His First Crush

by Mj Fields

  “Has she talked about Troy or her mother at all?” he whispers, and I shake my head. “How about Trucker?”

  I don’t know why it shocks me that he knows who Leddie’s father is, but he does.

  I glance up to see if anyone else heard him and find Lucas and Dad looking at me.

  “Does everyone know?” I whisper back.

  He nods. “And everyone is willing to say they don’t.”

  “How did they find out?”

  Maddox shrugs.

  “Spill it.”

  “I will not divulge that information at this time.”

  I look up at Dad, who shakes his head, then I chance a glance at Lucas. He shrugs.

  Busted, Lucas Links, I think.

  “You should never play poker,” I tell him.

  “Who? Me?” He points to himself.

  I roll my eyes.

  “Family is family, and we do what we can for them.” Lucas sets the orange colored football inside the basket he’s putting together then steps back. “Damn, I’m good.”

  And just like that, he’s back to smiling.

  I step back from my basket, as well, to go chat with Keeka.

  “You look amazing,” I tell her as I give her a hug.

  “I’m not feeling it, so why not fake it, right?”

  “Are you sick?”

  She shakes her head. “Just...you know.”

  “Tired?”

  “I shouldn’t be. I sleep just as much as Leddie does.”

  “You need to get out,” I tell her.

  “No need. Everything magically appears here.”

  The way she says it makes me believe she needs it even more.

  “Tomorrow, you and I are going to go get pampered. Hair, nails, toes, brows—the whole works.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not mooching off you all any more than I have been. Maybe it’s time for me to go back to work.”

  I sigh. “You aren’t mooching.”

  “Then, what would you call it?” She tries to make it a joke, but it clearly bothers her.

  “It’s only been a couple weeks, Keeka,” I say softly. “And Leddie needs you and your boobs available on demand.”

  I hear Lucas chuckle, while Keeka shakes her head.

  “Tomorrow, we go get pampered. Our father’s treat,” I tell her.

  “The dead one?” She again makes light of it.

  “Yep.” I smile. “He was really good with money. He left us some. I’m sure he would be okay with it.”

  She sighs. “It’s not mine.”

  “We’ll discuss that later. Let’s get back to a day of pampering.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I absolutely do.”

  §

  As Keeka, Leddie, and I sit on the couch, Logan is reading over the instructional manual for the breast pump. I have no idea why that’s a turn on, but it is. I resign myself to the fact it’s just him. He’s every bit as perfect as I ever imagined he would be.

  However, my imagination was limited to a kiss, not Logan Links walking around sometimes shirtless with bulging muscles fully on display with a baby bjorn strapped to him, making me weak in the knees. And I never imagined I would see him putting a breast pump together for my sister. Heck, I didn’t even know about her.

  I feel a light elbow nudge and look at Keeka.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Knowing he’s listening to music with his earbuds in, I tell her exactly what I’m thinking. “Why does he look so hot putting a breast pump together?”

  Keeka smirks and shakes his head. “Because you’re doing him.”

  “Oh no, I’m not.” I laugh. “It’s still cuddle season. He hasn’t even tried to bring it home.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I shake my head.

  “Why?” she asks, sounding just as confused as I suppose I should be but aren’t.

  I grin. “Because he’s perfect.”

  “No man is perfect,” she says, looking at Leddie as she tells her, “Neither are women.”

  “He’s perfect for me,” I tell her, trying not to personalize or become defensive.

  She looks at me and smiles sincerely. “Sorry.” Then she looks at Logan. “He has definitely changed, and I know it’s because of how he feels about you. I mean, I thought Tru—” She stops, as if the world would fall apart if she said his name, and then shakes her head. “I’ve been around men who I thought loved my mom, maybe even me, and then they were gone. I guess Logan is all right.”

  I know that’s as much as I’m going to get from her, and it’s okay that she takes her time. Maybe tomorrow she will share even more. My prayer is, by doing that, she will maybe expel her hurt and begin to heal.

