by Mj Fields
When I nod, he sighs, turns around, still holding my hand, and walks to his truck.
He opens the door, and I climb in. Then he reaches over me and buckles me. “You all set?”
I nod.
He shuts the door, and I watch him walk around the front of his truck, open the door, and climb in.
“So, what is it we’re doing?” he asks as he starts the truck and throws it in drive.
“Going to see Keeka?”
I watch his chest rises and falls as he chuckles silently.
After he turns onto the road from the parking lot, he asks again, “Tell me what you want.”
“What do you want?”
“To not fight with you like that again.” He looks over after he stops.
“So, you did all that because you didn’t want to fight with me?”
“If I wasn’t clear, I’d do anything to not fight with you.”
“But, why?”
He glances over at me then pulls his hat down lower. “Things are better with you.” He looks over at me like he’s waiting for me to say something, so I do.
“Same...most of the time.”
He nods and smiles.
“But that’s not really what I meant.”
“Okay, well, I don’t know, London. It’s all...different.”
As I shift uncomfortably, he reaches over the console and takes my hand.
“Is it because it’s cuddle season?”
He laughs. “No. Like I said, it’s because things are better with you. It’s because getting fucked up and fucking suddenly isn’t that appealing. It’s because, like I said, it’s better when I’m with you.”
“Things don’t just change that quickly,” I whisper my suspicions.
He stops at a light and looks at me. “Gotta be your friend, London. You don’t want me because I’m...” He shrugs.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. I’ve fucked around a lot. I’m no rock star. I’m just, you know.”
“You’re Logan Links,” I huff. “You’re...” I stop myself just before saying perfect.
“Not gonna play professional ball like my dad. Not gonna be on stage like you and your family.”
“My father was an accountant, my mother worked as a substitute teacher until she met Brody.”
“Yeah, but your London Fields.” He looks at me. “You’re fucking perfect, and I’m, well, what is the opposite of perfect?”
I squeeze his hand. “Where is all your confidence?”
“In a bottle, between the sheets, on the field, at the gym.”
I look down as I take in what he said, all honest and full of self-doubt.
He squeezes my hand. “Looking at you the way you used to look at me.”
Reality strikes again, and I realize that I can’t carry that burden for him.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“What do you love about yourself?”
He laughs and looks at me. “What kind of question is that?”
“It’s actually a very good question.”
“Well, what do you love about yourself?”
My pause makes me question everything.
“Not an easy question to answer, huh?” he asks.
“Not without feeling like you’re bragging, and not when you say it in front of someone else who may not see that in you.”
“I get it.”
If I’m going to get him to open up, then I have to, as well. “I love that I love. I love that I don’t want to hurt someone or do something that could hurt myself. I love some superficial things about me, too.”
He pulls up in front of the bar we went to the first night and throws his truck in park before turning toward me. “Like your tight little bod, these lips and eyes, and that fucking hair?” He reaches over and grips the ends of my hair, rubbing them between his fingers. Then he leans in as he licks his lips. “Give me something sweet, London.”
I lean back, inwardly cursing myself. “I’m not sure I’m ready, Logan.”
“Gotcha.” He nods and gets out, standing with his back to the truck. He takes his hat off and rubs his hand over his head before putting it back on and pulling it down low.
When he walks around the truck and opens the door, I look down and scowl.
“You coming?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready,” I repeat.
He nods. “So, you mean to go inside here or you mean to”—he pauses—“do whatever this is?”
I nod.
“Both?”
I nod again.
He reaches over me and unbuckles my seatbelt. Then he turns me so both legs hang over the side of the seat. He grips my knees and pulls them apart, standing between them, his face inches from mine.
“Tell me why, when we get close, you look at me like you know exactly what you’re ready for.”
“I can’t just have sex with you,” I whisper.
“And I can’t stop thinking about having it with you.” He turns his hat again and leans his head against mine.
Skin to skin, breath to breath, I close my eyes.
“Tell me this doesn’t feel fucking good,” he whispers close to my ear. “Tell me you don’t want to stay this way. Tell me you don’t want more.”
“Of course I do,” I breathe out. “But what if it ends horribly?”
“We make a promise that it doesn’t?”
“Was that a question?”
“London, I’m down for whatever with you. You just gotta tell me how far I can go. I’m not gonna push you.”
“Then, what happens when”—I sigh when his lips run up my ear again—“when I’m not enough?”
“What happens when I’m not?” He pulls at my ear with his teeth, and a current runs up my spine.
“What happens when I’m not blonde enough or these aren’t...?” I press my chest against him, and now he groans. I try to scold myself for doing that when the pressure of him against them makes me whimper.
He releases my ear from his teeth and moans, rubbing his face against mine. “Can’t wait to have them.” He takes my hand and runs it up his abs. “What happens when this stops feeling so...hard?”
I sink my fingertips into his skin just enough to ease my curiosity.
