by Bailey B
I gave Danika my heart when I was eighteen years old and haven’t found anyone else that deserves it. Have I screwed other women? Of course I have. It’s been almost four years and I went through my stages of mourning.
Not touching anyone for a solid year, fearful Danika would think I was unfaithful, until it hit me that she wasn’t coming back. That I was saving myself for a woman who had probably long forgotten I existed.
Then, sticking my dick in a new girl almost every night. Until campus police found me naked on the fifty-yard line with the Dean’s daughter and a few of her sorority sisters. That was the final straw of my college adventure.
Coming home, my options were limited, which was probably for the best. I played a game of risk and miraculously didn’t contract an STD during my sexcapades.
And now, I’m at the stage where the random hookup is needed every once and awhile, when I reach the bottom of my bottle and feel lower than dirt. Using a warm body to give the allusion that I am a semi-functioning human being doesn’t help, but if I can convince the world that I’m okay, maybe I can convince myself too.
“Please, don’t touch me, Logan,” Danika whispers. She has to feel it. The heat bouncing between our bodies. If we’re not careful, it’ll ignite into an inferno and burn us. For now, it’s bright, and magnetic, and the kind of painful that makes you want more. “I’m holding on by a thread.”
I say nothing. There’s maybe a foot between us. A full twelve-ish inches I’m doing my best to maintain because the snapping of her thread could mean a plethora of things. The last time Danika snapped, she left me. Flushed us down the toilet like a used condom with no afterthought of all the could have beens.
The universe, however, has other plans. A wave, bigger than the knee knockers we’ve felt so far, pelts into us, lifting the water thigh-high and shoving Danika backwards. I’m not prepared for the force of the wave or her weight. We topple. Me landing on my ass, holding onto Danika’s waist so she doesn’t somersault over me and to the shore. Within seconds, the water retreats back into the abyss. Danika stands, looking down at her soaked dress, one part shocked and the other part horrified.
I push to my feet. My head is spinning for the first time in months. I may drink a lot, but I know my limits; dancing a fine line between buzzed and tipsy more often than I’m comfortable admitting out loud, but never drunk.
This spinning, spiraling feeling is all Danika.
“Are you okay?” I ask, following her out of the water’s reach. Danika walks with purpose through the soft sand. I grab our belongings and hurry to reach her just as she bends over a hotel trash can, emptying everything in her stomach. I swallow a gag, dropping our things by my feet, and curl my fingers around long dark strands.
“Just fine,” she mumbles through strained breaths, standing upright. The playful drunkenness in her eyes is replaced with tired, red lines. She sits on the bottom step to the hotel, toes digging in the sand, and drops her head into her hands. “I’m never drinking again.”
There’s a good chance she will be drinking again tomorrow, but I keep my thoughts to myself. I doubt her feelings towards my mom have changed. If she's anything like the firecracker I knew back in high school, it’s going to take more than a few beers to play nice.
I push one sandy leg into my pants, then the other. I pull them up and secure them, then make sure my wallet and keys are still in the back pocket. After slipping my long sleeved shirt over my head, I reach for Danika’s shoes and purse. “Come on, beautiful.”
Danika can barely raise her head, but she manages to look at me. Tired lines kiss the crease of her eyes. She looks older. Tired. Then again, so do I. “Where are we going?”
“To bed.” Too bad talking to a drunk is wasting breath. I take Danika by the wrists and pull her to her feet, just long enough to slip my arms under her legs and lift. I half expect her to protest, but she doesn’t. Instead, she turns her cheek against my chest and closes her eyes. I carry her up the steps to the pool deck and realize I have no idea which room is hers. “Danika, what is your room number?”
Her lips fall open, drool pooling on my shirt. Yeah, she isn’t going to be of any help. I take the elevator up to the fifth floor and pause outside of my room. How the hell am I going to get it unlocked?
Four rooms down and across the hall I kick the toe of my shoe against a door. When there’s no response, I kick again and again until finally it swings open.
