Hard Ass in Love

by Sasha Burke

  “You’re going to leave me. Just like everyone else.”

  “I don’t have to,” I say, wording it just so.

  “You’re lying!”

  I don’t even see the back of his hand coming at me until I feel the pain exploding in my cheek.

  I’ve never been struck before. And my brain is having a hard time recovering.

  My eye is throbbing in its socket, but it’s still functional enough to see he’s getting ready to hit me again.

  No way, asshole.

  The next thing I know my limbs are attacking him like they have a mind of their own. I’m probably doing that chick-flailing-arm thing, but I don’t care. His second punch doesn’t land, that’s all that matters. I fight harder.

  But, he’s too big. Too strong.

  Suddenly, he grabs me by the shoulders and slams me back onto the ground.

  The explosion of pain knocks the wind out of me. My skull feels bashed in, and there’s a throbbing, overwhelming pressure in my head now making my senses sluggish.

  My vision’s ebbing in and out, and my entire body feels injected with liquid lead. It’s getting harder to move.

  That’s when I realize he’s got his forearm on my throat, smothering my airway.

  No.

  I think I scream it. At least that’s how it sounds to my ears.

  His nose, his eyes, his crotch. Everything is fair game. I kick and slap and scratch and bite. I go downright ballistic on him.

  Just don’t stop fighting. You can’t stop fighting.

  15

  * * *

  | LOGAN |

  Why the hell is Nicole still at the gym?

  My gut’s telling me something’s wrong. I floor the gas pedal and tear through the parking lot, straight over to her SUV.

  I’m still a few rows away when I see her.

  She’s on the ground between the cars and that Kenny kid is fucking attacking her.

  I screech to a halt and get out of the car. I need to cut across the lot by foot. It’ll get me there faster. At least I pray it will.

  I’ve never run so fast in my life.

  Never pushed past fear this paralyzing before.

  There’s no weapon that I can see, but goddammit, he’s choking her. She’s still defending herself like a wild cat though. And every fierce blow she continues to land gives me hope.

  Nicole’s a fighter. She’ll hold on until I get there.

  Please let me get to her in time.

  What feels like an eternity later, I ram my entire body into his, my only goal to take him out like a wrecking ball. The guy’s built like a tank, but I’ve got pure rage on my side.

  I don’t just tackle him, I body blow him clear into a nearby car, denting it. And hopefully him as well in the process.

  Two men from the small crowd rush over to help jump in and restrain Kenny so I can run back to Nicole.

  She’s already getting up when I get to her. “I’m okay,” she whispers jaggedly, her eyes struggling to focus as she grips the back of her head in pain.

  “You’re not okay. He was choking you, Nicole.”

  He could’ve killed her. The mere thought of that alone is enough to crush my heart in a punishing vise of pain so severe, getting it to keep pumping feels like a fucking miracle.

  “Did he hit you? Are you in pain anywhere else?” I ask savagely, struggling—and failing—to hold my anger in check. It’s literally taking every ounce of my control not to go back over to Kenny and beat him to a bloody pulp.

  Nicole keeps one hand securely wrapped around my wrist. “Don’t, Logan. I’m okay.”

  The cops get here minutes later to arrest Kenny and an ambulance for Nicole arrives seconds after.

  A trip to the E.R. seems like a given to me, but she keeps telling everyone she’s fine.

  “Really,” she insists. “It’s not that bad. I’ve been hurt worse on a climb. All I want are some ice packs and a couple of ibuprofen.”

  Clearly, she’s in shock and not thinking right.

  I’d already told Derick to get my on-site physician over here so he can do a full examination on her, and thankfully, he arrives at the tail end of Nicole’s insane ice pack and ibuprofen suggestion.

  “Oh no, not you again.”

  If I wasn’t so worried about her right now, the fact that both doctor and patient just uttered that statement in stereo would’ve been pretty damn funny.

  Right now, though, it’s all I can do to keep my shit together.

