by Mj Fields
“Do what?”
“Pull your hat down,” she says, taking my hand.
“It’s—”
“A defense mechanism,” she says.
“Defense against what?” I nearly laugh.
“To hide your eyes, to hide your feelings and expressions, to hide Logan. Don’t do that, not from me.”
“I’m not.”
She looks at me sternly. I don’t like her scrutinizing me.
I feel her grip on my hand tighten and realize I was going to do it again—pull the hat down.
“You don’t have to with me. I don’t want you to.”
If I expect her and I to work, I’m going to have to accept that maybe...maybe sometimes London knows me better than I thought. In this case, she apparently knows me better than I know myself.
I sigh. “Not easy to do, but I’ll give it a try.”
Her eyes smile at me, making me less anxious.
She holds her hand up and spreads her fingers. “Link it.”
“Link it, huh?” I ask, doing the same with mine, and she nods then holds her hand against mine. It’s crazy how small it is in comparison. “You have tiny little hands.”
“Actually, I have big hands for a girl,” she says, looking at them together.
“I doubt that.” I move my hand so her fingers slide between mine. Then I fold my hand down around hers.
“Long fingers, better for tickling the ivory,” she tells me.
“Long fingers are good,” I respond, still not believing that her hands are considered big.
She giggles, and I look away from our hands to her.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Her grin broadens as she closes her eyes.
“If I can’t fuck with my hat, you can’t say shit like that and not explain.”
As she blushes a bit, I think about what we said.
“Jesus, London.”
“I’m sorry. I just...” she huffs. “Well, it’s...you know?”
I sit and wait for her to “London” this up—make an awkward situation even more awkward.
“Logan?”
“London?”
“How many people were you with when you were gone?” She immediately looks away from me.
“Are you kidding me?”
“I know we weren’t together, but I want to know.”
“Why the hell would you ask me that?”
“Because you know I certainly wasn’t.” She sits up, turns, and looks at me. “You just need to be honest with me, okay, Logan? I need that. I need you to be—”
Unable to take it anymore, I turn my hat backward, grab the back of her neck, and pull her close to me. A burst of her sweet breath escapes against my lips before I kiss her, forcing myself to be gentle. I push my forehead against hers and look into her baby blues. “No one, London.”
“Okay.” She pushes her lips toward mine, but I deny her because she needs to know.
“The night you busted into my place and wouldn’t leave, that fucking night I was trying to fuck things up...”
She nods.
“You had every fucking right to do that. We had conditions.” I reach up and rub her plump lower lip, wanting so fucking badly to kiss her, but not yet. “When I left for the city, I tried to put distance between us, because that’s the only thing to keep me away from you. I also wanted to make damn sure you always remembered me, thought of me when you moved on to someone else. I didn’t want you to be my first love. I didn’t want to be yours. I thought about all the people who fuck those up—your parents, my parents, half the fucking world. I can’t even imagine kissing someone else—”
“I’m so sorry,” she interrupts. “I’m so sorry I did that to you.”
“You better be.” I grip the back of her neck a little harder. “But straight-up, I probably needed that. Because that’s when I decided, fuck four years, fuck four minutes, and fuck you if you stuck with him.”
Nearly panting, she says, “I never would have—”
“I didn’t want you to be my first love because I wanted to fuck up with someone else. I wanted you to fuck up with someone else. But after seeing that...that fucking...” I can’t even say kiss, so I fucking don’t. “After that, I made the damn decision that I’m gonna be your first fucking everything. Neither one of us are gonna fuck up. Never again, London, never.”
She nods furiously, looking at my lips as if she needs them to fucking survive. I’m going to make damn sure she knows she does, while keeping her sweet, little ass focused on becoming her, too.
“Kiss me, dammit,” she begs.
“Before that happens, we need to discuss some fucking conditions.”
She closes her eyes and sighs.
“One, you never put those pretty lips on any other man, you got me?”
