SEDUCTIVE: A Contemporary Romance Anthology

by Anthology

  “Sure.”

  In the kitchen, Logan dished up two slices of the fluffy, creamy, decadent-looking pie. While he was putting it back in the fridge, he said, “I suppose I should give you my cell number. That way, if you have any more ideas, you can call or text me.”

  I slid my phone out of my back pocket and saved his number to my contacts.

  Soon, we were seated in the dining room, eating pie and making plans. Logan recorded our ideas in a little notebook. I agreed to contact all of Brendan’s friends I knew, especially the guys on the football team, because I was friends with most of them on Facebook.

  We were looking at about fifty people, give or take.

  “Do you have room for them here?”

  “Well, I could do one of two things. I could make it a barbecue-slash-pool party in the backyard or I could rent a place somewhere—but I think if we keep it to the outdoors, it could work well here.”

  “Are you thinking hamburgers and hot dogs then?” He nodded. “Brendan does love his burgers.”

  “And that’s easy to do. Have a lot of chips, condiments, and paper plates, and it’s done. The only other thing to worry about is the cake.”

  After deciding a color scheme and the kinds of decorations to get, we then decided to have the party on a Saturday afternoon instead of evening. It would be warmer then and there would be natural light. We’d invite everyone to come over at one o’clock and end the party at six. I would, of course, stick around and help clean up. I’d want to spend time with Brendan by myself, after all.

  “Thanks so much for your help, Briana.”

  “I’m happy to do it. And thanks for the pie.”

  “You liked it?”

  “I loved it. You have some mad skills in the kitchen.” Mine, on the other hand, were sorely lacking.

  “Thank you. I actually enjoy it. And guys like Gordon Ramsay and Jamie Oliver make cooking legit for men like me.” I giggled. “Would you like another slice?”

  “Oh, no.” I pressed the palm of my hand to my belly. “I don’t have any room.”

  “How are you and Brendan doing anyway?”

  Oh…why would he ask that? More importantly, why was I compelled to tell him the truth—the entire cold truth? Logan’s hug from a couple of nights ago made me bolder than I should have been. I was staring at the edge of my small plate when I asked, “Is there something wrong with me?”

  After a second, Logan touched my chin, coaxing me to look up at him. “Why would you ever think that, Briana?”

  Now was the hard part. This was something I hadn’t told anyone—not even Chelsea. My dear bestie loved boys but as far as having sex went, she was a wait-till-marriage kind of girl. Or, at least, wait-till-the-relationship-was-that-serious type. After considering how to say it, I finally just sucked down a gulp of air and blurted it out. “Because he won’t touch me.”

  Logan’s beautiful blue eyes searched mine. “What do you mean?”

  Fortunately, he removed his warm fingers from my chin or I might have been too distracted to speak—but I found my voice and just ran with it. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s a good boyfriend—he’s sweet and attentive most of the time. But…it’s almost like he’s afraid…” I looked back down at my plate, unable to maintain eye contact when I said the hardest thing of all, “to have sex with me.” There. It was out. “Is there something wrong with him?”

  I looked up finally and Logan smiled. “No, Brendan’s fully functional.”

  “But how can you know for sure? Would he even tell you if he was having problems?”

  Logan inhaled and then said, “You’re going to have to trust me on this.” He put his hand on my arm and squeezed gently. “But I’m sorry.” As he took another breath, it seemed to me that he was struggling with what he wanted to say next. “I want to assure you that you’re a beautiful young woman. Any man would be proud to have you by his side—including my son.” He gave my arm one last squeeze and then removed his hand.

  At least he’d cleared up one of my fears, that maybe Brendan was disabled in that department. I wasn’t going to press and ask things Logan didn’t want to tell me…but I was going to ask one more question. I couldn’t look him in the eyes for this one, either. “Any advice…on how I can make him want to have sex with me?”

  Logan made a noise in his throat that sounded almost like choking before he answered. “Briana, any advice I would give you would be highly inappropriate.” That word made my cheeks burn. “But maybe I can talk to Brendan.”

  And then I just had to get out of there. I’d crossed a line and was feeling embarrassed. But when I shifted my eyes back to his, I saw not just sympathy and understanding. Yes, all this was new to me, but my instincts told me there was something else on Logan’s mind.

  I couldn’t ask, so I stood, ready to leave.

  “Can I give you a ride home?”

  “No, thanks. I think I need to walk.”

  As I made my way home, I couldn’t take my mind off our conversation. What had been meant to be a way for me to figure out how to connect with my boyfriend had instead made me think even more about his father. It was so wrong, but I couldn’t help it—and I began wondering if there would be a way I could seduce my boyfriend’s dad.

  Because, right or wrong, I wanted him to show me what I’d been missing…

  CHAPTER THREE

  Try as I might, I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I tossed and turned and wiggled and squirmed. And then, when I’d let my mind fully latch onto Logan’s image in my brain, wondering what it would be like to kiss him, to have him hold me, I’d start feeling guilty again; I would finally fall asleep and have a dream of being in Logan’s arms when Brendan would show up.

  What was wrong with me?