  I pace and hover, fully ready to get a portable whole-body MRI unit over here to scan her. When they don’t ask for one, I welcome the chance for a third opinion from someone in the crowd who mentions he’s a retired combat medic with two decades of trauma medicine experience.

  The longest hour of my life later, they each give her the medical all-clear to go home.

  I breathe again for what feels like the first time all night then I go over and yank her keys from her hand. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

  “Logan, I’m fine. You heard the EMTs. And the military medic. And your board-certified physician. Kenny didn’t manage to choke me for very long, and aside from a bruise on my cheek and a lump on the back of my head, I don’t have a scratch on me.”

  I ignore the obviously head-traumatized crazy talk. “I’ve got five spare bedrooms, all full suites with their own bathrooms. Take your pick. Each is practically the size of your apartment.”

  I’m not exaggerating. Nicole’s apartment is ridiculously small. The building security is shit. And most offensive of all, it’s clear on the other fucking side of town.

  “Logan, I can’t stay with you.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “How would we possibly explain my spending the night to Hannah?”

  “Easy. I’ll tell her that since she got to have a sleepover, I had one, too.”

  A small, pained chuckle escapes her. “You’re not funny.”

  “That’s the head injury talking, sweetheart. We both know I’m hilarious.” I carry her over to my car and buckle her up securely.

  “We need to discuss this.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, the only thing we’re discussing in your impaired mental state is if you want pancakes or waffles for breakfast. I’m okay waiting on you hand and foot for the first couple of days, but by next week, you’ll need to start pulling your weight with the cooking.”

  She sighs. “You’re being impossible.”

  Man, she really must have hit her head hard. I’m being a prince.

  “What on earth are we going to tell Hannah?”

  “Fine, we can tell her your house is being fumigated for some mutant bugs that will take time to get rid of.”

  “We can’t lie to her.”

  “Then I’ll make a call and make said infestation a reality.”

  “Logan, be serious.”

  I settle into the car beside her. “I’m being dead serious. I don’t want Hannah knowing you were attacked.” It would traumatize her for sure. “So, this will be like a Santa Claus lie. You lie to kids about Santa Claus, right? No ethical objection to that?”

  She scowls at me. “I don’t like it when you out-argue me.”

  “Feel free to blame your head injury and not my superior debating skills.” I lean over to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Rest and recover for a couple weeks at my place. We can pick up this argument after that.”

  Then, to make absolutely certain this will go my way, I suppress all my natural tendencies and say, “I’m asking you here. For me. Will you please stay at my place until we know that Kenny’s locked up for good and unable to hurt you again? For my own peace of mind?”

  A soft smile transforms her tired expression. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  Why the whole me-asking-instead-of-demanding thing can get her to agree to things is a mystery to me, but I’m grateful she’s finally seeing reason. “Get some rest, sweetheart. I’m going to take us the long way home. Less bumps in the road
.”

  She nods and starts to close her eyes.

  When we’re about halfway out of the parking lot, however, her eyes blink back open. “Hey, how did you know to come find me at the gym?”

  “I tracked your GPS location on your phone tonight.”

  “Oh. I didn’t even know my phone could do that.”

  “It can’t. Not unless you have a hacker looking for you. Or you happen to have the app I installed on your phone the other week. It’s the same one I have on Hannah’s phone.”

  “I see.”

  I expect her to be pissed that I lo-jacked her. Surprisingly, she’s not. And I’m wholly curious as to why. “Aren’t you going to yell at me?”

  “No,” she answers muzzily.

  Is it totally screwed up that I’m a bit disappointed?

  “I figure,” she says as she slowly starts sliding into sleep, “with me staying at your place, I’ll have plenty of opportunities.”

  “To argue with me?” Yeah, it’s pretty fucked up how much that cheers me up.

  “Nope.” She smiles. “To get even.”

  Good lord, I’m crazy about this woman.

  16

  * * *

  | NICOLE |

  It’s been over two weeks now since the attack and I’m still staying at Logan’s.