  “I think it’s good,” Logan says, holding up two funnel-looking cups attacked to tubes.

  “Can you demonstrate?” I ask.

  He deadpans, just looking at me.

  Keeka gives a silent chuckle whereas I can’t help laughing.

  §

  After Logan’s tutorial, without the demonstration, he excuses himself and heads to the bedroom, while Keeka and I watch YouTube videos on breast pumping. She gives it a shot, and after a few curses, a “Holy shit! I think it sucked my nipple off,” and a “I’d rather get ten Brazilians than do this crap,” a few adjustments are made before she looks and sounds more comfortable and less pained. She also looks exhausted.

  When she goes to bed and Leddie is asleep, I go back to the apartment and shower.

  After about thirty minutes of chatting with my friends about the fundraiser and classes, I excuse myself and head back to Logan’s.

  The moonlight is shining through the wall of windows, casting beautiful shadows over his perfectly sculpted bare chest, abs, and arms that are ripped and bulging and visual perfection. Every part of Logan Links’ body is sculpted like a Greek statue, only better.

  He isn’t made of stone. In fact, his perfect physique is the most comfortable resting place I have ever lay against. Unlike a statue, he is not cold. In fact, I know how warm his body is. It’s warmer than even the thickest down comforter I have ever cuddled up in to sleep. There are no rough spots that don’t feel good against my body like there would be on a statue. Absolutely none. When I lay beside him every night, his soft, smooth skin feels like silk against mine, but even better.

  He’s on his back, one arm draped across the bed, while the other forearm rests over his forehead, nearly covering his eyes.

  I hug myself as I take in his face. His dark lashes are truly the thickest and longest I have ever seen on a man. They are the kind we females spend too much money and time trying to duplicate with a few strokes of a mascara brush.

  I close my eyes, picturing his open. He has an almost puppy dog eye shape and an innocent look that shines through them. It wasn’t until the past few months that I truly got to see them when he was relaxed or truly content. They make you feel not only warm and invited, but they draw you in and make you feel immediately comfortable and unintimidated by the pure mass and perfection that he is. Logan’s eyes are truly the windows to his soul.

  Past the hat, his armor, past the tough exterior, past the intimidating size and invisible bubble around him, hidden from the public is the real Logan. How lucky am I to have been invited to sit front row center to bask in all the new pieces and parts that I had never imagined were there?

  “You done?” His voice shocks me. Here I was picturing the sweet and comforting ways about him when the deep and commanding baritone startles me.

  I open my eyes. “Done with what?”

  He smiles and shakes his head as he holds the duvet up. “Get in here.”

  “Please.” I remind him of his manners.

  “Now.” He smirks, toying with my sass.

  With the portals to hell open, drawing me in, I immediately give in. “Fine.”

  With my head on his chest, and my arm draped over him, he runs his fingertips slowly up and down my spine.


  “If this gets to be too much for you, let me know and I’ll stop.”

  “What?” I laugh.

  “I know how amped up you are tonight and me doing this.” He applies a tiny bit more pressure. “If it’s too much, just let me know. I wouldn’t want to have to tell you no again.”

  I smack his abs lightly. “Oh please, I’m just here for the heat.”

  He chuckles. “Right.”

  “You know, I was just standing there, admiring how perfect you look while sleeping, and you have to ruin it.” I sigh exaggeratedly.

  “Lie to your parents, not to me, London,” he continues poking fun at me. “I heard you out there.”

  “Heard me what?” I laugh again.

  “Apparently, me playing with breast...” he pauses long enough for my cheeks to start burning, “pumps is a turn on.”

  “Hey.” I lean back and look up at him. “You had earbuds in.”

  He smirks. “Well, sometimes they are in just so no one bothers me. It’s a trick I learned at the gym.”

  “Or you were eavesdropping,” I jokingly scold him.

