Because of Logan

by Erica Alexander

  As I wait, memories of the last River rescue mission take residence in my mind, and I smile to myself thinking of the police officer who pulled me over. Logan Cole. I let his name roll off my tongue silently, and I like the way it feels. My chest expands and contracts as I release a resigned sigh. It’s just like me to have met the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen during the most humiliating moment of my life. Just thinking about it, my face flames again. I can’t deny the heat that pools low in my belly, either. Just thinking about him turns me on. Embarrassment and lust take turns, fighting for dominance over me. Maybe I’m going through some delayed hormonal puberty.

  As if being pulled over and thought to be driving drunk wasn’t bad enough, I just had to be wearing PJs that barely covered my ass and pink bunny slippers because, you know? That’s not awkward or anything. Who goes out in public like that? Apparently, me. I do. And all because of River.

  I take another step forward. It’s finally my turn.

  “Good morning, Skye. What can I get you today?”

  Pat asks me with her big momma smile. Her brown hair is always in a ponytail. She has one of those faces that’s impossible to tell the age, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s in her mid-fifties. The crinkles around her eyes are proof of someone who smiles and laughs often. Pat wears her happiness in the wrinkles of her face with pride.

  I eye the goodies behind the glass and decide to be bad. I need a pick-me-up after the last couple of days.

  “A red velvet muffin and a chocolate cappuccino, please.” It’s not so much a muffin as a giant cupcake covered in cream cheese icing, and it’s just what I need right now. I pay for it and step to the side, waiting for the barista to make my cup of heaven as Pat takes the person behind me. Then I hear a voice I never thought I’d hear again and shiver.

  This time, it has nothing to do with the cold.

  Chapter Four

  I’m crossing the street when I see Skye walk into Pat’s Cafe. If I’d planned to meet her there, it couldn’t have been more perfect. She doesn’t see me walk in right behind her. She’s completely distracted, and I take advantage of it to study her, letting my gaze drift over her small figure. I take in the long blond hair falling down her back and the way the ends curl in different directions, my eyes lingering on the curve of her ass in those tight pants she’s wearing. She moves forward and I step closer. Her scent fills me with longing. She smells like orange blossom flowers—the scent of my childhood and teen years.

  Grandpa loved Vermont and the cold. Grandma loved summer and the heat. They compromised, traveling back and forth between Vermont and Florida, always making sure to be around whenever my brother Liam and I didn’t have school. We spent every school break and vacation with them. Every summer, Liam and I would fly down to Florida where we spent weeks on end with our grandparents. Grandma loved to garden, and she had several orange trees in the large back yard. The fragrance of orange blossoms hung in the humid, warm night air like a thick blanket. It’s been a couple of years since I made my way down south. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I caught my favorite smell on Skye.

  Pat’s voice brings me back from memory lane.

  “Hey, hon, good to see you here today. You got the morning off?”

  I answer Pat, but my eyes are fixed on Skye. She turns as soon as I speak. A look of surprise comes over her face as her cheeks pinken in that way I’m getting used to.

  “Yeah, I worked a late shift last night.”

  “What can I get you, Logan?”

  I glance at Pat then, and she’s watching me with eyes that miss nothing. She’s already doing the math in her head as her eyes move between Skye and me. Pat has clearly missed her calling. She should have been a detective. Just one glance from Pat, and I feel the need to confess all my sins and beg for forgiveness. I think of her poor kids growing up under that stare and shudder.

  It takes me a second to get my bearings again, and I make it appear as if I’m thinking, but I can tell by the twinkle in Pat’s eyes that she knows better.

  “What do you suggest, Pat? Do you have my favorite?” I ask, trying to buy time.

  Pat snorts at that—yeah, I’m so busted—and goes to the glass case to get the pastries I’m addicted to. I very well know she always has them. I stop by almost every day to get a to-go coffee and something to eat.

  I pay for it, place the small plate with the sweets on top of my coffee mug, and take a step closer to Skye, who’s still frozen in place.

  The barista is trying to get her attention, but her eyes are locked on mine, and as I get closer, her head tilts up, still looking at me. I’m about a foot taller than her. I reach around her, brushing her shoulder with my chest, my face inches away, her eyes never leaving mine. She takes a quick breath in and holds it. With my free hand, I grab the drink she ordered, take a small step back, and nod back at the counter.

  “Is that yours?”

  She blinks and looks over to her side, breaking the connection as she grabs a plate with the muffin.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I search for an empty table and find a small one in the corner near the window. Taking her mug hostage with me, I nod toward the table and hope she’ll follow me. She does.

  Skye sits with her back to the large window. The still weak sun filtering through the morning haze shines over her head, making her hair even more golden. I’m mesmerized by the way the sunlight plays on her hair, trickles around her small frame, and glows around her. An unfamiliar ache in my chest has me questioning my sanity. What is it about this girl that has me so attracted to her? She’s cute, but not in an overt way. Certainly not as beautiful as the women I’ve been with before. Skye has a certain vulnerability about her that speaks to my hardened soul. I’m intrigued, and I can’t remember the last time anything had me this eager to figure out. I need to understand what it is about her that fascinates me so I can control it. She challenges me without even knowing it.

