Even I wasn’t that naive.
After staring for a few minutes at the spot Cole’s car had disappeared from my view, I wandered back to the game. My dad assumed I’d been in the bathroom taking care of more girly business he wanted no part of, and Logan didn’t even look my way again until he went up to bat a couple innings later.
I knew this might be a case of the grass being greener on the other side, but right now, I think I would have preferred being caught chasing after some guy than being totally ignored.
It might have been a stretch, but it made me feel very insignificant.
Other than Logan’s mom asking me if I’d given any thought to what colors I’d like for Logan’s and my wedding—I’d choked on the piece of popcorn I’d been munching on and told her I’d have to get back with her later on that . . . much later—no one even spoke to me. Well, other than Dad, although I’m not sure if questions that required a one word reply constituted as conversation.
At the end of the ninth inning, my butt was numb, I was hot and sweaty from baking in the sun, and my mood was all over the place. Wasn’t the best time for Logan to sneak attack me.
“Hey, baby.” Logan’s arms wound around me and he placed a chaste kiss on my cheek as I headed toward my Jeep. “Weren’t you planning on waiting for me?” He sounded a little hurt, and when I turned in his arms, his expression revealed the same. Whatever I was going through, Logan didn’t deserve to be dragged into it. He wasn’t perfect, and lord knows I was having a tough time with his old fashioned ways as of late, but he was a good guy. A really good guy. The kind of guy girls wait years to find, if they ever find that certain someone at all.
“Sorry, I just needed to grab something from the Jeep real quick. I wasn’t leaving.” The lies were becoming easier. “That was a great game. Two home-runs and one double in a single game? You better watch out or you’re going to have colleges lining up to sign you to their teams.”
Logan smiled. “Who needs college when I’ve got everything I need right here? The ranch. Baseball.” He motioned at the now empty field before tapping the tip of my nose. “And you.”
It was a sweet thing to say, but it made my stomach squirm. Guidance counselors, family, or pop culture had seriously dropped the ball when it came to explaining to Logan we weren’t living in the nineteenth century. People didn’t get married and settle into home life at eighteen any more. People graduated high school, went to college, did a bunch of crazy stuff along the way, worked in their career field, and then, maybe then, did they decide to get married.
Logan wasn’t one of those people. And I wasn’t going to be one of those people if I stayed with him.
“What time do you have to head into work tonight?” he asked, dropping his arms from my waist. Logan wasn’t PDA self-conscious; he just didn’t let himself touch me the way most teenage boys touch their girlfriends.
After experiencing what touching could be like, I wanted to be touched.
“Dad asked me to pop in around five,” I answered, remembering why I was working tonight on what was supposed to be my weekend off. Logan had told Dad we didn’t have plans so I could work if he needed me. No thought to clear it by me first. I felt a spark of anger flame.
“You want to hang out at my place until you have to go in?” he said, turning his baseball cap around. “I miss you, Elle. Here I thought we’d have tons of time to spend together this summer, and I don’t think I’ve spent one uninterrupted hour with you yet.”
I wasn’t in the mood to be around Logan right now. Not just because of what I’d done with Cole, but because of Cole’s and my fight and the prospect of never seeing him again. I wanted to cry, or sulk, or hit something until I’d eliminated even a tenth of the ache throbbing through me.
What I didn’t want to do was be around my boyfriend who hadn’t been the one I’d been making out with last night.
“Come on,” Logan said, tucking my hand inside of his. “I’ll make you a cup of tea and we can watch a movie or something. You look like you need a little time to relax.” Logan’s other hand lifted to my face, tracing over the creases lining it. He knew something was wrong, but I knew my trusting, optimist boyfriend didn’t suspect anything remotely close to the truth. When his thumbs skimmed over the dark hollows under my eyes, he added, “You must have missed me as much as I missed you this past week.”
Logan’s blue eyes softened in concern. He was worried.
Another wheelbarrow full of guilt added to my mountain of it.
Tugging on my hand, Logan led me around to the driver’s side of my Jeep. “Come on. You look like you need some Logan therapy as much as I need some Elle therapy.”
I needed therapy, that was obvious, but I wasn’t sure if it was Logan Matthews kind. I gave an internal sigh before hopping into the Jeep and following him towards his place.
The Matthews’ house was only a few miles out of town, so the drive didn’t last long. It didn’t seem possible I could feel even more guilty than I already did following Logan in his old truck, but when I pulled up in front of the house I’d been to at least a hundred times before, I discovered there was no limit on the guilt meter.
“Mom left a couple chicken salad sandwiches in the fridge,” Logan said as we walked through the front door of his family’s old farmhouse.
Logan’s mom had spent the better part of her married life restoring it, and twenty-five years of hard work showed. The Matthews’ place was as much my home as my own. I’d spent as many waking hours here as I had at mine.
“You want one?” Logan pulled a Saran wrapped plate of sandwiches from the fridge and placed it on the counter.
“No, thanks,” I said, hovering in the doorway. I half expected the house to know what I’d done last night and who I’d been doing it with. I was almost holding my breath, waiting for it to reject me.