“London,” he growls, and I can’t help pushing my hand up farther. When my fingers skate across his hard man nipples, I pinch them, and he chuckles. “What happens when I do that back to you?”
I immediately stop and sit back.
His eyes are boiling oceans of blue. I swear steam is resonating from them, just like I’m sure the liquid heat that has pooled inside me is going to combust if he so much as pushes against me...there.
“I’ve never seen you look more fucking gorgeous than right now.”
Danger, danger, danger, screams in my head. It screams in his eyes, and I know I have to stop this, this, whatever it is, so I stick my tongue out at him.
He leans in, teeth bared, looking at it like he’s going to bite it.
When I lean back farther, he closes his eyes and sighs before stepping back. “Let’s go.”
“What happens when people see us?”
He cocks his head to the side and looks at me curiously.
“What happens when they put two and two together, Logan? What happens when they find out who I am, and then you’ll be gone, and—”
“Where am I going, London?”
I shrug. “One month till graduation.”
He lets out a deep breath, looks down, turns his hat, and then the steamy blue oceans are gone. “Haven’t thought about it, really.”
“Well, maybe you should. I mean, what if the NFL comes calling?”
“They have, and I told them no. I told you that I wasn’t playing—”
“You told them no?” I gasp.
I see the crease in the corner of his eyes as he gives one nod.
“What does that mean?”
“Is that part of the appeal? You wa
nt that?”
“No! I mean, if that’s what you want, then of course you should do that. But—”
“Told them no. Already told you I did.” He opens the back door, grabs a hat, shuts the door, and stuffs the hat on my head. “Now, let’s go.”
“Are you mad?” I ask, hopping out and shutting the door behind me.
He shakes his head and opens the door to the bar. “After you.”
20
Can’t Stay Away
Logan
We sit at the bar. She’s doing the anxious fidgety hand thing. I’m doing the pull my jacket down thing because I’m hard. Trying to hide all this isn’t fucking easy.
I’m so fucking hard.
I nearly blew it when she pushed her tits against me and they didn’t feel like volleyballs. Even if they did, I wouldn’t have given a shit. All I have fucking thought about for five weeks is her. Not just her tits either. Her sass, the way she keeps me on my toes, the way she challenges me, and yes, her round little ass. But most of all, I thought about the empty hole in my chest where my heart was supposed to be when she told me to stay away.
It may have been possible.
I laugh to myself because, in reality, I would have to move halfway around the world to stay away. It was so fucking bad that I almost agreed to go to my mom’s for Thanksgiving just so I wouldn’t have to see her look at me in a way so truly foreign from her usual look.
“What?” she whispers.
“I wanna hold your hand.” It’s true, I do.
“Logan...” She shakes her head.
“I’m not going to, but I definitely want to.”
She blushes, and I now want to kiss the warmth of her cheek.
I’m fucked. So fucking fucked.
“Well, look who’s back?” Keeka smiles.
“How are you doing?”
“Fine, just fine.” She looks over at London. “This the one who’s got you on the wagon?”
I lean in. “Can you keep a secret?”
“You still keeping mine?”
I nod, and she smiles.
“Then let’s hear it.”
“I used to fuck blondes because they didn’t remind me of her.” I glance over and see London palm her face.
She laughs. “Is that so?”
I nod. “She used to piss me off. Then she grew up and grew on me.”
“Y’all known each other awhile then, huh?”
“Logan,” London whispers. I just ignore her.
“I have no idea what the fuck I wanna do with my life, but I know the five weeks she made me stay away was nearly impossible.” I sit back. “But it’s also impossible for her and I to be together and for her to be able to do her thing.”
“Nothing’s impossible.” Keeka smiles as she puts a club soda and lime in front of me. “What will you have?”
“Pineapple juice?” London asks.
“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”
She turns and looks at me. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because that girl isn’t gonna say shit. She got pregnant at seventeen, lied about her age to get this job, told Trucker she was twenty. So, he’s fucked if anyone finds out. She’s sworn me to secrecy, and I know she’ll keep mine.”
“Do her parents know?” she asks, then looks up when Keeka sets her drink down.
“Never met my dad, and my mom died when I was sixteen. Been here ever sense. Scandalous huh?”
“I’m so sorry.” London reaches out and squeezes her hand, which is another reason I adore her. She’s genuine. I don’t think she could lie if she had to, which is ironic since she’s into this drama shit. Not to me anyway. I have been used to playing defense when it comes to her and her quick wit. “Maybe you should look for your dad now?”
“He was married. Died in a car accident a few years back.”
London straightens up, and it takes me a minute to understand why.
“Does he have other kids?”
“Daughter about my age. My mom happened to be ‘the other women,’ so there is no sense in trying to find him.”
London swallows hard. “Do you know his name?”
“It’s in a notebook somewhere.” Keeka shrugs. “No sense in upsetting his family. Mom cut ties with him.”
“Do you know where the accident happened?” London asks.
