by Cat Carmine
Logan and I exchange a look and burst into laughter.
That night, I lay locked in Logan’s arms in my old twin bed. It’s a tight squeeze, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.
Everyone else is in their own beds, too, and the house is silent. We’d stayed up way too late, hanging out with my family so that they could get to know Logan. It had gone well, better than I could have ever imagined. Maybe it’s because my parents are still in shock, but they seem to have come around to this whole baby thing much quicker than I expected. Maybe they’re just excited that their first grandchild is going to have Logan’s golden Adonis genes.
“I’m sorry it’s so cramped in here,” I whisper into Logan’s bare chest.
He kisses my hair. “It’s perfect,” he says. “You’re perfect, and this is perfect.”
“That’s sweet. But I know this probably isn’t the romantic reunion you had in mind.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’d say it’s pretty romantic.” He slides one big hand along my bare hip, fingering the edge of my lacy underwear.
His touch sets my skin ablaze, as it always does. I wriggle closer to him, running my fingers over his broad chest, scraping his dark nipples. He groans softly, a rumble that reverberates through the tiny bed.
He slips one hand beneath the waistband of my panties and parts my cleft with his finger. I gasp as he strokes me. Somehow, he already knows how to touch me in exactly the right way, how to make me come undone with the lightest touch. I arch my hips towards him, already reaching for the bulge that’s growing beneath the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. I don’t care that we’re just a few feet away from my parents and my sisters and everyone else. I have to have him now. I’ve waited so long for him. My whole life, it feels like.
I free his cock from its fabric prison and lick my lips. Someday soon, I’m going to take the time to worship this beast properly, but right now, I want to feel him inside me as soon as possible.
Logan must feel the same sense of urgency, because he flips me so that I’m on my back and he’s crouched on top of me. He makes short work of his briefs, and then peels the panties down off my hips. I pull him towards me.
For a minute, he just runs his cock over my slit, covering himself in my wetness. I’m more than ready for him. I pull his hips towards me, angling my body towards him, inviting him in.
He pushes forward slowly, filling me and stretching me and giving me the thing I need most — him. And I give myself back to him. When we move together, it’s a give and take. A beautiful rhythm. The music of the spheres. It’s everything.
When it’s over, I lean in for another kiss, then fold myself back into his arms. “How did I get so lucky?” I wonder out loud. “It’s so crazy. And to think, I could still be working at that rub-and-tug in Greenwich Village.”
Logan stiffens. “Excuse me — the what?”
“Rub-and-tug. It’s kind of like a massage parlor, but where you can get—”
“Blake,” he interrupts. “I know what a rub-and-tug is. I’m just confused about the fact that you worked at one. Mind elaborating?”
I giggle. “Let’s just say it was in another life.”
“Mmhmm. And what exactly did you do in this other life?”
“Don’t worry. There was no rubbing involved, and definitely no tugging.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” He chuckles, and the sound of it makes his whole chest vibrate. I wrap myself tighter around him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re never going to stop surprising me?”
I laugh, but Logan’s face turns serious. He pushes my hair back out of my face. “Blake, never stop surprising me. Please,” he says. “I want all my adventures to be with you. I want the rest of my chapters to be with you.”
My vision swims as tears fill my eyes. “I promise,” I whisper, as I lean in to kiss him. “And you know, we’re about to start the biggest adventure of all.”
I take his hand and press it to my stomach beneath my t-shirt. I know it’s too early for him to feel the baby kick, but I swear I feel something flutter in there. Logan’s face lights up. It’s a beautiful thing to see.
“Yes,” he agrees. “With you, it will be a great adventure.”
When he falls asleep that night, he has a smile on his face. The man who never smiled. I watch his chest rise and fall as he breathes. I still can’t believe he’s mine. My beautiful, terrifying, lion of a man. My universe.
Thirty-Two
My hospital room is as busy as the Walmart candy aisle the day after Halloween. Except I’m not foolish enough to think anyone is here to see me. It’s clear who the man of the hour is.