“Where are your dad and mom?” I asked. Usually one of them was always here, which made private time with my boyfriend hard to achieve. I guessed this had been part of their plan.
“Mom’s setting up for the big church potluck tomorrow and Dad’s getting a head start tagging the calves,” Logan said, focused on piling a mound of chips around his sandwich. I swear Logan ate enough food to keep four men in working order. “Why don’t you put a movie in? Girl’s choice.” He threw me a quick wink before heaping another handful of chips on his plate.
I studied Logan for a few moments, something I hadn’t done in a long time. He was handsome in that classical, Kennedy kind of way. He was a bit taller, but not as built. His eyes were lighter in color and, when they gleamed, it wasn’t with knowing or spine-tingling expectation. Logan’s hair was blond, golden specifically. The irony was not lost on me. It was a good couple inches shorter, and his skin was a few shades paler than . . .
Cole.
I was comparing Logan to Cole. In his own house while he offered to make me some lunch. And Logan was losing this comparison.
It wasn’t fair.
Pushing aside all thoughts of Cole, I made myself smile.
“You’re going to regret that,” I said, trying to sound playful. I wasn’t quite up to that task.
Logan chuckled as he cracked open a soda. “Just please, I’m begging you, not ‘The Notebook,’” he said. “I’ll poke my eyes out for sure this time if I have to watch that girl get it on with two guys and complain about how terrible her life is.” He drew his index finger across his neck.
He knew. I was going to puke.
No, wait. He was grinning now, stacking the leaning tower of potato chips. He didn’t know anything; the movie reference was just a dagger-driving-into-my-heart coincidence.
“No. Definitely not ‘The Notebook,’” I said as I headed into the living room. I loved the movie, or I had loved the movie, but I’d been on the same page with Logan. I could never feel sorry for poor little rich Allie, having to choose between two gorgeous men who worshipped her. Some people’s lives must really suck.
My opinions on All
ie Hamilton the two-timer had changed in twenty-four hours’ time. She had a tough time deciding between her first love and her fiancee; I had a tough time deciding between my boyfriend and a guy I’d known all of a week.
Not that I had a decision to make anyways. I’d probably never see Cole again, unless in passing. I didn’t have a Noah Calhoun waiting for me if I broke it off with the man I was supposed to spend my life with.
I almost had to slap my cheeks to stop that train of thought.
Instead of plopping down on the couch in front of the TV, I headed up the stairs towards Logan’s room. He had a small TV and movie collection in his room, and since his parents didn’t let us hang out in there together when they were home, I walked right into his room and crashed down on his bed.
Logan’s room was a lot like him: comfortable, warm, and a tad boring. He still had the same sports ball wallpaper border he’d gotten in grade school running along the ceiling, the same twin sized bed, and the same trophy shelves hanging above his dresser, though the number of trophies had grown over the years. Other than the few pictures of Logan and me at our senior year dances and his pair of work boots, I could have been walking into the eight year old Logan’s room.
Change wasn’t encouraged here in the Matthews family.
I was starting to suffocate again.
“Hey.” Logan stood in the doorway, his overflowing plate in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. He looked uncomfortable.
He looked even more uncomfortable when I patted the space on the bed beside me.
I had to be with the only teenage guy in existence who didn’t jump at the opportunity to crawl into bed with his girlfriend.
“I’m tired and wanted to put my feet up,” I said, scooting over as Logan took a few tentative steps inside. “I might even pass out for a while before work, so I wanted to be comfortable. Do you mind?”
I could see from his face that he did, but he kept walking towards me. I didn’t get any satisfaction out of making Logan uncomfortable, but the guy wanted to marry me tomorrow and was uncomfortable lying next to me on his bed. Fully clothed, watching a movie, and maybe, maybe, a little hand holding.
“No, it’s fine. Dad and Mom aren’t going to be home until later anyways.” He set his plate down on his nightstand before taking a seat on the edge of his bed. If he sat anymore on that edge, he was going to fall off. “It will be our little secret.”
Little secret. Dirty little secrets. I couldn’t seem to not think about Cole for longer than two minutes.
Scooting back, Logan leaned into the headboard and tried to get comfortable. He still wasn’t quite there, but he got points for trying.
“I made some tea for you.” He held out the steaming mug where I saw a familiar tag swinging from a string.
Every day before this one, I’d taken the tea and drank it down like a champ.
Every day until this one.
“Logan,” I said, propping up on my elbows. “I don’t like tea. In fact, I hate it even. And if I could pick the kind I hated the most, it would be earl grey.”
I watched Logan’s face go through a few stages, from confusion to contemplation, before it ended on hurt. I could tell because he wouldn’t look at me—that was always the dead giveaway that I’d hurt him.
“I’m sorry,” I said as he set the mug down on his nightstand, looking dejected. “I could have said that in a nicer way.”
“It’s okay,” Logan said, leaning his head back and staring at his ceiling where the glow in the dark stars we’d stuck up there in third grade still were.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
His gaze drifted down to mine. “I’m not upset because you just told me you don’t like tea,” he said. “I’m upset because you haven’t told me until now. Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t like it years ago?”