Keeka looks at her oddly.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Keeka laughs and shakes her head, looking at me. “Journalism student?”
“I apologize.” London gives her a sincere smile.
London looks very uncomfortable, and Keeka looks, well, like she always does—amused and unaffected.
“No need to apologize, girl. It’s all good.”
“You have a place for you and the baby yet?” I ask, taking a drink.
She shrugs. “I’m good in my studio. Babies don’t take up much room.”
“You know he’d make sure—”
“You know that’s not happening.” She sighs. We have discussed this weekly since I found out. She doesn’t want him to ruin his chance.
London pushes back in her stool. “Excuse me for a minute.”
As she walks away, I watch her to make sure she gets there okay. Lots of fucking assholes in this place.
When she goes into the ladies’ room, I look back at Keeka. “I’m not letting you raise my best friend’s kid in a studio apartment in a shit part of town.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and then she puts her hand on her hip.
“I’m serious. By January, I’ll have something.”
She smirks. “We gonna live together? Now, how will that help Trucker?”
“No, we’re not. And I’m telling you, Trucker would do the right thing.”
“The Trucker you know might. The Trucker I manipulated doesn’t like me all that much.”
“You didn’t manipulate him, Keeks. You fucked up by not telling him how old you were. Clearly, when he found out, he was still into you, literally.” I point to her belly. “That’s on him.” I sit back and let her chew on that.
“When he fucked the others, that was on him, too. I’m not fucking up his life, and I’m not gonna fuck up this kid’s either.” She rubs her belly. “I didn’t know my dad, and I’m just fine.”
How the fuck is this just fine? I ask myself, because asking her would push her the fuck away, and although Trucker is turning out to be a fucking asshole, he’s my asshole.
“Then, what’s your plan?”
“Hey, sweetheart.” A man in his thirties, wearing a cheap, used car salesman-like suit, sits down, and she smiles at him. “How are my girls feeling today?”
She leans over and kisses his cheek. “Hey, Gary, we’re good. Really good.”
She glances at me as he leans over and kisses her cheek and quirks an eyebrow.
Oh, hell no, I think.
I need to get the fuck out of here before I lose my shit. My sister, my mom, Keeka. What the fuck are my plans after the season ends? What is Dad going to do when he finds out I shot down pros? This dick looking at Keeks and her belly like it’s his. Trucker, fucking Trucker, who can’t possibly not know she’s pregnant, but how could he? She’s London’s fucking age.
The noises in my head make me want to run the fuck away, have a drink or ten, or fuck.
“Did something happen?” London whispers.
I stand up and throw a hundred on the bar. “Let’s jet.”
She picks up her drink, finishes it, and nods. “Okay.”
She has some pineapple juice on the corner of her lip. I run my thumb over it, and she pushes her face against my hand. The overwhelming noise that was just fucking my head dissolves and everything goes quiet.
“Logan?” she says, pulling away.
I take my thumb and suck it clean. “Let’s go.”
I opened the truck door, buckle her in, and hold her hand as I’m driving the long way back, hoping like hell it takes forever.
“You’re
quiet.”
I glance over at her. The worry in her eyes brings back the noise.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell her as I look away.
“Like what?” Her giggle is forced.
“Like something’s wrong with me.”
“Is there something wrong with you?”
A million things.
A million things, and I don’t want her to know any of them.
“Logan?”
“Can you just be quiet?” I ask.
“What?” she huffs.
“Not like that. Just...” I sigh.
“Just what?” The annoyance in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed.
“There’s a lot of shit going on, London. A lot of shit, and I just need you to...” I let go of her hand and pull my hat down.
“Logan, spill it,” she damn near demands.
“Maybe I can’t? Will that fuck things up?” I don’t let her answer either question. “Of course it will.”
“What the heck just happened? Is it Keeka?”
“It’s life, London, it’s life.” I speed up, no longer wanting to take the long way.
“Got it.” She crossed her arms in front of her and sits back.
“Got what?” comes out harsh.
“I asked you to stay away. I knew that—”
“I’m sorry. I fucked up. But, you know...” Again, I stop.
“No, Logan, I don’t know unless you tell me.”
“I told you all sorts of shit tonight, London. If you need more than that, I’m gonna have to be honest and say I haven’t figured it out.”
She nods as I pull up in front of Lawrinson.
“I like you, London, a fucking lot. You are everything I never wanted.”
She looks at me, confusion changing to understanding, and nods. Then she unbuckles her seatbelt and looks at me. When she leans in, my heart skips a beat. I want to kiss her so she becomes addicted to me. I want her to want me and no one else.
She kisses the side of my cheek then sits back. “I’ll be your friend, Logan, because I like you, I can’t not be around you. But that’s gotta be it.”
I shrug and want to say cool. But it’s not fucking cool.
When she opens the door, logic and reason hop the fuck out, too, and that empty part in my chest is ever present.
“Come to my last game Saturday.”
