by Meghan March
It’s been a week and a half since I last stepped foot in Manhattan, and although I miss the convenience of being able to get Ethiopian, Brazilian, and Hungarian food within a six-block radius, I’ve learned about the deliciousness of Mr. Burger seasoned fries, free homemade fudge tastings at the gift-shop counter in the pharmacy, and the fact that watching Logan grill a steak is on the list of sexiest things to watch men do, falling somewhere below meeting his eyes in the mirror as he pounds into me, and the way his head looks between my legs while he’s making me scream.
Basically, I’m one endorphin-happy girl who is having mind-blowing sex with an amazing man, and I’m starting to think my stance on relationships could never have been changed by anyone but this man.
In other words, I’m fucked.
I really like this guy.
Like, really like him.
Maybe even more than like him.
I’ve only halfway felt the word that rhymes with glove once in my life, and it didn’t end well. Now, sitting at the bar in Logan’s kitchen as we finish our dinner, I’m having a bit of an internal crisis.
I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t even know if I should tell him. I don’t doubt that he likes having me around, but little things tell me he still hasn’t lost his wariness of women trying to tie him down as a paycheck.
And here I am with no income still as I work out my design issues so I can get my business fully off the ground.
I make the executive decision: I’m not going to say it first. It might not be the mature decision, but it’s the only one that works for me.
I don’t know if I could handle him telling me that he just doesn’t feel that way, or telling me it’s time to move on now that I’ve gotten attached. After all, I’m the girl you screw around with, not the one you settle down with.
When the hell did I start thinking in terms of settling down?
Logan pushes his plate away, but I still have half a steak and a salad to finish.
I’m not sure if I’m scared that I’m going to blurt something out, but right now I don’t trust myself enough not to start babbling because I’m having a minor meltdown.
I’m twenty-seven. I’m the CEO of a broke company that no one has ever heard of—but I’m planning to make it a household name in the orgasm-delivery business. Settling down shouldn’t even be in my plans right now.
“Something wrong with the steak, Bruce?” Logan asks.
I shake my head and cut another piece to pop into my mouth, industriously chewing like my life depends on it.
“So, I was thinking,” he says, “dinner isn’t enough of a rain check. Maybe we should get away for a weekend together. I know this place up in the Smokies that people sometimes use for honeymoons, but—”
I choke on the meat and start coughing.
“Jesus, are you okay?”
My eyes are watering, and I sound like I’m about to hack up a lung. I reach for my water and chug some to dislodge the meat.
“Do you need the Heimlich?” Logan stands up, poised to wrap his arms around my chest and start the maneuver.
I shake my head, reaching for my napkin to cover my mouth as I spit out the chunk and crush it into a ball.
“I’m okay.” My voice comes out as a wheeze, and Logan stares at me like I’ve grown a third eye.
“Are you sure?”
I nod, reaching for my water again to calm my angry throat. “Just went down wrong.”
I still sound like I’ve been strangled, but it’s the best I can do as I reach over the edge of the counter for a piece of paper towel to wipe at the tears still leaking from the corners of my eyes.
He studies me for a moment before sitting back down. “Too much with the weekend thing?”
I shake my head. “Just bad timing with me trying to stuff my face.”
“So I should wait to ask you until I’m balls deep and keep you on the edge of orgasm until you say yes?”
My Logan-loving lady parts perk up at that question.
“I can tell you like that idea,” he adds.
“I guess you’ll have to try it and see,” I reply, hoping it comes off casually, even though I feel like there’s a flashing neon sign above my head that says NONE OF THIS IS CASUAL ANYMORE.
“I think that’s exactly what I should do. Who knows what I could get you to say if I started withholding orgasms.”
He’d probably have me screaming out “I love you” in minutes. I freeze. Holy. Shit.
Desperate to change the subject to something less terrifying, I blurt, “Maybe we should try anal.”
This time Logan’s the one choking on a sip of beer.
“Are you okay?”
He nods and coughs a few more times before setting the glass down. “Not that I have a problem with it, but where the hell did that come from?”
I reach for my water and take a sip. “It’s not like we haven’t been dancing around it. And I thought the answer to anal was always a yes without question or hesitation.”
Logan’s gaze collides with mine. “The answer to sliding into that tight little ass of yours isn’t just a yes, Banner. It’s a fuck yes.” Despite the heat in his blue eyes, he’s still studying me as if he’s trying to read between the lines to figure out what prompted my awkward-as-hell subject change.
“That’s a relief because if you weren’t interested, that would be a great sign that you’re ready to move on.”
When Logan raises an eyebrow, I realize I’ve tipped my hand.
“Is that what you’re worried about? That I’m gonna lose interest?”
This time, I’m not the least bit subtle about shoving a forkful of salad into my mouth to prevent me from answering, and he connects the dots.
Logan leans back in his stool and crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“Are you serious? You’re the one who’s worrying I’m gonna lose interest, when I’ve got to compete with the entire borough of Manhattan to keep you here, and I’ve only got my cock and some seasoned fries from Mr. Burger as motivation.”
