Two Roads

by L. M. Augustine

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I press my body to his and I whisper, “Kiss me, Logan.”

  And he does. And our lips lock and his taste like mint and hot chocolate and feel like a million tiny explosions of color and a deep, aching desire months in the making. I stop caring when I press my lips to his, wrap my arms around his body and let the feelings take me away. I stop caring when his hands slide down my leg, his warmth and his muscle and his everything touches mine, and I let our bodies do the rest. I stop caring because I’ve made my decision, I’ve made my choice, and finally, finally, I know where my life is headed.

  I choose the road less traveled by.

  And it has made all the difference.

  ~

  Him.

  His lips.

  His touch.

  His smile.

  His laugh.

  His everything.

  That’s all she has ever wanted.

  ~

  I KISS Logan Waters with the passion of a million suns. I kiss him with every last breath I have. I kiss him like kissing him is the only way to stay alive, like if I stop kissing him the world will end and my heart will shatter for real. His lips move against mine with such urgency, such tenderness and rawness mixed together that I can’t feel anything but him, him, him. I love him and I can’t find the words to say it, so I just wrap my arms around his neck and let all of the desire loose. I kiss and kiss him until everything else around us melts away. And I know that the passion, the heat that is ripping through me right now can’t change that. Logan’s hands touch my cheek, press his body against mine. I feel his steady breath on my lips, his heart beating with my heart, his hands running, so gently, along my skin.

  Geek boy Logan Waters is kissing me on the roof where my brother died, and it is the most right thing in the world.

  He kisses me like I matter, like I am worth something, like I am his and he is mine and that’s all that is important. Sparks fly as our lips lock, and I feel the heating creeping in my body, the steady beating of my heart. I don’t think I can ever let go when he pulls back, and we just stare at each other for the longest time, gasping for breath, our minds trying to process what just happened.

  And then something insane happens.

  Logan takes his hands off of my cheek and slips them down my back. I think he’s going to start ripping off my clothes right here and now as it finds its place on my thigh, but he doesn’t. I feel the desire coursing through me as he wraps his arms around my legs and pulls me up with surprising strength, bringing me into his arms. I gasp but I can’t take my eyes off of his, can’t stop wanting to move myself closer, closer, closer. My lips and my whole body are on fire from his touch, so I just force myself to take one breath, two breaths, to wait until everything else disappears.

  “Are you ready?” Logan whispers, looking at me with such intensity and I don’t even need to answer because I just nod, knowing that yes I am fucking ready with more certainty than anything else in the world.

  And then he smiles, and I smile, and I kiss him as he carries me off the roof and into my old bedroom. I kiss him as he kicks the door shut behind us, leaving me to stare at the smiling pictures of him and me and Ben from years ago that cover my room walls. I kiss him and kiss him, and he kisses back, and I feel each of his muscles work so exquisitely well as he lays me ever so gently on my bed. He’s standing over me now, and I have to gasp for breath, to force myself to take my gaze off of his, and I can’t stop smiling no matter how hard I try.

  I love him, and I guess I always have.

  I love him.

  I love Logan Waters.

  And that, I realize, is why I’ve never liked other boys: because the one I really wanted, the one I really loved, had already stolen my heart. And he was here in front of me the whole time.

  I want to scream it from the rooftops, run around the hotel and tell everyone all about this awesomely nerdy boy who is standing over my bed. I want to tell everyone in the world, but I don’t have to, because right then I know with such striking certainty that Logan is my world, and telling him is all I need.

  “I love you,” I whisper. Everything else seems to shut down but Logan, everything else from the fan spinning overhead to the particular discomfort of this bed--it all melts away. When I look into his eyes, Logan is all I see, all I will ever see.

  “I know,” he says. He just stands above me, looking down, and all I want to do is bring him here on the bed with me.