  At last, I crashed into slumber about the time the sun was rising and woke up around noon. Despite poor sleep, I didn’t feel awful, just a little tired. I got up and decided to make coffee. It wasn’t something I drank often, but it sounded good today. Just as I sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of hot java, I heard the front door open.

  That could only mean one thing.

  Or two.

  But it probably wasn’t a burglar. More than likely, it was my mother.

  I heard quite a bit of commotion in the living room, but I didn’t think she had anyone else with her. I stirred my coffee and took a sip, closing my eyes and taking a calming breath, because my life was about to get a little chaotic.

  “I thought that’s what I smelled,” she said as she walked through the door. It had only been a week and a half since I’d last seen her, but I’d swear she’d aged half a year. She looked haggard, her curly black hair frizzy and windblown, the dark circles under her brown eyes acting like an underline, emphasizing the fatigue. The scowl on her face softened as she walked toward the coffee pot.

  “Hey, Jennifer.” Calling my mom by her first name was one of the few ways I could get her goat, because very little fazed the woman. Her life was a train wreck, mostly self-induced, and I was an inconvenient reminder of all that.

  “How have things been?” she asked as she grabbed a mug out of the cabinet.

  “Oh, you know…” Not that she gave a shit. She didn’t and I knew it, so why should I bother making any conversation? I could have told her all about school, about needing to make some decisions during my upcoming senior year, all that stuff, but all she would have done would be to simply throw a hundred-dollar bill or two at me. Most kids would kill for that kind of relationship, but I yearned to have the kind of parents they did. Then again, maybe now that I was becoming an adult, she might actually give half a shit about my adult problems.

  But why take the chance?

  She sat down at the table, and I could smell the faint skunky odor of stale pot smoke clinging to her t-shirt. The way that top clung to her frame told me she’d lost more weight. The woman already looked like a skeleton—her cheeks gaunt, bones sticking out everywhere. And I knew she liked self-medicating, but year after year
she managed to maintain her job anyway—or jobs on occasion.

  “The mail’s on the desk.” It was bad enough I had to go shopping for groceries. I wasn’t going to pay the bills for her. It wasn’t my fault she’d decided she didn’t want to be a mother anymore.

  “Anything interesting?” she asked, sipping at her coffee.

  “I don’t know.” In spite of the usual strained air between us, I was considering asking her for advice—or…I didn’t know what. But something.

  Until she started talking, that is.

  “I’m done with Greg. He pissed me off yet again. The man has no clue how to treat a woman, and ogling the waitress with big boobs is not the way to my heart.”

  I’d heard this song and dance before. Time and time again, mom had threatened to leave Greg—or Matt or Raúl before him. But she was the kind of woman who always needed a man. Most of them had hung around our house like a starving soul begs for a meal but, for some reason, Greg had a problem with me. I guessed it was with kids in general. So my mom followed him.

  But after all these boyfriends, my mother had yet to discover how to maintain a relationship. In fact, I would have bet my relationship with Brendan had lasted longer than any of hers that I could remember.

  If I could continue to keep it together—which was doubtful at this point.

  “That dirty son of a bitch. It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t grabbing the waitress’s ass and inviting her home for a threesome.”

  If my mother hadn’t talked to me like this before, I might have been shocked. But this was nothing new.

  She took a long sip of her coffee and then said, “That son of a bitch. I’m leaving him for sure this time.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” I couldn’t help those words any more than I could help the eyeroll that accompanied them.

  “Don’t get smart with me, Briana. You know that old saying? It applies to you, too. I brought you into this world. I can take you out.”

  That was all I needed to hear to know I definitely couldn’t talk to mom about my own problems. She didn’t have a clue—and if she couldn’t keep her own relationships afloat, how could she help me?

  Mom continued with the verbal diarrhea, complaining about her no-good boyfriend who was, no doubt, the same guy he’d been when she’d started seeing him. The whole time she was rambling, though, my mind kept going back to Logan. At this point, I wasn’t just thinking about him; I was obsessing.

  As mom’s voice droned on, I questioned in my head why Logan had said his suggestions would be inappropriate, and I could only find one reason—he didn’t want to think of me in a sexual way. Whether that was true or not, one thing was for certain: talking to him about Brendan hadn’t helped at all…and now I couldn’t get him out of my mind, try as I might.

  I was thinking inappropriate thoughts about him. All those fantasies I’d had about my first time with Brendan were now transferred to his dad and, as soon as my mom’s cell phone rang, shifting her attention, I got up from the table with my mug and hustled to my bedroom.

  Once there, I called Logan’s cell phone. My breathing was shallow but I refused to chicken out. After the third ring, he picked up and I started talking. “Logan, if I could, I would really like to talk to you about what you said yesterday.”

  There was a slight hesitation, enough that I was cringing inside. My cheeks were growing hot when he said, “I’d love to see you. I should be home by four. Come on over any time after that.”

  With that, my brain pushed out its guilty feelings about Brendan and worries about my age and how inappropriate any of this seemed. I was excited and infatuated and in lust, and everything I did from that point on was by pure instinct.