I lean across the counter. “Your cock is a pretty powerful motivator, though.”
“But what if it isn’t enough?”
I swallow back a little of the fear and meet his stare. “No pun intended, Logan, but you’re the whole package.”
“So are you, Bruce. So are you.”
My heart fills so full, I feel like it might explode. This moment is big, so of course I have to screw it up because I’m terrified of what I might say next.
“That’s a yes to anal tonight?”
Chapter 40
Logan
I park in the closest non-handicapped spot to the door of the CVS three towns over because neither Piggly Wiggly nor I have the right kind of lube, and the pharmacy is already closed for the night. This is the only twenty-four-hour place within fifty miles.
We both hop out of my truck, even though I’m sure Banner can do this without me. Still, I’m a gentleman, and I’m not going to make her buy the lube. I meet her on the sidewalk and slide my hand into hers.
She squeezes my fingers. “Do you feel naughty? I haven’t felt naughty about buying lube since I was . . . never mind how old I was, but it’s been a long time. Why is this different?”
“Probably because if we see anyone we know, the entire town is going to find out that I’m the luckiest man around.” I pause. “Actually, they already know that, but this would confirm it.”
Banner rolls her eyes at me. “Like we’re going to see anyone I know. Maybe you, but not me.”
“You know almost as many people as I do at this point. When the population is just over two thousand, it doesn’t take long. Besides, you’re the one who felt the need to be social when we were at Brews.”
She doesn’t reply but pulls me along behind her into the store and heads toward the back. I’m scanning faces as we walk. Banner stops at the end of an aisle and reaches out to grab a box. Then she puts it back and grabs a bigger box before looking up
at me with a grin.
“We might as well supersize it.”
Shuffling footsteps come from behind us, and I glance over my shoulder to see Mrs. Harris, Emmy’s mom, coming down the vitamin aisle, still dressed in her housecoat and curlers.
Fuck.
I drag Banner around the corner by a hand, and her eyes dart up to mine and then behind me.
“Who’s that?” she whispers.
“Emmy Harris’s mom.”
I can hear the woman’s trademark humming as it grows louder. We edge closer to the pharmacy area, where I see another familiar face.
Nicole is standing at the counter, and the pharmacy tech tells her, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t sell you any pseudoephedrine products right now.”
Banner catches my eye, and we both hurry toward the other side of the store and dart up the aisle. In our hurry, Banner reaches out and grabs a bag of Doritos and shoves it into my arms.
“Quick. Get in line. I’m getting ice cream, and I’ll meet you there.”
I’m not sure when Operation: Buy Lube became top secret, but I’m having too much fun sneaking around the store with Banner to argue. And besides, I’ve got a powerful sweet tooth when it comes to ice cream.
“It better not be chocolate,” I tell her as I move toward the counter.
The cashier is the slowest in the history of the planet, but since Banner hasn’t joined me, I’m not gonna complain.
A small container of Rocky Road lands on the counter next to me.
“I figured Rocky Road was appropriate to pave the way to brown town,” she says with a laugh.
The man in front of me takes his receipt, and the cashier, a younger woman, reaches for our purchases as soon as Banner starts laughing at her own joke. The cashier’s eyes go wide when she comprehends.
“Brown Town? Is that up in the foothills, Logan? I’m not sure I’ve heard of it,” a familiar voice says from behind me.
Oh, for Christ’s sake.
I turn around to face Mrs. Harris, her hands full with a box of tea and a bottle of melatonin, but when I open my mouth to respond, nothing comes out.
Banner smiles sweetly and says, “It’s just south of Pussy Ridge. At least, I’m pretty sure it is.”
I choke, and the cashier’s face turns red.
“Pussy Ridge. I haven’t heard of that either. I’ll have to ask Mr. Harris to get out the Rand McNally so we can take a drive there this weekend. I do love my weekend drives.”
I have no idea how Banner is keeping a straight face, but she replies, “I love a good long ride too. Especially when it gets a little rough.”
The older woman smiles. “Me too. Emmy has never been a fan, though. She’s always gotten carsick at the littlest bump.”
Banner finally grins. “That explains so much about her.”
The cashier’s eyes are tearing up as I shove money at her before I bag the ice cream, Doritos, and lube myself.
“See you later, Mrs. Harris. You’ll have to let us know how that drive goes.”
I wave, grabbing Banner by the hand and pulling her out of the store behind me. She dissolves into peals of laughter as I open her door and give her a boost into the passenger seat of the truck.
“You’re terrible.”
Tears are streaming down her face. “What? It was too easy. You have to admit you’d pay to see the look on Mr. Harris’s face when she asks him if they can go to Brown Town this weekend.”
I cover my face with my hand as my entire body begins to shake. “Jesus, woman. I’ll never be able to go into that CVS again without remembering this.”
She winks at me. “Good. Mission accomplished.”
I shut the door, my lips stretched in a grin as I round the hood to the driver’s side.
Nicole comes hurrying out of the store and almost collides with an old man and his walker when she sees me. She jerks in the other direction and hurries off like nothing happened.