That would be Leo. Or more specifically, Leo William Holloway Cartwright.
My son. Mine and Logan’s.
There is no doubt that he’s my son, either. He was born ten days late, just like I was, and he’ll probably be late for everything else in life from here on in, just like I am.
But there’s so much of Logan in him, too. The serious way he studies the world. The way his hands curl into angry little fists when he’s upset. The way his eyes light up when he sees my boobs...
Pure Logan.
He’s only been out of the room for less than ten minutes, and I miss him already. Logan, too. It’s the first time in two days we haven’t had visitors, and now that I’m alone I don’t know what to do with myself. I absently pick up one of the trashy magazines Rori dropped off earlier today. I flip through the pages, and then put it down again. I can’t concentrate on anything. I should probably sleep, right?
I try to close my eyes, but soon I hear a pair of heels clacking on the glossy floor outside the room. Emma? But she’s not supposed to be back until tomorrow. Rori? But she just left.
Then the familiar bouncy brown ponytail appears at my door. That wide and lovely smile.
“Oh my God! Lucy!” I try to get out of the bed, but she waves me back down and comes around to give me a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Of course! You think I would miss this? I texted Emma to get your room number and to make sure it was okay.”
“Well, I appreciate it. God, I’ve missed you.” I start to tear up a little, and I wipe at my face in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Apparently the pregnancy hormones don’t stop just because you aren’t pregnant anymore.”
Lucy laughs. “I hear they last approximately eighteen years, actually.”
“Great.” I groan as I lean my head back against the pillow.
“Oh, these are for you,” she says, thrusting a white bakery box at me. “All your favorites — salted caramel brownies, blueberry scones, and banana chocolate chip muffins with caramel bourbon crumble.”
I groan again, but this time it’s with delight. “You are a queen.”
She brushes off the compliment. “I’m just glad I didn’t bring you flowers.” She looks pointedly around the room, at the gazillion bouquets that cover every available surface.
“Yeah. My parents went a little overboard.”
“Aw. Are they excited?”
“Um, you could say that.” The truth is, my parents are over the moon. And can you blame them? One look at that little guy is enough to win anyone over. He’s a heartbreaker, no doubt about it. He gets that from his dad, too.
“So where is he?” Lucy asks.
“Logan should be back with him any minute. He took him down to the cafeteria to explain to him the evils of bad coffee.”
She giggles. “I won’t ask.”
“It’s really better if you don’t,” I agree cheerfully. “So how are you doing? Have you found a new roommate yet?”
Her face turns down. “Not yet. Ugh. Don’t get me wrong — I’m super happy that your life turned out perfectly and everything, but it’s kind of a bummer for me.” She grins.
“Sorry about that. I could always go back to fucking things up, if you want?”
She laughs. It fills the entire room, and I’m hit with a sudden wave of longing. Not lon
ging for that life again, not exactly, but maybe for certain pieces of it.
“No, I won’t ask you to go quite that far. But maybe if you could just somehow arrange to find me a single roommate who doesn’t practice witchcraft, raise spider babies, or clog dance, that would be great.”
“Ooh, I don’t know. That’s a pretty tough order. Hey, here’s a thought — why don’t you and Lou finally bite the bullet and move in together? Hasn’t it been, like, three years or something?”
Lucy doesn’t say anything. Suddenly, she’s looking all around the room — at the Calla lilies on the nightstand, the hydrangeas on the windowsill, the single white orchid on the bureau. Anywhere but at me.
“Yoohoo, earth to Lucy.”
She finally turns her face in my direction, and I see her lower lip tremble.
“Oh my God, Lucy, what’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, tries to talk, and then gulps back a sob. I pass her the box of tissues from next to the lilies and wait for her to collect herself. I know Lucy well enough to know there’s no point in pushing her. She’s always kept her feelings close to her chest. She’ll talk when and if she wants to.