  It’s just lust, I tell myself. It’s been a while. I push all the questions away, and an unbidden fantasy of what I’d like to do to her if I had a chance takes me by surprise.

  I want to wrap those golden locks around my wrist as I tug her head back and nibble on her neck, working my way up to those full lips that are begging me to bite, lick, and suck on, and then reverse my path and work my way south.

  Jesus!

  I shift in the chair, trying to release the pressure building inside my jeans and shake off the dangerous track my thoughts are trying to lead me on. I’m sitting across from Skye—a small table between us—and the space underneath is not enough to contain my long legs. Her knees brush against mine and it sends a shiver up my spine. I get harder. Fuck! My dick is acting like I’m fifteen again.

  Her eyes rove over me, taking in my gray hoodie, and I can almost hear all the questions swirling in her head.

  She takes her jacket off and drapes it over the back of the chair.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks in a low, unsure voice.

  I push her mug closer to her on the table.

  “The same as you. Having breakfast.”

  “But why here?” she says, but what I hear is, Are you following me?

  She looks nervous.

  I try to ease her worries with a smile.

  “I live right there.”

  I point at my house, almost directly across the street from the café.

  She turns to look over her shoulder.

  “The blue house?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Wow! What are the odds?”

  Pretty good, I hope.

  She bites her lip, thinking hard.

  “I want to thank you again for Friday night.”

  The words are followed by a lovely blush.

  My smile grows. Hers wanes. She’s uncomfortable. And that’s the last thing I want. I want her to like me if I’m to have a chance of getting into her bed. Because that’s all this is, right? A normal hormonal-driven attracti
on to a pretty girl.

  Except that for the last few years, I didn’t give a fuck if anyone liked me or not. The women I’ve been with knew the score. And like me, they were in it for the sex and nothing more. I vowed to never be trapped into a relationship again. But for some reason, I want this one to like me. Me. Not my family name or what it represents. And not the fulfillment of some ‘I want to fuck a cop’ fantasy. I get a lot of those too.

  “Don’t worry about it. I know you were telling me the truth. It’s all good.”

  And to take the attention away from her and me, I ask about her sister.

  “How’s your sister? Was she okay after I left?”

  I’m used to reading people, seeing their thoughts in the expressions on their faces, hearing the words that are not said. Something crosses her mind when I ask about her sister. Not anger. Annoyance, maybe, and a touch of resignation? It happens so fast, I almost miss it, but I could swear she wanted to roll her eyes.

  “Yes, River is fine. She’s such a lightweight. I don’t even think she drank that much. She said someone spilled beer on her shirt. One or two drinks will do her in. I wish she didn’t do things like that.”

  She sighs with a note of concern in her voice.

  “She does that a lot?”

  “No, not really.”

  Skye’s quick to defend her sister. Loyalty. That’s another thing I haven’t experienced much of either.

  I can feel her opening up a little more, now that she’s not the center of the conversation. Skye is not used to being the center of attention or does not like the spotlight on her.

  “Well, since we were kids, she’s always been the fun one, but drinking, no. This is something that started a few months ago . . .” Skye trails off.

  Okay, new subject, I think.

  “Are you going to eat all that?”

  I point at the giant muffin.

  She laughs as her gaze drops. She’s shy. “It might take me a couple of tries, but I think I can tame this monster.”

  I break off a chunk of the large slice of lemon pound cake and save the three chocolate chip cookies for last.

  “You have a sweet tooth too, I see.”

  Her eyes land on mine and move away again as if she’s unsure of where to look, but her shoulders drop, and her gaze lingers a little longer each time.

  “If you make a donut joke, I’ll give you that ticket after all,” I say but follow it with a laugh so she knows I’m teasing. “Yes, I have a weak spot for sweets, and this”—I pick up one of the chocolate chip cookies—“is my greatest weakness.”

  “Oh, Pat’s cookies are good, but mine are better,” she whispers with a guilty look toward the counter where Pat is.

  I don’t look back as to not give away that we’re talking about her.

  “I love to bake. You should eat my cookies. You’d love them.”

  I can’t help the smirk that comes over my face.

  “I want to eat your cookies, and I know I’ll love them.”

  I know she did not mean the double entendre as I did, but I can’t help myself.

  Her eyes go wide as she gets my meaning.

  “Sorry,” I’m quick to apologize. “I’m teasing. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  Skye sighs, and her shoulders drop a little more. The tension leaves her, and she settles into her seat, either finally relaxed in my presence or defeated, accepting there’s no forgetting the embarrassing moments we shared a day ago. I sense it’s the latter, and it bothers me.