  “Or there was a song change,” he continues.

  “Listen, player, your defense is getting weak. You may want to step it up,” I joke back. “Song change, that’s lame. Admit it, you just wanted to hear what we were talking about.”

  “Not we, London. You.” He looks at me, eyes scrunched slightly, as if he’s trying to figure me out. “I just want to make sure you’re doing okay, you know.”

  “Well, that’s very sweet.” I lay my head back down on his chest and hug him tighter.

  “Selfish actually, because I will not bury myself inside you until I know damn well you’re one hundred percent sure about what you want with me. And London, I can’t wait to be inside you.”

  My body immediately tenses and warms.

  I feel his lips on top of my head. “Relax. It’s not tonight. But pretty, you need to think about getting prepared...Whatever the fuck that means.”

  My body is a mess of nerves, anticipation, and excitement.

  “Relax, pretty. You’ll be fine.”

  It doesn’t make me relax. It makes me more nervous.

  “London,” he yawns out, still lightly stroking my back. “Just rela—”

  I sit up quickly and look at him, “That word is...is...not relaxing.”

  His eyes widen considerably.

  “It’s not.” I cross my arms over my body.

  He sighs as he sits up at a far too lazy pace for my current mood. “Concerns?”

  “Well, let’s see; the fact that your penis is on Yelp and is compared to the size of a donkey. Logan, my concern is that...it’s gonna be like you said.” I groan as I palm my face with both hands.

  When I hear him sigh, I look up as he runs his hand over his hair.

  “Well, first of all, the word penis is an understatement.”

  “Logan! Still not helping.”

  “It’s not the size of a donkey’s.” He’s now toying with me. The jerk!

  “Really!”

  He chuckles. “The fact that I said it would be like driving a Mac truck into a mouse hole was also exaggerated.”

  “Again, not helping.”

  “I’m not gonna pretend I know what it’s like to have a pussy, nor have I ever asked a chick, ‘Hey, how’d that feel to you compared to the average Joe’.”

  Average Joe. Ugh, I’m screwed.

  “And not to piss you off by talking about my past experiences, but I can assure you not one person has ever complained and all have come back, begging for more. My cock may be big, London, but I promise you that you’ll be fine.”

  “How big?”

  He takes my hand, holds it up, and grips below my wrist and at my elbow. I’m one hundred percent certain he’s now trying to comfort me as he kisses my wrist, but then he leans in and kisses the top of my head while whispering, “That’s about right.”

  “What?”

  He huffs now and lies back down. “London, I’ve never killed or injured anyone having sex, okay?”

  “Yet,” I say, knowing it’s nervousness and anxiety talking.

  I look down at him to see the corner of his lips turn up slightly.

  “Sorry.” I sigh and lie down again, my head to his chest.

  “You won’t be.” He kisses the top of my head as he wraps his arm around me again.

  “I know.” I hug him tighter, giving him all the trust he has earned from me.

  §

  With Logan at the building with everyone, and Keeka having pumped enough for three feedings in the refrigerator, Keeka and I are on our way to have a relaxing few hours together. Just the two of us.

  “Where to?” Clive asks, opening the car door.

  “220 Walton Street,” Keeka answers, getting in the black SUV.

  I smile big and bright at Clive, and he smiles fondly back at me, giving just a small nod.

  “You know what you’re getting done?” I ask Keeka after I get in.

  “Trim. Maybe a highlight or two.” She shrugs.

  “Have you been there before?” I buckle myself in, and then notice she isn’t buckled.

  She nods and giggles. “Marisa’s Fortress of Beauty, I don’t go anywhere else for my hair needs.”

  “Well, if you trust her, I do, too.” I take this opportunity to reach around her and grab her safety belt.

  “What are you doing?” she asks as I latch her in.

  “Our father and I were in an accident. I was buckled. He wasn’t. I hung upside down for a couple hours, unable to free myself, and I watched him die.” I sit back and look at her. She looks horrified. “I’m mostly over it. I just insist everyone buckles up.”