Because I was in need of some serious psychiatric help.
“Why didn’t you ask?” I replied.
Logan’s eyebrows came together. “I . . .well . . . I guess I just . . .” His eyes drifted from the cup of tea to me a few times before his face relaxed. “I’m sorry, Elle. I guess I just assumed you liked it.”
I softened right away. “I didn’t exactly give you any reason not to assume I didn’t.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Really.” I placed my hand over his. “It’s all right. It might have taken us a couple years to figure it out, but now you know I. Don’t. Like. Tea.”
“Got it,” he said, smiling as he tapped his temple. “What do you like then?”
I had to remind myself he was only asking about beverages.
“Coffee,” I said, feeling weight fall off my shoulders. “With a little bit of milk and one raw sugar.”
Logan nodded as he studied our entwined hands. He turned mine over, seeming to inspect every line and freckle, until he lifted it to his mouth. He pressed a gentle kiss into the backside of my hand, letting his mouth linger there for a bit longer than normal. So long, my heartbeat started to pick up.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, setting my hand down before hopping out of bed.
As soon as I heard Logan’s footsteps thumping down the stairs, I lifted my hand above me. I turned it over and stared at the patch of skin Logan’s mouth had just touched. My heart still pounded from that kiss. I hadn’t expected that. The intimate kiss or the way my body had reacted to it.
I’d never felt the level of desire I’d experienced last night with Cole at any time in Logan’s and my relationship and, even though it was only a fraction of what I’d felt when Cole’s mouth had been on mine, it was of the same type of desire. That kind that never truly goes away and only explodes the instant the object of that desire comes within arm’s reach. The kind of desire that is so appealing and all-consuming it leads girls to stray on their boyfriends.
So why, after months of Logan kissing me, had one gentle kiss to the hand done a number on me?
I thought about that question for a good minute before I decided it would have to be grouped into that cluster of questions I couldn’t answer.
“I know this doesn’t make up for pretty much forcing you to drink something you hate,” Logan’s voice broke me from my stewing as he reentered the room, “but think of it as a fresh start in the beverage making process.”
Logan was carrying a new mug and had changed out of his baseball uniform. He had on his well-worn khaki shorts and an equally well worn-in tee that he must have snagged out of the laundry room downstairs. Topped off by the apology in his eyes and smile, I was reminded why so many girls at my high school had given me the cold shoulder the whole first month after Logan and I became an item. When you went to school with less than a couple hundred students, the pickings were slim.
And Logan Matthews was the kind of guy who would even stick out at one of those huge schools in Seattle.
“What have you got there?” I asked, smiling at him.
“We didn’t have any raw sugar, so I added a little regular,” he began, holding the cup out for me, “but it’s my way of apologizing and begging for forgiveness.”
I took the mug from him and brought it to my lips. “Thank you,” I said before taking a sip. It was the first cup of coffee I’d had at Logan’s house, and while it was watered down and tongue scaldingly hot, it qualified as one of the best cups of coffee I’d ever had.
It embodied what could happen when I stood up to someone and they actually listened.
I took another sip and closed my eyes in satisfaction.
“So?” Logan said expectantly. “Am I forgiven?”
I settled the cup beside his plate on the nightstand and sat up on my knees so I was at eye level with him. “Not quite,” I said, looping my arms around his neck and scooting to the edge of the bed. My chest formed against his and I felt his shoulders tense before they relaxed. I dropped my lips to his and gave him the soft, chaste kind of kiss that made up ninety-nine percent of Logan’s and my physical intimacy.
&n
bsp; “There,” I said, leaning back. “You’re forgiven.”
Logan didn’t smile his easy grin then. He didn’t give me one final hug before picking out a movie and going to town on his sandwich. He was hungry, but in a way I wasn’t familiar with. At least, not coming from Logan.
His pupils were fully dilated, his breathing coming in short bursts, and his hands weren’t letting me go. They were pulling me closer.
Before I could wonder what had come over him, Logan’s mouth was back on mine. His lips didn’t move over mine in the soft, languid pulls I was used to. I almost started gasping from being unable to breathe.
Logan’s hands twisted into my shirt at my back as his thumbs polished over the skin just above my skirt. I didn’t know what was happening, I barely recognized who I was kissing anymore, but I couldn’t stop. When I slid my tongue inside Logan’s mouth, teasing the tip of his, he let out a rough, low groan. It was so similar to the sound Cole had made last night in response to what I’d done to his body, it made me lose all abandon with Logan’s.
Detaching my mouth from his, I grabbed the hem of his tee and tugged it over his head. It was on the floor behind him before he registered I’d been about to take it off. I saw him about to protest. I’d gotten his shirt off a total of once in two years and it lasted for a whole five seconds before he put it back on and made me sit on the opposite end of the couch.
I wasn’t going to be so easy to order this time.
Before he could say anything, I slid my tank up and over my head and tossed it on top of his shirt.
Now me shirtless . . . that was a first. Sure, Logan had seen me in my swimsuit, the boring black racerback one I wore when he came to the swimming hole, but a swimsuit and a bra were a whole world of different.
Up in Flames Page 7