“I swear to god, Logan, you better—” Cooper, my twin brother, cuts himself off when he sees Danika passed out in my arms.
I give him an I-know smile because we’re dancing a fine line with déjà vu. “I can’t get my door open. Can you help?”
“Yeah.” Cooper flips the metal loop outward to keep from locking himself out then lets his door close. We take the few steps to my room in silence, him probably wondering what happened tonight and me trying to figure out what I’m going to do next. This wasn’t a part of the plan
When we stop in front of my door Cooper asks, “Back pocket?”
“Yeah.”
He fishes my wallet out of my back pocket and finds my key and swipes the plastic card in front of the magnetic lock. The little light flashes green and he holds the door open. “This is eerily familiar.”
“Relax,” I say, laying Danika over the covers, wondering, Should I change her out of that sticky, wet dress.? Is that crossing a line? “She’s drunk, not drugged.”
“Uh-huh,” Cooper guffaws, leaning against the four drawer dresser that’s hiding a mini-fridge. “And you just happened to be there to save the day. Am I right?”
I set Danika’s heels on the chair beside the bed, then roll the other half of the blankets on top of her. Not the most conventional tuck in, but all things considered, I think I did all right.
“You want to crash with me tonight?” Cooper asks.
I exhale a heavy breath. The simple answer, no. I want to stay here and watch Danika sleep. I want to curl up beside her and feel her body against mine. I want to steal her luggage and swipe her rosewater perfume I can never find. But what I want doesn’t matter. Not tonight anyway.
3
Danika
I groan and peel my eyes open because there’s a pounding sound resonating through the room. I don’t know what’s worse, the throbbing in my skull or the incessant banging against the door in the hallway. I pull the sheets over my head, hoping that if I ignore the rapping long enough, whoever is outside will go away but they don’t. They just keep banging harder and harder. The sound grows louder with each thunk until I can’t take it any longer. I throw the sheet off and stomp across the room, whipping the door open. “What?”
“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” Logan smirks. His gaze sweeps over my body and I realize I have no idea what I’m wearing. Last night is a blur. I remember standing knee-deep in the ocean, feeling the waves melt into my body, but everything after that is fuzzy. Flickers of what I’m assuming are memories flash through my mind, but they’re broken pieces that don’t make sense.
I look down at a faded band T-shirt I don’t recognize and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. The only thing keeping me from a full on freak out is the fact that I can feel my panties riding up my ass and that Logan is standing in my doorway behind a room service cart.
He points to my chest. “That’s mine, by the way.”
I cross my arms, irritated because he read my mind and dissolved my internal freakout without me saying a word. Because his ability to understand me sends a blanket of goosebumps across my skin. “Why are you here?”
Logan’s lips lift in the corners and my treacherous heart beats faster. His gaze flicks down to the cart and then to me again. “Breakfast.”
I twist my mouth into a scowl and mutter. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Are you going to let me in?”
No. Yes. I don’t know. On the flight from Georgia to Florida I dug up memories buried deep into my subconscious. I focused on the bad: h
ow rude Logan was to me at the start of senior year; how he would push me away time and time again, expecting me to chase after him; how I was always there for him, but in my time of need, he left me to deal with my problem alone.
I rediscovered all of those memories and unearthed a fury I didn’t know existed. I planned to use that anger as a shield and not fall into Logan’s brown eyes again. I expected Logan to revert back to his asshole ways, making him easier to hate. Too bad dust covered butterflies sprang to life the moment I saw him, rendering me a fool once again. “Do I have to?”
“If you want to eat, then yes.”
My stomach rumbles, bringing back a broken memory of me throwing up on the beach last night. A memory that’s tainted because I recall Logan holding my hair back, only I know that never happened. That would mean he still cares and his feelings for me died three hundred and seventy five days ago. The last time he tried to contact me. I knew Logan would eventually give up on us. I didn’t know it would hurt as bad as the day I left.