  For one painfully long instant, I listen to the sound of the air conditioning above me, feel the heat creeping into my skin. The room is all dark, dark, dark, so that I can only see the outline of Logan’s smile, the ripple of muscle along his arm. I hate that he’s still wearing clothes.

  I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in the best way possible because I know I want this, know I’ve always wanted this. “I’m ready,” I whisper.

  Logan does not move right away. Does not betray even the slightest emotion. “Then do it,” he says, his gaze intense on mine, his words so quiet I find myself wondering if I’m actually hearing right. He steps forward, leans on the bed beside me. My heart rate speeds up, and I don’t even have to think, because I know what to do. I keep my eyes trained on his as I slip off my shirt, then my jeans. As soon as I push my shirt and pants off of my bed, my body tingles. I’m still wearing a small bra and panties, but beneath Logan’s gaze, I feel totally naked.

  His jaw tightens as he lays eyes on me and I feel my stomach clench and unclench, my hands trembling at my side, the deep desire sweeping through me and no matter what I do, what I try, I can’t look away from him. I can almost feel the tension in the air, the gentle sweep of breeze through the crack in the window, which feels so hot despite my sore lacking in clothes.

  Finally, Logan moves his hand down to his shirt, clenches the hem, and pulls up. I watch, unable to look away, as that same lean muscle is revealed. He pulls his shirt over his head, fabric brushing against his skin, and now Logan Waters--dark tousled hair, kissable lips, boy-I-love Logan Waters--is standing over me with no shirt and a gaze full of desire.

  And just like that, he leans over me ever so slowly. I feel mesmerized by his movements, the slow arc of his back, the tightening in his bicep, the intense concentration in the way his forehead is creased. My breaths come in slow rises as I lie there on the bed and he stalks over me, his body hovering just above mine, looking down at my eyes. No part of him is touching me but with all of the heat flowing out of his body and the closeness of his mouth to my mouth, he might as well be. He stays there for a minute, just him looking down at me and me up at him. My whole body is on fire and from what I feel, so is his. I watch the gentle curve of his chest, the muscles rippling down his stomach. I force myself to breathe, to focus, and then suddenly I can’t stop myself. I reach out a trembling hand and touch him.

  Logan doesn’t even flinch as I press my hand to his bare stomach, and all I feel is his heat and the hardness of abs and the electricity that his touch gives me. More tingling rips through me, and I gasp, because Logan feels so good, too good, and he’s hovering over me right now. The key to everything, the moment I’ve always dreamed of, is right in front of me, and I can take it any second, can take him at any second.

  So I choose now.

  Before I know what’s going on, I press my lips to Logan’s, and he presses his right back as if he’s been waiting for me to do that all along.

  I wrap my arms around his back and pull him down on top of me, so that his bare stomach presses against mine, his legs on my legs, his lips on my lips. My whole body is on high alert with Logan against me, and I can’t even think anymore because I feel the hormones coming in and all I want is Logan Logan Logan. I kiss him fiercely, with a need I’ve never felt before, and my lips seem to be on fire but it feels so good that I can’t stop, I won’t stop. My hands slip down his stomach to the top of his pants, and I fumble with the buckle, the denim, the warmth that comes from his legs. I keep kissing him and he ki
sses me back with a shocking intensity, and I feel him press closer and closer against my body as I finally get his jeans loose and pull them right off. Something warm and hard presses against my thigh almost immediately, and I feel the craving, the need race through me.

  His hand slips along my chest, working effortlessly down to my leg, my thigh, until it finally stops at my panties. He wasn’t kidding when he said he knew these moves. I moan as he takes them off ever so gently, tracing his fingers along my inner thigh.

  The rest happens so fast. He gently turns me over in bed so that I am sprawled on top of him, feeling the warmth from his body, a certain hardness pressing against my leg. I gasp for breath, moan, shake and tense, love every second of it as his expert hands unhook my bra, and I return the favor and slip off his boxers, feeling my whole body wanting more. I moan some more as the boxers come off and he presses against me, fumbling to put a condom on, stark naked in the best way possible.