She takes her time blowing her nose and dabbing at her eyes and then throwing the tissues out in the garbage receptacle in the adjoining bathroom. I hear her wash her hands and then, finally, she reappears, slumping into the guest chair next to my bed.
“Lou and I broke up,” she announces.
“What happened? Whose decision was it?”
“I don’t know, to answer your first question, and his, to answer the second.” She keeps her voice even, but it obviously requires some effort to do so. “I’m sorry — I totally didn’t come here to dump all my problems on you.”
“Are you kidding? After the problems I dumped on you this year? I’ve got a major dumping debt to pay off here.”
She smiles at that. “You did have your share of problems.”
“It was a helluva year,” I laugh. “Now tell me what happened.”
She shrugs. “The truth is, there isn’t much to tell. I had casually brought up the idea of moving in together — like you said, it’s been three years. Which seemed like a perfectly reasonable time to think about moving forward.”
More than reasonable, I think, but I don’t say that. The last thing I want to do is make Lucy feel any worse right now. So instead, I just nod, encouraging her to go on.
“Anyway, he actually seemed to be coming around. He even made a comment about turning his spare bedroom into a little photography studio for me, for the blog.”
“So what the hell happened?”
“I don’t know!” she laments. “I thought things were going fine. Then a week ago, he says he wants to talk about the future. I’m sitting there thinking he’s finally going to ask me to move in — and instead he tells me he’s just not feeling it anymore. Just. Not. Feeling. It.” She spits the words out one at a time, like she still can’t quite believe it.
Poor Lucy. My heart aches for her. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. He obviously has no idea what he just lost out on.”
Lucy wipes away another tear before it spills down her cheek. She shakes her head. “You know what pisses me off the most?”
“Tell me.”
“I put in so much time ... and for nothing. I forgave so many stupid little things — like how he never wanted to come over to our place, how he never wanted to spend any time with my friends. I just thought I was... compromising. For the sake of the relationship. I thought that’s how it worked. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”
I don’t know what to tell her. My relationship with Logan isn’t exactly textbook. We didn’t do anything right, and somehow it all worked out.
“I don’t know, sweetie. I think it only works if both people are putting in the work. You deserve someone who’s going to make just as much effort for you, you know?”
She slumps back in her seat. “Easy for you to say.”
I don’t take offense. It is easy for me to say. A year ago, I’d have been joining her in throwing back a half dozen shots of tequila and cursing all men. These days, I’m a little more optimistic.
“Hey, why don’t you move out of that apartment and get your own place? I could talk to Rori, Wes probably knows someone in property management, maybe you could find a little bachelor pad or even a one-bedroom...”
“I’ve thought about that, but it’s too expensive. Even the cheapest studio apartments are insanely expensive. And our place actually has perfect light for my photography — if I moved somewhere else, I’d have to make sure it has good light, and good light always seems to come at a price.”
“Well, I’ll talk to Rori, anyway. You never know, Wes has all kinds of contacts in that world.”
“Thanks. Actually, I do sort of have one roommate option. But I’m not sure I’m going to do it.” She looks down at her lap, where her fingers are shredding a tissue into tiny pieces. She watches them with interest, as if they aren’t a part of her, but are moving completely independently.
“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to go on. It seems to take her quite a while to answer.
“My brother’s best friend is moving back to the city. He’s been in California for the last few years, but I guess he wants to be back on the east coast.”
“That sounds promising. At least you know him, right?”
“Right.”
“So what’s the problem? Is he learning to sing opera? A huge fan of Insane Clown Posse? Oh God — he’s not a Juggalo, is he?”
Lucy snorts. “No, he’s not a Juggalo. Just a regular guy.” She swallows so hard, I can see her throat bob.
This time, I don’t prompt her. I just wait for her to continue.