“I’d rather starve.” I slam the door, proud of myself for finding the strength to resist that gorgeous smile and those bottomless brown eyes.
Logan knocks again but I ignore him and head into the bathroom. Who does he think he is? Showing up unexpected and unwelcome at my door. Ugh.
I take a long shower, filling the tiny room with steam until the air is too thick to take a comfortable breath. Getting out, I wrap myself in a towel and then look at my phone. It’s nine-fifteen. The complimentary breakfast will be over soon. I should head downstairs. Lord knows I can’t afford to spend any unnecessary money, and breakfast because I overslept would definitely be considered unnecessary.
I walk to my closet, pulling back the bi-fold door and realize my suitcase isn’t here. I look around the room. My purse is here. My shoes are here. Hell, even my salt-crisped dress is here. So where is my bag?
I slip Logan's shirt and yesterday’s panties back on and march across the room. Each step creates a new throbbing sensation in my head that I ignore. Whipping the door open, all I see is the breakfast cart but then I hear his voice.
“Change your mind?”
I look down, and to my right, and there Logan is. Sitting on the floor. Legs bent. Arms resting on his knees. Texting. He looks up at me with a hopeful smile and my insides melt a little.
“Only because I’m hungry and have questions.”
Logan clicks the power button on his phone, darkening the screen, then pushes himself off the floor. I hold the door open as he pulls the cart inside. He takes the silver top off of our plates. Removes the plastic lids from our cups. Hands me a water and then digs in his pocket for a travel sized packet of Tylenol.
“Thanks,” I say as he tears the packet open and holds it out for me.
Logan takes his plate and settles into the oversized chair near the window. This room isn’t big by any means, but I appreciate him trying to put a little distance between us. Lord knows I need all the space I can get to stab the butterflies going crazy inside me and bury them six feet under. I’m only in town for thirty-two more hours. Unearthing old feelings just to go home even more broken than before is not on the agenda.
“I didn’t know if you were still vegan or not. I figured oatmeal was a safe bet and if you wanted eggs or bacon I’d share.”
He remembered? Firecrackers explode, creating a wave of heat that spreads through my body and climbs my neck. After the way I ended things, I figured Logan would have pushed all thoughts and memories of me away.
“Not really. I’ll eat chicken every now and then, and sometimes pork, but never seafood or red meat. It’s expensive being plant based and I don’t have that kind of money. ”Also, it’s hard to tell a kid who is socially trained to want Happy Meals that she can't have them. We still eat a lot of plant based meals, but not nearly as much as I wish we did.
“Isn’t it crazy how a pack of regular cream cheese is less than two dollars, but dairy free is more than five?” Logan looks at me like he’s totally serious and I’m shocked he knows the price differences. Georgia is a bit more expensive, depending on which store you shop in, but he’s pretty much right.
“So.” I mix the brown sugar and butter into my oatmeal, then add blueberries, pretending that us eating together is no big deal. That him changing me out of my wet dress last night doesn't send a shiver of nerves through me. “I’m assuming this is your room?”
Logan rubs the back of his neck then exhales loudly. “Yeah, you couldn’t tell me where yours was, so I brought you here. I slept in Cooper’s room down the hall. Didn’t think you’d want to wake up to me.”
A part of me says Logan is right. If I woke up beside him, I would have freaked and caused a scene but that’s not to say that a tiny, tiny, part of me wouldn’t have liked it. As much as it kills me to admit, Logan still makes me nervous. Even sitting across the room, every neuron in my body is firing. He has that effect on me.
I grab one of the tiny jelly containers in a condiments cup and scoop most of its contents onto my toast. “This doesn’t make us friends.”
Logan shrugs, as if he could care less that there’s a tiny, microscopic chance we could mend our broken bridge this weekend.
I convinced myself that Logan forgot me, that he pushed everything—the good and the bad—aside and that I meant nothing to him anymore. Afterall, that is what I desperately wish I could do. Forget him and everything he’s ever made me feel.
