Reckless Surrender

by R. C. Martin

  “Don’t look so surprised,” he murmurs, leaning in to give me a chaste kiss. “You know who you are. You always have.” He kisses me again. “And I’m starting to see…” He kisses me again. “And it doesn’t matter if he thinks you look like a bubble gum princess cheerleader right now.” He kisses me again, his mouth turned up in a smile against mine as I hum a laugh at his dig. “Feeling better?” He asks, touching his nose to mine.

  Dammit. I’m falling in love with him.

  And there it is. My white flag.

  I surrender to the bitch.

  I nod my reply and then reach for another kiss. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Logan?” I smile at Roman before I turn to address Eddalyn.

  “Hi, guys.” I stand, my confidence restored to full force after Roman’s words of encouragement. He’s right. It doesn’t matter how unprofessional I look right now. I’m still me—still Logan Schwartz, the woman who cowers to no one. My smile grows into a grin when I feel Roman stand behind me, resting his hand on the small of my back. “Fancy meeting you two here.”

  “Can you believe he’s never been?” asks Eddalyn, reaching out to squeeze Judah’s elbow.

  For a split second, I’m distracted by the sight of him. I’ve never seen him dressed casually before. He’s in tan khakis and a navy blue polo shirt that hugs every one of his delicious muscles. When our eyes meet, my stomach tingles and an all too familiar desire to get lost in his gray irises begins to confuse my senses.

  “Um, aren’t there a couple MG’s down by where you live?” I ask, concentrating on the feel of Roman’s hand in an attempt to keep myself grounded.

  “Yes. Believe me, I’ve been properly berated for neglecting to pay a visit. It’s why we’re here.”

  “Well, you won’t regret it,” I assure him. “Definitely get a pancake.”

  “Right,” he says with a knowing smile. “So I’ve been told. Aunt Eddalyn is a fan of the cinnamon apple. What is your preference?”

  “I’m a pancake-of-the-day kind of girl. It totally eliminates me from having to make a real choice and sometimes you get something special you might not get to experience again for a while.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” He winks at me as he says it and then turns his attention to Edda. “I’m going to put our name on the waiting list. I’ll be right back.”

  As I watch him leave, I realize that he didn’t once acknowledge Roman. I bite the inside of my cheek in punishment as I realize that my behavior toward my pseudo-boyfriend wasn’t any better.

  “So, Logan, I see you have a handsome breakfast companion of your own.”

  “Oh, my gosh—yes! I’m so sorry,” I mutter, turning to look up at Roman. He smiles at me and I force myself to relax, forget my momentary lapse in girlfriend performance, and reach for his hand. His fingers find mine without pause and he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Edda, this is my boyfriend, Roman. Rome, this is my boss, Eddalyn.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, holding out his free hand in order to shake hers. “I’ve heard only great things about you.”

  “Well, thank you,” she says, accepting his friendly gesture. “It’s charming to meet you. Although, I must admit, I wasn’t aware that Logan had a special someone.”

  “It’s a recent development,” he tells her, kindly.

  “Well, anyone that can make her smitten deserves my respect. She’s quite the spirited girl.”

  “Spirited. That’s one way of putting it,” he teases.

  “Hey!” I giggle, dropping his hand to pinch his side.

  “Careful, babe,” he warns me softly, pulling me under his arm as he positions his hand on my waist. “You wouldn’t want me to retaliate.” I rest my cheek against his chest in an attempt to hide my grin as I remember the moment he discovered just how ticklish I am. “Eddalyn, would you like to sit?” he asks, pulling me from my reverie as he moves us away from the chair.

  “No, you two paint quite the pretty picture sitting together. I didn’t mean for you to get up.”

  “Please. I insist. My girl is just as beautiful standing up as I’m sure you are sitting down. Besides, our wait shouldn’t be too much longer, now.”

  Eddalyn lifts her eyebrows as she looks at me, seemingly impressed. “He won’t take no for an answer,” I tell her. “He’s the stubborn type of gentleman.”

  “Ah, yes. I know the type,” she says, looking over at the door just as Judah walks out. “Thank you,” she adds as she sits.

  I give Roman a squeeze as I sip my coffee, wishing to convey my thanks as well. He rubs his hand affectionately up and down my side as he proceeds to ask Edda about work—how she got into the business and what she likes best. I watch him as he gets wrapped up in her answers and it makes me happy. It means a lot to me that he’s being so sweet to one of the most influential people in my life. What I love is that I’m learning that’s just who he is.

  “What about you, Roman?” asks Edda. “You know what all of us do, what do you do?”