She nods.
“Two, hometown knows.”
She opens her eyes and looks at me.
“Hometown’s known longer than we have, and although I’ll be respectful and not fuck your hot, little mouth with my tongue like I want to every time I’m around you, I’m not promising shit, I’m not hiding shit, and I’m not putting up with shit.”
She nods again. “I got that when I overheard your conversation.”
“Sorry, London, but I’m not sorry,” I give it to her straight.
“Me either,” she tells me, serious as fuck.
“Fuck, I’m so into you,” comes out my mouth, and I have no clue how the fuck that happened. She must be rubbing off on me.
“I’ve got a crush on you, too, Logan.” She smirks.
“Yeah?” I smile at her.
“Big one.” Her smirk widens into a smile.
“Good fucking thing.”
“Kiss me.”
“Shit, conditions.” I pause, trying to remember what the fuck else I should say. Then she pushes her little paw up my shirt, and now I have no clue what I was thinking two seconds ago.
“Kiss. Me.”
As I grab her face, intending to do just that, someone walks into the room.
I look up at a man in a lab coat. “Mr. Hines said you have something for us.”
I reach into my pocket, pull out the two baggies, and hand them to him.
“How long will it take?” London asks.
He doesn’t answer.
“Do you know who the fuck she is?” I ask the asshole disrespecting her by not answering her fucking questions. “She’s London Fields.”
“A few hours,” he answers. “Mr. Hines will get the results.”
“Thank you.” She nods then looks back at me and demands, “Now kiss me.”
“A little pushy, are we?” I ask, pushing her chin up with my thumb.
“Do you know who I am?” she jokes.
“Yeah, I do. You’re mine.”
“Then kiss...yours,” she whispers, her mouth centimeters from mine.
So, I do, with my hand on the back of her neck, my thumb under her chin as my lips press against hers.
Mind blowing shit, this kissing thing. I mean, don’t get me wrong; fucking her is going to be...unimaginable. Unimaginable because, if fucking her mouth with my tongue, tasting her pretty lips, feeling her tongue stroking mine slowly, yet yielding to my need to take lead feels this fucking good, I am going to be worshipping every damn part of her body. And as messed up as that is, fucking her is further from my mind than exploring the rest of her before I take what has been mine forever. She knew it, and you’re damn right I knew it.
She is mine.
Mine.
Trust, she gives it to me so freely. I can’t even think about her with someone else because she may be cherry, but there is an obvious sexual and sensuality to her.
I’m not sorry in the least that I defended her on the down-low for all those years. None of those ass-sniffing little fuckers deserved her. They couldn’t handle her needs.
Five pump chumps.
She whimpers as I lick deeper then presses her tits against me, opening her mouth to suck in a breath
. I suck her lower lip into my mouth and suck on it.
First fucking kiss and her bra was off in two seconds. She sure as fuck was right a few years ago when she told me she was “all woman.” Certainly is...now.
Perfect tits, nipples that responded to a kiss that she knew needed pressure against it in order to ease the burning in them, the aching to be sucked and nipped at.
The restraint I used not to eat those tits...That alone tested me more than any training regimen I have ever endured. But I did it.
As she rubs those titties all over me now, I lick her lips outside and in, thinking about what I’m going to do to her pussy with my tongue.
Cuddle seasons turned heated every time. I saw the flickering flames in her eyes as she rocked against me. Hell, I came in my fucking pants from the friction. More than once, too. No fucks given. But she never got off, and I made damn sure she didn’t. The first time she does, it will have fuck not to do with me, except I’m going to be the one who makes it happen and watch her pretty face as she comes...for me.
Hard as hell, I grip her biceps and push her back slightly. “Want you so fucking bad, but we gotta chill the fuck out.”
She nods, panting, and looking uncomfortable as fuck.
I pull her head to my neck and use my other hand to press her body tighter to mine. She moans at the connection she needed, the pressure.