“I have no intention of being your friend, Danika.” His voice is smooth like honey, dripping with what feels like a hidden meaning.
“Of course you don’t.” I look down at my plate and take a bite of my toast. Friends is a stretch I know isn’t possible, not with all the secrets looming. I know this, and yet I can’t help the sinking feeling taking over.
4
Logan
Fuck friends.
Fuck it hard in the ass with a spiked dildo. I will never be just friends with Danika. I tried once, back and high school, and I damn near lost my mind.
No, I will be the guy she can’t get enough of. The one who breaks down her pathetic excuse for emotional walls and fucks her into next Tuesday. And then, when she’s about to leave me yet again and asks to keep in touch, I’ll shut her out. Leave her completely in the dark, wanting more, unable to satiate the need that will course through her.
Just like she did to me.
That was the original plan, the one I thought about tossing out the window because of how Danika made me feel last night. Because of that weightless breath I can only take when she’s around. But then she had to dangle that word in my face—friends—and remind me that I’m not even worthy of that pathetic title.
Fire bubbles in my veins, igniting a hatred I haven’t felt in a long time. Not since I realized Danika wasn’t coming back to me; to us. Not since I discovered that no matter who I stick my dick into they always felt wrong; nice, but wrong. It’s a fire that brings all the hateful things I practiced saying if ever given the chance to the front of my mind. Words I don't mean, but would hurt her almost as bad as she hurt me.
My fork drops to my plate with a startling clank. My appetite is gone, incinerated by the blaze building inside me, eating away at my resolve to play nice and make Danika want me again.
She jumps at the sound and lifts her gaze to meet mine again. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, trying my best not to let the rage seep into my tone. “It slipped.”
We finish the rest of our meal in silence. Danika eats every bite while I push the food around my plate. She stands, walks over to the cart, and sets her empty dish on top of it. “I should go.”
My pulse kicks into overdrive. As fresh as my wounds feel for Danika having left me, I don’t want her to go. Not yet. Fear overrides my anger and I hurry to my feet. “Can I walk you?”
She grimaces. ”I don’t know.”
I’m sure the thought of getting caught with me by anyone in our family is daunting, but we’ve
only got one night left. If I’m going to get in her pants—and more importantly, under her skin—I need to up my game and be the most nauseating, charming version of myself I can muster. “Babe, your dress is probably itchy from the saltwater and you're wearing my shirt. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t see you safely to your door?”
Danika sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, a habit I assumed withered away when her heart turned black. Something so cute can’t possibly be done by someone so evil. I need to stop thinking this way. It’s been eighteen months since I conquered my hatred and turned it into indifference. I can get there again. I need a drink to clear my head.
Danika exhales, her soft lips lifting into a nervous smile. “Okay.”
I drape her dress over my shoulder and pick up her red heels, picturing her in my button down and these shoes. She’d look like Tom Cruise in Risky Business, only a million times hotter.
“Where’s Cooper’s room?” she asks as the door closes behind me.
It’s idle chatter, but I’ll take it over awkward silence. I hitch my thumb over my shoulder but keep my gaze on her. “Four doors back, number five-oh-seven.”
Danika nods and her hair creates a curtain between us. My fingers tingle, itching to push the locks behind her ears. I don’t give into the temptation. Instead, I tuck my free hand deep into my pocket. I veer towards the elevator but Danika shakes her head, and smiles again.
“I’m on this floor, too.”
That makes sense. Mom tried to book us all as close to each other as possible. Piper and Rex are the only ones I know who aren’t on this floor. They’re two stories up, in a suite. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah, Sarah and I have adjoining rooms.” Danika laughs nervously. I almost wonder if she’s as uncomfortable around me as I am her, but then I remember she has to care to feel uncomfortable, and if she cared she wouldn’t have left. “I’m sure she’s freaking out, wondering where I am.”
