? You’re kidding me, right? What is wrong with you?”
He sighs then reaches out to turn on the radio.
“Oh, no.” I turn it down. “I want answers.”
“Has not a damn thing to do with me, London. You asked my opinion, and then blasted me. You want real, I’ll give you real. You want flowers and bullshit, you won’t get them from me. Straight up, girls talk to Mitch all the time to get at me—he’s more open. He did the same shit with Christy. She was less intimidating, so he closed in on her.”
“Makes sense, but it’s not right,” I cross my arms over my chest as he comes to the next red light and stops. “Why is he not even talking to her now?”
He sighs again and looks over briefly.
“Come on, Logan; spill it.”
“First of all, he’s busy. On top of our course load, we practice every day, work out every day, and then have to eat. After football season, he’ll be sniffing again, if she hasn’t shot him down.”
“What?” I hear a familiar song and turn up the volume.
When “Don’t Know What You Got (Till it’s Gone)” by Cinderella plays, a lump immediately forms in my throat.
Dad.
“You w
ere right there at the Dinosaur with Dad.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Or were you too drunk again to remember that?”
“I’m not a drunk, Logan! I’m not, and I won’t be. I’m not like him, okay?” I fight back tears.
“I was joking.” He laughs nervously.
“Yeah, ha, ha.”
When he gets to another stop light, I pop my seatbelt and open the door. “I’m going to walk from here.”
“Jesus, London. Chill, okay?” He grabs my elbow and pulls me back in. Again, horns blow.
When he looks up, I take that moment to yank my elbow free and jump out.
I walk up the hill fast and see him turn right, his tires squealing. He’s pissed. I was harsh. I don’t care.
God, how can one song affect me like that? How? It’s been years. So many years!
I hear footsteps coming up from behind me and glance back.
“Logan, just go, okay? Just—”
I stop when he grabs my hand and pulls me into the parking garage on our right. He opens the door to the stairway and pulls me in behind him. Then he grabs my face and forces me to look up at him, I grab his shirt and consider pushing him away.
“You wanna break down, you do that shit in your dorm. You do it in a bathroom. You do it in my truck. You don’t fucking hop out and take off down a street.” He wipes away each spot my tears lay with his thumbs.
I don’t want to push him away anymore.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I admit. “It’s been years, so many years, and that stupid song...”
“I can’t listen to Bon Jovi,” he admits, scowling.
“It makes you cry?” I ask.
“Fuck no. It makes me want to kick my mom’s ass.”
“Because...?”
“Because, London, she fucked with my head, made everything his fault. I was so pissed at him inside, thinking he wasn’t the man I looked up to my whole life.” He wipes another tear. “Come to find out, it was her. She was fucking around.”
“So did my dad,” I whisper. “But I don’t wanna kick his ass.”
“No,” he says softly, wiping away the last tears.
“They tried, one harder than the other. One was stronger than the other.”
“Then they shouldn’t have gotten married. No one should. It’s fucked up. Nothing lasts.” He releases my face, pulls his hat down until it covers his eyes, and leans back against the brick wall.
I slowly release his shirt and try to tug out the wrinkles I created.
He closes his eyes and tips his head up.
“Mom and Brody will last, Harper and Maddox will, and your dad and Tessa. Ava and Thomas would have, too.” I force myself to stop messing with his shirt, but it feels good to touch him, talk to him, open up to him, and have him open up to me.
He shakes his head. “Not sure that’s true.”
“They loved each other,” I assure him.
He nods once. “Sometimes love’s not enough.”
I look down at my feet. “I don’t wanna believe that’s true.”
“Sooner you accept it, the quicker you’ll really be grown, London.”
“Or maybe I’ll just be lost,” I whisper.
“Nah.” He pushes himself off the wall. “You’re gonna shine, London Fields.”
The way he says it, I know he’s teasing me, but not to be hurtful.
“I am. You watch and see,” I joke back.
“I intend on doing just that.” He turns and opens the door. “You gonna ride with me?”
I laugh at him. “It’s a block.”
“Have it your way,” he says.
“Thanks for...everything.”
He nods.
I want to stay and talk, because after his initial bossiness and both our defensiveness, it’s been nice, so nice.
I look to my left and see he’s walking next to me.
“What are you doing?” I try not to smile.
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Going to get breakfast. You wanna go?”
“What about your truck?”
He smirks. “Trust me; they won’t tow it.”
“Wow.” I look up at his head.
“What?” he asks, touching his hat. “You gonna throw this one, too?”
“No, but the seams are starting to unravel.” I point.
“Bullshit, it’s new.” He takes it off and looks at it.
I can’t help laughing, which makes him look down at me, eyes fully on display, telling me he’s amused.
“It’s safe now. But you put it on that head and it’s bound to burst apart.”