She shrugs uncomfortably. The tissue is now in about six thousand pieces in her lap, and she’s still trying to shred those pieces even further. “It’s just kinda weird, I guess. I haven’t seen him in so long and ... well, I used to have this stupid crush on him. It was totally lame. I was totally lame back then.”
I bite back a smile. Lucy’s cheeks are as red as the dahlias on the window sill. Somehow, I’m sensing more to this story than she’s letting on. “Well, I think that sounds okay. So what if you used to have a crush on him? Was it a long time ago?”
“Oh, ages ago,” she says gratefully. “Soooo long ago. He probably didn’t even know. I was just Kyle’s goofy little sister to him, you know?”
“Totally.”
“God, look at this mess.” Lucy tries to wipe all the little bits of tissue off her jeans. “You must think I’m nuts.”
“Not at all,” I say softly, as she disappears into the bathroom to toss the scraps. “Not at all.”
Just then, my two favorite men appear at the door. “And that’s why Guatamala has the best coffee,” Logan is explaining to our infant. “It’s the volcanic ash that makes it taste so good. Can you say volcanic ash?”
Leo waves his tiny fist. My heart melts.
“Lucy’s here,” I tell him, as he leans in to kiss me and to deposit the baby into my arms. She emerges from the bathroom at that exact moment.
“Oh, that’s great. Hi Lucy.”
“Hi Logan. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. But this amazing woman here deserves all the credit.”
The way Logan looks at me fills me with pride. He really does think I’m amazing. Okay, the fact that I just pushed a butternut squash out my hoohaw is pretty amazing. But I get the feeling that I could do just about anything and Logan’s opinion of me wouldn’t change. There’s an incredible sense of security in that, a happiness I never knew was possible.
“So this is him, is it?” Lucy asks softly, creeping up and peering in at Leo.
“This is him,” I say proudly. “Our little heartbreaker.”
“He sure is.” She runs her thumb over his tender cheek. “May I?”
“Of course.” I slide Leo into her arms, and she slips into the guest chair with him. When she look
s up, there’s a haze of tears in her eyes. But this time, they aren’t tears of sadness. “Gosh, you did something great, Blake. I’m so proud of you.”
Logan squeezes my shoulder, and I smile. “Thanks. I’m pretty proud of me, too.”
The rest of the day is a swarm of visitors. Logan’s mother, Eleanor, and her boyfriend Ed, my parents, and then Heather, Tim, Daisy and Jack. The kids are beyond excited to meet their new cousin. Daisy presents him with a stuffed lion, and Jack brings a toy truck. They both seem deadly serious as they study his puckered little face, count off his fingers and toes. Heather catches my eye, and we share a smile, and I feel another rush of gratitude that she was ballsy enough to come into Bloomers that day and — quite rightly — tell me off. Now I get to call her family.
When Logan sees me fading, he ushers everyone out of the room so that I can get some sleep.
“One more night here,” he says, after everyone’s gone. He’s curled awkwardly on the twin bed beside me, one arm wedged under the pillow and one wrapped around my still-puffy stomach. He strokes my skin gently with his palm, runs his lips over the back of my neck, as I get closer to sleep. “Then we can go home.”
“Home,” I say with a smile. “That’ll be nice.”
“It’ll be perfect.”
The next day, we do indeed get to go home. It only takes us an hour to get Leo strapped into the car seat, and then another hour to crawl the twenty blocks home, with Logan driving at roughly the speed of an arthritic snail.
When we finally pull up in front of the old colonial house we bought two months ago, I breathe a sigh of contentment. “Home.”
“Home,” Logan echoes.
Okay, it doesn’t quite feel like home yet. When we’d decided to relocate to Connecticut, Logan insisted we buy a house, and I’d fallen in love with this one the moment we saw it — the magnolia tree out front, the floor-to-ceiling fireplace in the living room, the huge bonus space over the garage that we could someday turn into a separate suite or a guest house. It was probably more modest than what Logan was used to, but to me it felt beyond grand.