  I watch as she picks up her mug with both hands, brings it to her lips, and blows on it. Steam and the scent of chocolate hang in the space between us. She licks her lips before taking a tentative sip, and finding the temperature acceptable, she takes a long drink. Her eyes close in bliss as the flavors of her chocolate cappuccino touch her tongue. The entire moment lasts no more than a few seconds, but it’s so sensual, so captivating—I’m utterly lost in it. My pants get tighter. I shift, trying to give my inconvenient growing erection a little space. She opens her eyes and a smile of pure joy graces her face. There’s no subterfuge. Her innocent enjoyment of the drink in her hands turns me on even more. I’m surprised by the appeal it has to me.

  She puts the cup down on the table, small hands still wrapped around it.

  “This weekend was a disaster. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my entire life. And believe me, I have stories to tell.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. It was the perfect ending for a boring night. I don’t remember ever having so much fun on a traffic stop.”

  She narrows her eyes at me.

  “Glad someone enjoyed it.”

  Her words drip with sarcasm.

  There’s a little fire to her after all. I find that I’m enjoying myself and her company. There’s something about this cute and awkward girl that makes me feel lighter. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this carefree.

  “So you have a birthday coming soon, right?”

  I know her birthdate because I read it on her twin’s driver’s license.

  She looks confused and I clarify.

  “Friday night, or Saturday morning, rather, your sister said you had a birthday coming.”

  She averts her eyes, remembering the exact circumstances in which her birthday had been mentioned and what her sister had said she’d get her.

  “This Saturday. I’ll be twenty-one.”

  Skye looks at me and away again as she smiles her shy smile.

  “What are you doing to celebrate it? A party?”

  “I don’t know. River always comes up with something crazy, but I doubt it will be a party.”

  “Books before parties, I remember.”

  “Yeah, I’m boring like that.”

  “Liking to read doesn’t make you boring. It makes you smart. Do you always celebrate together?”

  She smiles at the compliment and takes another sip of her drink before answering me. I force myself to break eye contact and take a drink of my coffee, making a mental note not to come on too strong. I like this girl. I have no idea why, but I do.

  “For the most part, yes. I’m sure River will have some big plan, being a milestone birthday and all, but I don’t know if I want to do anything she has in mind.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, River can get a little crazy with our birthdays. She’s an all-or-nothing kind of girl and I’m more of a stay-out-of-trouble type.”

  “What do you mean, a little crazy?”

  “For our eighteenth birthday, we went skydiving. She dragged me to this small airport and made me jump off a perfectly good airplane.”

  My eyebrows curve up and my mouth drops open. This surprises me.

  “For our nineteenth birthday, we went on a hot air balloon trip. There’s nothing like seeing the fall colors from a hot air balloon in Vermont. That was cool. Still scary, but cool.”

  “And last year?”

  “Last year, we went bungee jumping. Off a bridge. It was terrifying. A thousand times worse than the hot air balloon and the skydiving.”

  I wonder if she ever says no to anything her sister comes up with.

  “I see a trend. Everything has to do with heights. Your sister must love the thrill of being up in the sky.”

  “Nope. She’s afraid of heights and that’s why she does it. Confront your fears and all that.”

  “She’s an interesting character. If this trend continues, rock climbing might be a possibility in your near future.”

  “We did that when we turned sixteen. And whitewater rafting at seventeen. I didn’t see the connection until we got to the ten-foot drop in the middle of the river.”

  “I think I’m scared of what twenty-one will bring.”

  “Tell me about it. I just want to stay home and do nothing.”

  “But you should do something. Twenty-one is a big milestone. You don’t want to look back on it when you’re ninety and regret not doing something special.”

  “What d
id you do when you turned twenty-one?” she asks.

  “Yeah—I don’t think you want to do that,” I reply, thinking of my last year in college when my friends took me to a strip club and bought me lap dances and enough alcohol to float a boat.

  I’d never been so drunk and vowed to never be that drunk again. Stupid stuff happens when people get drunk, and I can’t afford for anything slightly unsavory to tarnish the family name. Even after years of being away from home and shunning my father altogether, his influence still reaches me. It pisses me off. Something must show on my face because she frowns at me.

  “Was it something bad?”

  “No, not at all, just not the wisest of decisions.”

  She bites her lip.

  “Now I need to know. You got me all curious.”

  She reminds me of a cat—reserved, curious, graceful—and I want to make her purr.

  Blurred images of asses and tits come to my mind, but I spare her the details.

  “My friends got me drunk. I advise against that.”

  “Yeah, after last night’s fiasco, I have no inclination to be drunk, not that I’ve ever been.”

  “Never?” I ask.

  It surprises me.

  “I’ve tasted champagne and wine, but I didn’t like them. Alcohol is bitter. I don’t understand why anyone would drink to the point of losing control.”

  “Sometimes, losing control can be a good thing.”

  Her eyes widen, and it tells me that behind the innocent face hides a dirty mind. I didn’t intend my words to sound dirty, but somehow, she went there. I like that. I like that a lot.

  “And I’m not twenty-one yet,” she counters.

  “Not being of legal drinking age wouldn’t stop most people.”

  Our eyes linger on each other for several seconds and it’s not awkward.

  I hesitate for a moment and then think, what the hell, just go for it.

  “Would you like to celebrate your birthday with me?”

  “With you?” she repeats.