  I’m beginning to think I might be living here. Sort of. It’s all very unclear.

  Logan insists this lack of clarity on when exactly we’re planning on me moving back to my apartment is all because I suffered an extensive brain trauma. And after giving me this medical diagnosis of his, he immediately finds a way to distract me and change the subject.

  The man is positively incorrigible. And so very, very adorable.

  He doesn’t distract me with sex per se—he’s pretty adamant about me needing more time to recover before we can argue about that topic. It’s been more…creatively comprehensive foreplay, if you will.

  Like I need any more reasons to want to stay longer.

  The orgasm-on-demand amenities at Casa De Logan are of course, great, but I’ve honestly loved every single minute of my time here. From the board game nights to the afternoons spent simply hanging out in the back yard, it’s all been wonderful.

  I know it can’t last, but I’m cherishing each moment as it comes.

  Today, we’re grilling outside with Logan’s parents. I’ve been looking forward to it all week. It’s my first backyard barbecue ever, sad as that sounds. And seriously, I’m so excited I might need a tiny mood stabilizer.

  “Hi Grandma!” Hannah rushes over to give Carol a hug. “Look! Look! Nicole is living with us now! Isn’t that awesome?”

  Oh my god. “It’s just temporary,” I tell her quickly. “We’re not ‘living together.’”

  “Logan already explained everything, dear.”

  I shoot a surprised glance over at Logan.

  He shrugs. “I’m convinced my mother has some kind of super invasive surveillance on my life. I’ve thought so since I was a kid.”

  “Gee, I wonder what that’s like,” I deadpan.

  “Rhetorical humor is lost on me,” he informs me, tickling my ribs mercilessly for a second for attempting to liken his actions to his mother’s. “Anyway, she’s basically psychic when it comes to my life and always seems to knows everything. So, I don’t bother trying to keep things from her anymore.”

  Carol nods matter-of-factly. “This is true. And we’re in absolute agreement that you shouldn’t go back to your apartment. Those bugs Logan described sound absolutely dreadful.”

  I raise an eyebrow at Logan.

  Who’s gone missing into the other room.

  “Luckily,” I say, not at all comfortable ‘Santa Claus lying’ to his parents. “The fumigation should be done soon.” I don’t want her to think my home is a biohazard zone.

  “I heard it’s going to take longer,” he calls out, still eavesdropping out of sight.

  As Carol sets the picnic place settings outside, she weighs in, “Best not to rush these things. You can’t be too careful with insect infestations.”

  “Oh yay!” cheers Hannah from the lawn where she’s throwing horseshoes with Phil. “Does that mean Nicole can stay with us longer? I love having her here. She’s so much fun!”

  Gah, that little girl knows just how to melt my heart.

  “Hold up,” says Logan, materializing out of nowhere. “Are you saying Nicole is more fun than your old man?”

  Hannah ponders this question seriously for a bit. “Okay, maybe not more fun,” she says diplomatically. “But she is more funny. Especially when she’s driving you crazy.”

  “She does do that often,” agrees Logan.

  “Only because your father starts it,” I counter.

  “I know!” says Hannah, cracking up. “It’s so much fun to watch. It’s like watching grandma and grandpa pretend to fight.”

  Carol pats Phil lovingly on the shoulder. “Oh, we’re not pretending, dear. Your grandfather drives me bonkers.”

  “But you still kiss and make up after,” Hannah reasons. “That’s what makes it more like pretend fighting. Just like what Dad and Nicole do.”

  I don’t know that she fully understands what she just implied, but I’m fairly certain all the adults are thinking the same thing.

  Phil tosses a very interested gaze over at Logan, who is hyper-focused on the grill at the moment.

  Meanwhile, I’m avoiding Carol’s eyes altogether. I have a feeling Logan might be right about her being partially psychic.

  As a therapist, this intrigues me. As a woman in an undefined live-in relationship with her son, I’m quaking in my sneakers.