“Better, pretty?” I ask.
“Mmm...hmmm,” she pants, pressing harder against me.
When her alarm goes off, she huffs. “It’s time to go see Keeka.”
I rub her back. “You need to settle down a bit first.”
“So do you,” she tells me.
“It’ll find a leg.”
She laughs and sits back.
§
When London and I walk into Keeka’s room Dad is sitting in a chair, head down, but he looks up when he hears us. He’s angry.
Keeka is unaware we’re here and snaps, “Just leave me alone, okay? Both of you leave. I don’t need anyone.”
Tessa clears her throat. “I understand—”
“No, bitch, you don’t.” She throws the blanket off her face. “Just fucking leave. I don’t want that baby, okay? I don’t and—”
She stops when Dad stands and hovers over her. “Young lady—”
“Lucas.” Tessa shakes her head.
“Dad, why don’t you, Tessa, and London go grab some coffee?”
Keeka looks toward the door, sees me, and points. “You should join them.”
I point back at her. “Not till you and I have a chat.”
“Logan...” Dad begins.
“No, Dad, appreciated, but not necessary. I got this,” I tell him.
He and Tessa walk toward me. He clamps my shoulder and whispers, “She’s already asked the nurse to get someone so she can sign her rights away.”
I acknowledge what he has said with a nod then wait for them to leave.
I look at London. “Just give me a few—”
“Pft,” she huffs, walks to the door closing it without leaving, and then turns to Keeka.
“I don’t need your Sally sunshine shit,” Keeka spews.
“Good, ’cause you won’t get it,” London says, walking toward her.
“London...” I warn. I have seen Keeka in action, and London is a bit sheltered, and yeah, I’d like to keep her that way.
“She’s beautiful, and you’re her mom.”
“Mom?” Keeka huffs. “Like I have a clue how to be one.”
“No first-time mom truly does,” London says, sitting on the bed next to her, which makes me really fucking nervous when Keeka is angrier than I have ever seen her.
“Okay.” Keeka laughs angrily and sits up. “You know what? I don’t really like you, so you can leave now.”
Shit.
“Well, tough shit,” London snaps back. “You and I, we’re—”
“Yeah, exactly. You think I’m your dead dad’s and his whore’s kid. True or not, you and I will never be—”
“Like hell we won’t!” London interrupts her again.
I make my way to the other side of the bed hoping like hell I don’t have to play defense and restrain Keeka, though I will if need be.
“I chose you as a friend. Right now, it may not seem all that damn friendly—”
“Your choice, not mine,” Keeka snaps back.
“Right, and that’s why you came to the house.” London rolls her eyes at her. “That’s why you hugged me, you cried, you cared about me.” She pauses. “Now, if you’re my sister you’re screwed. Ask Maddox, I don’t give up.”
“Logan!” Keeka snaps at me and looks as if I should take care of the London situation.
I choose my response wisely. “You can ask him. I’ll give you his number.”
She reaches out to smack me, and I catch her fist.
“Better me than her.” I sit down on the bed, still holding her hand, and pull her into a hug. A fucking hug. I don’t hug. This is the London affect. Son of a bitch.
“What are you doing?” Keeka snaps at me.
“Fuck if I know. Comforting? Restraining?”
“Just let it happen,” London says sweetly, hugging her from the back.
“You two need to get the fuck out of here! What is wrong with you?” Keeka snaps.
“I don’t know,” London replies. “Maybe we like you? Maybe twenty-seven people died yesterday. Maybe—”
Keeka’s struggling becomes even more intense, and I hold on tighter, protecting both her and London.
When Ava came home at Christmas, Luke took both the kids for what he called “visitation.” Ava lost her shit. She was worse than I had ever seen, and I knew damn well Luke was pushing her, but he was doing it for her own sake. I spent the better part of a night and day holding her together. When it was all said and done, she thanked me. God willing, Keeka will feel the same way.