  “Are you sure you’re ready, Cali?” he whispers between deep gasps, kissing me and kissing me and kissing me until my whole body goes numb.

  I feel the heat rip through me all over again as his erection presses against my inner thigh, and everything is possible all of a sudden, everything I’ve ever imagined, and all it takes is one word to make it come true.

  So I lock eyes with Logan Waters, clear blue and intense as ever, feeling his body working beneath me, his breath on my lips, his legs on my legs, and I say the only thing I can think to say:

  “Yes.”

  ~

  The

  girl

  loves

  Logan

  Waters.

  ~

  THE instant I wake up, there is only one word on my tongue: Logan.

  (Well, that and some other really explicit things involving sexual activity, but let’s just stick with Logan for the sake of this.)

  The instant I roll out of bed, the same word is there: Logan.

  The instant I stumble to my feet, skid into the bathroom, and look at myself in the mirror, there is only the one word: Logan.

  Logan.

  Logan Logan Logan.

  I am in love with Logan.

  It hits me all at once, like a train running over me. I am in love with Logan Waters. I said it, I admitted the truth, the truth that my subconscious has been hiding from me ever since I first laid eyes on him. I don’t know what it is, but something about him just feels so right, so me, so necessary.

  I realize now that I’ve always loved him, that I just never understood it until last night. But it makes so much sense. That’s why no boy ever interested me. That’s why Logan was always on my mind. That’s why our rivalry made me so happy. And as scary and terrifying as it is, for once, I embrace it.

  I know I can’t ruin it this time around.

  He loves me back, I think, and it’s the most glorious thought in the world. I look at myself in the mirror, my hair a mess, my face all red, my heart still skittering from last night, and I feel myself smile. It’s a fleeting smile, hardly even there, but I pick it up instantly.

  I don’t miss those kinds of things: those smiles.

  I feel myself breathe, my chest heaving in the yellowish bathroom light, my whole body still buzzing with energy, and I feel different. Refreshed. It’s like a weight has been lifted off of me, like I’m a new person. I mean, I’m the same person deep down, but I don’t feel the same. The guilt that has been lodged in my heart ever since Ben killed himself seems to slip away, and for once, I feel free. Feel relieved.

  Logan didn’t fix me; the truth fixed me. But he brought out the best qualities in me. I feel strong, too, stronger than ever, because if I can admit to my arch rival, obnoxiously gorgeous eyelashes and all, that I love him, then I can do anything.

  Logan was right.

  I can work it out with my parents.

  I can embrace who I am.

  I can follow my dreams.

  I can do it all, because now I have the power to do it all. I am the key to achieving my goals. I took the leap, and now I have a whole road ahead of me, a road I’m ready to take.

  I stand in the bathroom for a long time, just thinking, wondering, wishing. I think about Ruby, my one friend and the only one I need, about my parents probably worrying about me for real, about Ben and how he’d lecture me on how if Logan pulls anything on me, he’s dead. I think about Logan, about his smile, the warm feeling he gives me, and then I think about the conference.

  Today.

  The day we recite our poems to each other.

  I check the time--11:12. Shit. I am twelve minutes late. Logan isn’t in my room--I assumed he just went out to get his breakfast or something--but I realize now it’s because he’s waiting for me at the convention. So I quickly splash water on my face, slam the bathroom door shut, shove on jeans and a shirt, grab the poem I wrote for Logan the other night, and hop into my car and speed right over to the convention.

  The place is buzzing with activity when I arrive, and everyone has already started settling in. A speaker talks about something related to his wife and poetry at the podium, but I don’t listen. I just focus on the mini recitation area in the far corner of the convention that I saw the other day, push past a few people, and fast-walk over to it. I clutch the torn notebook paper I wrote my poem on the whole time, my heart pounding, cursing myself for abandoning Logan like I did.