  She reaches over and grabs my hand. “I’m sorry.”

  I squeeze hers in return. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to know him.”

  She shrugs. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted to.”

  “I’m sure the sober Troy Fields with his life together and not worrying about all the secret parts of his life would have loved you in his final year, as he did me.”

  She nods. “Can we do a little less talking about dead dads and more about how much I can’t wait for you to meet Karin Jean and her pup Lola?”

  I smile and nod. “Of course.”

  Silence, and then we both start laughing.

  I look up to see Clive looking at us through the rearview mirror then back at the road.

  In less than ten minutes, we have talked about what our plans are for the day. Normally, when Mom and I do this, it’s talk about the previous day, but we are too busy talking about breast pumps and booby milk.

  “So, after hair, we can do manicures, pedicures, and get our eyebrows waxed before having lunch. Does that sound good?” I ask as Clive pulls up in front of the brick building. The exterior first floor is painted a deep purple.

  “We’re gonna wax here if that’s okay. I sent Karin Jean a message. Luckily, she can get us both in,” she says over her shoulder as she gets out of the car before Clive has a chance to even open the door. When I get out, he’s there.

  “I’ll text you.”

  He nods.

  “Thanks, Clive.”

  I walk into the building behind Keeka and immediately come face to face with a suit of armor standing next to the reception desk and think, Interesting. I see Keeka sit on a couch to my left and pat the seat next to her.

  “She’ll be here soon. We’re early.”

  It’s then that I see a silver, headless manikin with a pink apron adorned with clips, brushes, combs, and all sorts of tools used by a hair stylist. She even has a pink strapless top with two bright yellow color tint mixing bowls with colorful gems hot glued to the bottom, and two-color application brushes sticking out.

  Apparently, I have stared too long because Keeka asks, “What do you think?”

  “I think she either lost her head over the knight over there, or he cut it off.”

  She smiles as I sit down.
>
  “I also think this place is much cooler than the places Mom and I go. I like it.”

  “Do you need to use the bathroom before we wax?” She stands.

  “Um, sure.” I stand and follow her down the long corridor, taking in all the rare and beautiful art. There are more mannequins dressed in different fashions and beautiful chandeliers over the stylist’s chairs.

  Past two rooms to another sitting area and to a doorway, I follow Keeka down some stairs into a brick basement where there are more manikins, but they are dressed in leather and studs.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “They use this for fashion shows every now and then.”

  “What kind of fashion? S&M?”

  She laughs and points to a doorway. “You use that one. Make sure you wipe good.” With that, she disappears into the one next to it.

  “Wipe good?” I laugh as I step inside.

  When we walk back up the stairs and into the fortress of beauty, which is amply named, I see a tiny and adorable little dog skipping toward us. Yes, skipping. And dare I say, smiling?

  “Hey, Lola.” Keeka bends down and pets her.

  “Who’s first?”

  I look from the cutest little pup to see who is probably Karin Jean. She’s tiny, with beautiful dark hair, perfect makeup, and a smile that is warm and inviting. I immediately like her.

  “You wanna go first?” Keeka asks.

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  I walk into the room behind Karin Jean and see it decorated with beautiful crosses hanging everywhere.

  “I’ll take your coat.” She smiles as I hand it to her. As she’s hanging it on a hook, she tells me, “Everything off from the waist down, except your socks.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, needing clarification.

  She turns and looks at me. “Oh, Keeka didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “She made you an appointment for a Brazilian and didn’t tell you?” She shakes her head and opens the door. “Keeka, will you come here a minute?”

  When Keeka walks in, she looks at me curiously. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie.

  “Is this your first time?” Karin Jean asks me.

  I nod. “I normally shave, but—”

  “If your hair isn’t at least a quarter of an inch long, it—”

  “Well, it’s been a while,” I admit.