  I quickly re-route the discussion to the food Phil placed on the table earlier. “These dishes you all brought look amazing.” That a lot of them appear to be meat-free makes me all gooey inside.

  Carol beams. “They’re all vegetarian. I’ve been trying out recipes all week.”

  “She has,” says Phil. “And when all those turned out really badly, we had our special events chef whip up some things for us to bring this morning.”

  Carol blushes and gives her husband a killing look. “Narc.”

  Lordy, these two. “You really didn’t have to go to any trouble just for me.”

  “Nonsense.” Carol gives my hand a motherly squeeze. “It’s good for us to try new things and eat healthier. Logan’s been trying to get us to cut out red meat for years.”

  “I still don’t know how he does that,” I say. “Steaks and burgers are way too good for me to give up forever.”

  “Wait, so you’re not a vegetarian?” asks Phil, confused.

  “Nicole’s only a vegetarian six days a week,” clarifies Logan. “On Sundays, all bets are off. I’m not even exaggerating; the woman is like a carnivorous dinosaur. Hell, she’ll bite your hand off if you try and take her meat away from her.”

  “Or if you bad-mouth about her football team,” adds Hannah, giggling.

  “Got the teeth marks to prove it,” says Logan, eyes silently daring me to contradict him.

  I can’t believe they’re ganging up on me like this. The first incident Hannah saw was just a joke, and the second, Logan is presenting totally out of context. Not that I can possibly put it into context for his parents. Seeing as how I’d bitten him on his rump and all.

  “Logan dear, why don’t you try this six-day thing?” suggests Carol brightly. “That way, on Sundays, when we grill over at our house, I won’t have to make one sad little pasty turkey burger to get shamed on the grill by all the others.”

  “OMG,” laughs Hannah. “Nicole makes fun of Dad’s burgers, too.”

  Again, out of context. I didn’t make fun of them, I simply mentioned them while Hannah was reading Bunnicula, the classic tale of the vampire rabbit who sucks vegetables pale. Sheesh.

  “Hey Dad,” inquires Hannah curiously. “If you start eating red meat again, does that mean we can start eating fast food burgers?”

  Uh oh.


  Logan gives me a see-what-you-started look, which then transforms into a grin much too quickly for my comfort.

  I brace myself for whatever he has in store.

  “Tell you what, Nicole,” he offers genially. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll let you grill me a steak on Sundays from now on if you let me do your laundry at the same time.”

  I gasp, scandalized that he could even suggest such a thing.

  “Nicole here believes whole-heartedly in sports superstitions,” he fills his parents in, chuckling at my attempt to vaporize him on the spot with my eyes. “She thinks if she does her laundry on Sundays, her precious 49ers will lose.”

  “Why test fate? Every time I’ve done laundry on NFL Sundays, they’ve lost,” I defend, before smacking him on the shoulder. “Stop trying to make me look crazy in front of your parents.”

  “Wasn’t trying to,” he says, before smiling evilly. “If I really wanted to do that, I’d have told them how you buy extra underwear every fall to make sure you have enough clean pairs available since you also don’t do laundry on NFL Mondays and NFL Thursdays whenever San Fran has a winning streak…rare as that may be.”

  I can see his parents are trying not to laugh.

  And I start surveying the utensils to see which one will do the most non-vital damage if I throw it at Logan.

  “I think that kind of fan devotion is to be commended,” says a straight-faced Carol, ever the gracious one.

  “It really is,” agrees Phil with a reassuring smile. “In fact, I’d probably have done something like that when I was your age.”

  I give Logan a smug ‘so there’ look.

  “Really, Grandpa?”

  “Sure,” he says. “You know, if my team stunk as badly as the 49ers.”

  My jaw drops.

  “Nicole dear, you really should change your allegiance to the Broncos,” says Carol with a grave nod like she’s sad to be the bearer of bad news. “That way, you could take Logan up on his deal. Win-win.”

  Unbelievable.

  The resulting ‘so-there’ look from Logan is infinitely smugger than mine.