“Is that so?” he asks, putting it back on.
“I’m afraid it is.” I continue to laugh as I put my hands on each side of my head and slowly move them farther and farther apart. Then I make a small explosion sound. “That ego, though...”
He grabs for me, and I jump back with a squeal.
“Don’t you dare,” I say through my laughter.
He freezes for a moment, then shoves his hands in his pockets as he fights a smile. “You’re safe with me, Elle.”
8
She’s A Pain
Logan
Morning wood is a bitch to handle when you’re yielding a golden rod. It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve fucked.
Come to think of it, that timeframe directly correlates with the amount of time I’ve been spending with her. Should have known the first night that she was on campus that shit wouldn’t be the same. But I agreed to watch out for her, and I will keep that promise.
I look down at my dick and sigh.
“Schedules change, big guy,” I murmur as I throw my legs over my bed and nearly hit the wall in my tiny-ass room.
Because I wake up hard as fuck, I hit the shower, jerk off, throw on some clothes, and haul ass to Lawrinson.
Three days a week, at five in the morning, I stand outside and wait. The first morning she left without me. I suppose she thought I was full of shit, and that since she had a “friend” running with her, it would be all right.
Her friend, a junior, her floor’s RA, Fletcher Reeves.
When I called and she didn’t answer, I ran the route we discussed at breakfast that morning, and I ran hard. When I came upon her and saw the guy running next to her, she looked at my face. I’m pretty sure it showed signs of my fucking mood. Her steps faltered, and I grabbed her before she face-planted into the pavement.
He knew who I was. Of course he knew. I’m Logan fucking Links. If that wasn’t enough, he also remembered I had been in her room that first night. In fact, he tried to stop Mitch and I from going in. I showed him my key card that we had gotten from one of the security guys and he backed off.
I’m also pretty damn sure he could read my mood because he lagged behind the rest of the run. She invited him along, and he went for the next two runs. Then, well then, I’m damn sure he allowed it to sink in that he wasn’t my favorite person.
Why am I damn sure? Because when I saw him looking at her ass, I called him on it. She wasn’t paying attention, of course.
“I haven’t put a fucking hand on her. You think I’m gonna let you?”
“I wasn’t—” he began to stammer.
“Saw you checking out her ass, so you sure as fuck did. Better not happen again.”
“I won’t...I wouldn’t...I just...”
I didn’t hang out to watch the fucker trip over his tongue, I caught up to London who looked over her shoulder as I came up behind her and laughed.
“You two are worse than two old ladies. Step it up, will ya?”
There was only one bitch here, and it wasn’t her or me. It was Fletcher Reeves.
It’s late September, but feels like August. Indian summer. I lean against the cement wall, waiting for London. I look down at my watch, seeing she’s five minutes late. That’s not like her at all, so I grab my phone and start to dial her number.
“I’m here. Sorry. I’m...” She snickers as she hops toward me, sneaker h
alf on. I reach out, and she grabs my arm to steady herself as she finishes shoving her foot in her shoe. “You ready?”
“Am I ready?” I shake my head as I look at my watch. “You’re the one who’s...”
I stop talking when I hear her feet against the payment as she looks over her shoulder, laughing as she yells, “Last one to the Dome steps buys coffee.”
For a moment, I watch her running. She looks like the little girl who looked at me, through me, smiling at the Cape the first time I saw her. Then, typical London, she returns a wink with a stuck-out tongue.
I don’t know how the fuck I thought all those years her being so young, taking all those hits, watching her heal quickly and settle into her life of being a rock star’s kid so easily, that there was no depth. I have realized over the past few weeks that the girl I always saw London as from day one is far from who she is. I’m not just talking about her body. I’m talking about her emotions that weren’t as shallow as I once thought. Her heart, her soul, her innocence, her smile. I don’t know how it evaded me for as long as it did.
I was wrong about her.
“Hey, I want to win for real,” she yells louder, still smiling.
“You wouldn’t win for real if I went and ate breakfast,” I tell her while grinning and start running.
I don’t run at full pace. I like being behind her, and not just because she has a really nice round ass, but because I like the way she looks back at me to see if I’m still there.
When we are really close to the tunneled stairs leading up to the Dome, I pick up the pace and follow her up. Taking two steps at a time, I catch up quickly.
She squeals, her grin on full display when she looks back then hurries to get ahead.
At the last of three landings, my competitive nature kicks in and I grab her from behind and lift her.
“Don’t you dare!” she yelps.
I toss her over my shoulder, and she grabs my hips, digging her nails in.
“I’ll kill you if you drop me, Logan Links!”
“You’re in luck,” I say, taking the stairs one at a time now, being a little more cautious. “I have a game this weekend, so I can’t die today.”