What the pharmacy tech said to her comes rolling back through my brain. Pseudoephedrine is used to make meth.
My smile dies away.
Nicole’s one of the hardest-working people I know. Always hustling to make extra money because she wants to buy the bowling alley, and everyone knows it.
You can sell a box of over-the-counter drugs with pseudoephedrine in it for good money, from what I’ve heard around town.
I don’t like how things are adding up, especially because I can’t think of another reason she’d be maxed out on her limit and trying to buy it three towns away from Gold Haven. Jeff barely escaped from that overdose with his life, and now he’s in the county jail awaiting trial because he pled not guilty to distribution, even though the cops found a bunch of shit in his car.
I decide not to say anything to Banner right now. She doesn’t have any need to know.
When I climb into my truck and her smile is still intact, I know I’m making the right choice. There’s a whole hell of a lot I’d do to keep that shine in her eyes and that laughter on her lips.
“You’re fucking beautiful, Banner. But when you laugh, you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”
She quiets, and the smile on her lips fades a few degrees. “You’re just saying that because I’ve got ice cream, and you get to put it in my butt later.”
I shake my head. “No. That’s not it. You’re a damn good woman, and I’m pretty sure you’re gonna wreck me for anyone else.”
I expect another flippant response, but instead she leans toward me and whispers, “You’ve already ruined me for other men, so I guess that makes us even.”
Right there, in the parking lot of CVS, over ice cream, Doritos, and lube, I realize the truth. I’m in love with her, and I’m totally and completely fucked.
Chapter 41
Banner
The remains of our binge litter the top of the bar. A carton of ice cream, an empty wine bottle, a crumpled bag of Doritos, six empty beers, and an open bottle of lube.
My ass is planted on the counter and my legs are over Logan’s shoulders while he proves once again that he does his best work when his hands are involved.
I scream out my orgasm as his fingertips circle the sensitive area just south of my pussy.
“I could tease your ass forever. I can’t believe you’re finally going to take me here.” His words are vibrations against my clit, already rousing the possibility of climax number two.
“If that big cock of yours will even fit.”
His finger breaches the muscle and I shiver at the sensation. It’s been a while for me, and for some reason, every time feels like the first time when it comes to the back door.
“Your tight little ass is going to be sore tomorrow if I get to fuck you the way I need it.”
I don’t even care. “You better give me everything you’ve got.”
“Every goddamned inch, baby.”
His finger slides in and out, and I arch up to rub my clit against his lips.
Until my phone rings and Logan stops.
“No—”
“Okay.”
He keeps going as the ring tone dies away, only to freeze again when it starts back up.
“Seriously! What the hell kind of timing is this?” I screech.
Logan lowers my legs from his shoulders and reaches for my purse with his free hand.
I take it from him, and fish the phone out to check the screen.
Sofia.
I haven’t heard from her in days, since she texted an all is well update about Myrna.
“Hello?”
“Oh my God, Banner. I didn’t know who else to call.”
The panic in her voice has me sitting up and closing my legs. “What’s going on?”
“She’s dead. I just found her. She’s dead.”
Sofia can only be talking about one person, but for some reason, I have to confirm what I already know as tears sting my eyes. “Myrna?”
She sobs into the phone. “Yes.”
“Did you call
911?”
A muffled sound comes next.
“What did you say?”
“They just took her body. Her daughter can’t get here until the day after tomorrow. I feel so terrible. She was all alone, sitting in her chair with Jordana right next to her.”
I can picture Myrna, and I figure if the old lady was ever going to depart from this Earth, that’s probably how she would have wanted it. But even that doesn’t stop the grief from welling in my chest.
Logan looks at me, and I can see the question in his eyes.
“What can I do?” I ask Sofia. I lived across the hall from the older woman for five years, and despite all the words we tossed between us, I’m devastated.
“Can you come home? Her daughter told me I need to start organizing things to get rid of, and told me to hire whoever I needed.”
“Already? Jesus.” It doesn’t surprise me as much as it sounds like, however. Mrs. Frances’s daughter has barely bothered with her mother in the last five years, so it’s not like death is going to change much.
“Yes, and she sounded so heartless. I just . . . I know you had your issues with her—”
Yeah, like she got me evicted. But I can’t hold that against her because getting evicted turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me.
“I’ll be there. It’ll be okay. It won’t be until tomorrow, though.”
“That’s fine. I’m going to stay here tonight with Jordana, so she’s not alone.”
The poor weird little dog. I wonder if Myrna’s daughter is going to want to take her. I know for a fact that Sofia’s apartment is pet-free, so that’s not going to work.
“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know when I’m in the city.”
“Thank you, Banner. I truly didn’t know who else to call.”
I hang up the phone and see the questions in Logan’s eyes.
“What the hell happened? Who died?”
“Mrs. Frances. My old neighbor. The one from across the hall who ratted me out for not having a job.”
His brow furrows. “Who interrupted us that first night?”
I nod.
“So you’re going to go back to New York for her funeral?”
“I assume I’ll be there for the funeral too. I mean, if her daughter even has one.”