  At first, when I approach the area, I don’t see him. A few people sit in the seats in front of the tiny recitation stand and someone stands up there, bending over and adjusting the mic, their back to me, but no Logan.

  Shit.

  I spin around the room, desperately searching for him, hoping he didn’t leave. I don’t see him so I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I’m halfway to dialing his phone number when I hear a voice from somewhere behind me.

  “Heya,” is all it says.

  I whirl around and Logan’s smiling face stares back at me as he hovers up by the mic stand. He looks perfect, as always, in another one of his geeky math pickup line t-shirts--”Hey baby why don’t we go back to my place and I can show you the exponential growth of my natural log”--and baggy basketball shorts. I don’t think he plays basketball, but the look sure as hell suits him.

  He tosses his dark hair as soon as I meet his gaze, and he gives me a huge, dimpled smile. I can’t help but blush. “Logan,” I say. “So are we… are we doing this? Reciting our poems for each other?”

  He nods. “No backing out now, wimp,” he says, smiles, walks over to the podium, and points at a seat in the front. He reaches into his pocket and smooths out a piece of paper on the podium, clears his throat, then turns to me as I sit down. His blue eyes lock with mine, clear and strong, with that little twinkle of happiness I’ve grown to love. If eyes can smile, his are seriously beaming right now.

  “Cali,” he starts to say, talking like he’s in front of some huge room and this is a big deal, when in reality his audience consists of a married couple and then a random old man sitting beside them, all looking bored, but it could not be more perfect because I’m here, and he’s here, and that’s all that matters. I watch Logan closely, watch every shift of his jaw, every moment of hesitation he takes. He looks oddly nervous, clearing his throat and forcing himself to smile, and I wait with anticipation. “I, uh… I dared you to swap poems with me so we could recite them for each other, and I decided it only felt right for me to go first.” Breath. “I have something small to confess, and I think this will answer some of your questions.” Breath. I clutch the poem in my hand, frowning.

  Logan watches me carefully. He doesn’t look sad, though. He’s telling me a secret, and he doesn’t look sad. Just nervous, in a happy kind of way. I force a smile and nod for him to go on, and he does. “This poem is to you, Cali,” he says, more quietly this time. “I love you, and… well, just listen.” He takes a step back then, moves his hands from the side of the podium to a piece of paper in front of him. Then, he clears his throat, locks eye
s with me one last time--a final warning, almost--and as I wait with rapt attention, my insides on edge, he begins reciting it.

  From the first line, I know something is wrong.

  “Frost once said that life always goes on,”

  Logan says quietly, his eyes not leaving mine, and my heartbeat slows. I know that beginning. I know it all too well.

  “That one’s song is never silenced,”

  he continues, and the alarm starts seeping in because I know this poem. I know this poem!

  “So I should be fine continuing.”

  “But Frost never met you,”

  Logan says,

  “he never saw your smile, he never heard you laugh, and he never knew.”

  My toes curl. This is the poem. The poem. The one on the Two Roads blog. The one I love with all of my heart. I keep my gaze trained on Logan’s, and he returns the favor. But why is he reciting this poem? He said it was to me. Which doesn’t make any sense.

  Unless--

  “He never knew like I know.”

  Not once does Logan take his eyes off of me.

  “He never knew that you are the one

  that you and all of your quirks have stolen my heart

  that you are beautiful and not just in look,

  that you make me feel like I matter and that I need you,

  I love you.

  “Life does not simply go on without you,

  My song does not live without yours,

  I am not whole without you.

  “I often want to tell Frost

  that he should shove it up his ass

  which may not be the best idea,

  but really what is there to do?

  Because Frost was a moron

  because goddammit he had issues

  and he never felt what I feel,

  never saw what I see.

  There are not two roads when it comes to you;

  there is only the road that leads to your love.”

  Logan stops then, finishes reciting, and watches me. I don’t know what to do, how to react, what to say. I just stare at him, open and closing my mouth, not bothering to hide the complete confusion racing through me.