  I heard my mother in the kitchen. She was still on the phone, but this time it sounded like she was talking to someone else—her boss maybe? So I made my way into the bathroom and took a long, steamy shower, shaving, shampooing, and soaping myself until I was more than squeaky clean. Once out of the tub, I dried off before slathering lotion on my legs so the newly shaved skin wouldn’t be dry and flaky. I listened through the door and heard that mom was still occupied, so I decided now was a good time to blow dry my hair.

  Once that was done, I made my way into my bedroom. As I tried to figure out what to wear, I decided that a little perfume might be nice, too. I rarely wore it but now seemed like the perfect occasion. Then I looked through my drawers. There was a pair of lacy black panties I’d bought for Brendan a few months ago, but it seemed as though he was never going to see them. I’d worn them four times now, each time thinking it was the time but felt disappointed each night when I’d had to take them off before going to bed. But I was going to wear them again, hoping they weren’t unlucky underwear.

  I took my time, trying not to feel too eager while putting on makeup, finally turning on some music to drown out my mother’s frenetic voice stressing out the house. Then I used the curling iron to put gentle waves in my hair before settling on a jean miniskirt and a cropped top, but I exchanged the shirt shortly after, feeling like maybe that was pushing it. When I exchanged it for a sleeveless summery blouse that covered my midriff, I felt better.

  I didn’t know why I was primping and preening, but it was like I couldn’t help myself. As the clock ticked toward four, I went through so many emotions, feeling weird, then brazen, then guilty, finally pushing all thoughts as far to the back of my head as I could, ready to simply let things play out as they would.

  Trying to distract myself while drowning out my mother at the same time, I watched some music videos on YouTube while letting the minutes pass. Finally, at four, I bounded through the living room and said a quick bye to my mother. She wasn’t distracted enough, though. “Where’re you going?”

  “To Brendan’s.” She didn’t need to know that Brendan wasn’t there. I made a beeline for the front door.

  “Is he the kid you were dating before?”

  “Yes.” She knew that. And I was still in motion.

  “You look awfully cute.”

  God, I couldn’t believe she noticed. “Thanks.”

  And out the door. Finally. It was still hot outside but the two-block walk wasn’t bad. It would have sucked if I’d gotten sweaty on the way over—but it wasn’t a problem.

  Logan answered the door shortly after I rang the bell. I was really starting to appreciate the way he looked—his sky-blue eyes paired with his dark hair, a buff body that filled out the plain black cotton t-shirt on his frame. I didn’t think I’d ever felt this lustful over a man. Ridiculous and out of control.

  But I was here, so the hardest part was done. I felt like I was betraying my sweet boyfriend, but something evil inside was pushing me to satisfy my desires anyway. Maybe it was in my genes. “Come on in,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Would you like something to drink?”

  My throat was a little dry so I accepted a glass of ice water before we sat down at the table. Then, so I couldn’t chicken out, I quickly said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about last night, Logan, and what you said to me.” Saying his first name still felt strange but less so the more I did it. “And I just wanted to talk about that a little more.”

  “What do you want to talk about specifically, honey?”

  Oh…I thought maybe I liked that he was calling me a sweet term of endearment, even if it did feel a little old-fashioned and even strange. It gave me the sense that maybe he and I did have our own connection, one that didn’t involve Brendan.

  And it gave me the courage to say what had been on my mind for half the day. “I don’t think Brendan fully understands my needs.” I wasn’t going to tell him everything…just the part he needed to know.

  He nodded. “I wish I could help you, Briana, and maybe I can talk to him. It’s not the normal kind of thing I’d talk to my son about. If he were beating you, that would be something I’d have to discuss, no question.” I couldn’t read his face; perhaps that was due to my age, but I listened intently. “You and
Brendan have been together for around two years, right?” I nodded my head. “You seem to get along really well, but I can tell you as his father that he’s not as…self-assured about women as…I would have expected.” I didn’t quite know what he meant and he seemed to struggle to say it, so I didn’t ask questions. “The two of you seem pretty serious.”

  “We are.” Or at least I thought we were.

  “Have you talked about marriage?”

  I frowned. “No, not really, but we’ve talked some about our futures. I feel like it could go there. We haven’t talked about living together, but I could see us maybe even doing that when we’re out of school because we get along really well.” After a moment, I added, “We’ve never gotten in an argument like I see some couples do at school.”

  “That’s good. Do you feel like you both contribute equally to your relationship?”

  I wasn’t sure exactly how to answer that one, either, but I gave the best answer I could. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Yet you say you’re not on the same page—when it comes to physical matters?”

  I nodded. “Right.”

  He took a long, deep breath and his eyes looked to the side as if deep in thought. Then he blinked and made eye contact with me once more. “This might seem like an odd question but…has Brendan ever brought you to orgasm?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Had he just asked me what I thought he had? And why did it suddenly feel like the earth was shifting underneath my chair?

  As I tried to answer Logan, I felt my cheeks burning and I imagined they were bright pink. I thought that embarrassed response had disappeared in my middle school years, but apparently not lately.

  A part of myself deep inside, though, was intrigued, wondering why he would ask a question like that. More than that, I wondered if I should tell him the truth. And, no matter how I answered, what would be the consequences of my revelation?