“Birth,” she cries and begins to sob. “Death!” she cries louder, shaking as she sobs.
When she’s calmed down a bit, I tell her, “Those are the guarantees, Keeks. What happens between those two events is life.”
“Well, life sucks,” she sobs out. “Life. Sucks.”
“It’s not so bad, Keeks, once you figure out what makes you happy.” I look over at London who’s looking at me and smiling as a tear falls down her pale white skin.
“Well, I don’t know what that is! How am I supposed to do that for...that...that...kid?”
“Well, sister from the same, or maybe a different, mister,” London says, “that’s what friends are for.”
She looks back at London. “It’s not going to work out well for us, you know that. Your mom—”
“My mom will love you regardless.” London reaches out and wipes Keeka’s nose with her sleeve. “And I’m gonna love you more.”
Keeka shakes her head, while London does the opposite. Of course she does.
Ten minutes later, I’m walking out of the bathroom, finding the two of them are sound asleep, hugging, as a nurse comes in, pushing a plastic bin with a tiny life wrapped in a pink blanket.
“Don’t wake her,” I damn near demand.
She starts to turn, pushing the baby back out of the room, taking her away from her family.
“You can leave her here.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” She glances at Keeka.
“It’s gonna be fine. Just leave her here.” Now I do demand.
“She’ll need to eat in four hours or so. The formula is in the drawer, with diapers.” The way she says diapers is like she’s trying to scare me.
Laughable.
“Great. Thanks.”
I walk over and look down at her. Then I read the pink index card on the baby bin.
Name: Baby Garcia Lopez
Weight: Seven pounds, two ounces.
Length: Twenty-two inches
Mother: Keeka Garcia Lopez
Father: Unknown
Immediately, my blood boils. Truc
ker.
I reach in and pick her up, supporting her head as I pull her swaddled little body against my chest and sit in the chair.
“Hey there, angel baby,” I whisper then kiss the pink knit hat on her head. “Happy birthday.”
She makes a little wet squeaky sound and nuzzles into my neck.
I reach into my pocket, grab my phone, take a selfie, and yes, I message it to that fucker.
Immediately, I get a text.
Ava’s kid?
Fucking joke. Ava’s kids are eight fucking months old.
No
Been busy. I saw some shit on the news. You good?
Fuck you, I think, then I type it out and send it. He deserves it.
Fuck you
What the hell’s that supposed to mean, man? Lol.
L. O. Fucking L?
Means you’re a little bitch. That’s what it fucking means.
I hit send then look up as Dad and Tessa walk in.
“You okay?” Dad asks.
“Yeah.” I stand. “Take Angel for me? I need to deal with something.”
Dad hesitates.
“What?”
“She named her?” he asks.
“Nah, just looks like a little Angel,” I say, nodding to the chair. “Sit so I can go take a piss?”
I’d piss on Trucker if he was here, I think.
Dad smirks. “I’ve held a baby before, boy; hand Angel over.”
“Shit, of course,” I say, putting her in his hands.
My phone vibrates in my hand. I know who it is.
“I’ll be back.”
I don’t look at the fucking screen, I just head for the stairs; the elevator would take too damn long. When I get to the bottom, I find the nearest exit and hit him up on FaceTime. He answers immediately.
“Hey, bro,” he says on a laugh.
“Hey nothing, Trucker. Twenty-seven people from a community you grew up near and went to school at died, and not even a call, man? Not one fucking message?” I yell at him. No, I fucking scream at him.
His nostrils flare a bit. He’s pissed.
“You’re a fucking waste of my goddamned time, Trucker.”
“You’re jealous of what I got, man. Jealous that I made it here first,” he hisses.
“No, motherfucker, I turned it down. That’s why you got it.” I let him suck on that a little bit. “Turned it down twice actually. The Giants drafted Jones because I told them no. Guess where he is now? He’s fucking dead.”