  “I’m actually getting ready to head back to school. In about a week I’ll be at CSU working towards my masters.”

  “Is that right? What will you study?”

  “Environmental engineering,” I answer and smile up at him before looking back at Edda. “He’s a bit of a brainiac.”

  “What is that you do now?” asks Judah.

  Roman looks over my head, directly at Jude, and proudly says, “I’m a bartender at Cooper’s. I also teach yoga right across the street.”

  “I see. That explains a lot.” At first, I’m not sure what he means by his comment. Then his eyes travel up and down my body and I suddenly understand. Obviously, Edda’s presence doesn’t encourage him to be subtle.

  “So, what are you guys doing with your Saturday?” I ask, hoping to change the subject before Rome and Jude have another passive-aggressive-testosterone battle.

  “Well, if we can make our tee-time, we’ll be golfing this afternoon,” he answers.

  “That sounds nice.”

  “Do you enjoy golf?”

  I cough out a laugh as I shake my head. “No. I mean, I’ve never played. As a spectator, I think it’s lacking in the arena of excitement.”

  “That’s right,” he says with a smirk. “You’re a fan of sports that have a little more physical contact. I remember now.”

  Damn. I walked right into that one, didn’t I?

  “Holloway!” calls the hostess from the door. Relief washes over me at the sound of Roman’s name.

  “That’s us!” I chirp.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Roman,” says Edda.

  “Likewise. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

  “See you guys Monday,” I tell them as Roman takes my hand and begins to lead us inside.

  “Oh—Logan,” Judah stops me, gently grabbing hold of my elbow. I freeze at his contact, not surprised by the way he makes my skin feel like it’s on fire. “We’ll be making a trip to Denver on Monday. There’s a particular art dealer I’d like you to meet. He’s got a great collection that I think would fit your design quite well.”

  “Sounds great,” I tell him, offering him an appreciative smile. In spite of his rudeness to Roman, and his less than subtle flirting, I really am excited to have the chance to spend the day exploring art with him. He’s got a great eye—literally and figuratively—and it’s what I trust most about him. “Looking forward to it.”

  “Babe?” I shift my focus to Roman, who appears more than ready to be inside, and then glance at Jude. I look down at my arm and see that he’s still holding onto me.

  When I bring my eyes back up to meet his, he lets me go. At first, I can’t make myself look away. Then I realize, as we stare at each other, that there’s a part of me that knows him. Not just Judah, the brilliant mind that I work with, but Jude—the hot guy who makes me quiver with excitement with just one look or one touch.

  I know the guy who gets what h
e wants when he wants it; not necessarily because I have a ton of experience with men like him, but because I can be that way, too. I relate to him and I can’t deny that there’s just something about me that draws me to him. I’m falling for Roman, sure, and he thinks Judah is a jerk. Honestly, he might be right; but Jude’s also a hot genius and I get it. In fact, it makes sense that Roman doesn’t like Judah because he only shows you what he wants you to see. Just like me.

  Judah wants me and he’s not going to apologize for it or hide the truth—not in front of Rome, not even in front of Edda. He wants the version of me that I allow him to see. If I’m being honest, that version of me wants him, too. It’s why I need a human shield to keep me from unleashing my inner flirt. The dilemma is, I’m more than her. I’m more than just a flirt and I’ve come to accept that I want more than the hot genius. I want Roman.

  Does Roman want me?

  Even as I look at Jude, I can feel the warmth of Roman’s hand and the tingles that travel up my arm as he squeezes my fingers. He appeals to another side of me. We’re so different, but he sees me. At least, I want to believe he does. I trust him and I’ve started to let him in. I want to believe that we’re not trapped in a made-up relationship. But what if we are? What if what’s real is what I’m fighting between Judah and me and what’s pretend is what I’m longing for with Roman?

  I close my eyes and shake away the thought. I want to feel the way I did fifteen minutes ago, when Roman was kissing me and reassuring me and Judah was the farthest thought from my mind. Today, that’s my happy place and the bitch can just stay in the corner until I’m ready to deal with her.

  I take a step closer to Roman and smile at Judah. “Enjoy your breakfast,” I tell him before I turn away.

  “You okay?” asks Roman as we head inside.

  “Yeah,” I reply, willing myself to believe it. “Hey, thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Being you with Edda. I think she finds you quite charming, which makes me look good,” I say as we reach our table.

  “You’re welcome,” he replies with a chuckle.

  “Rome,” I stop him before he can slide into the booth and lift myself onto my tiptoes so that I can reach up to kiss him. “I mean it.”

  He pecks my lips once more. “So do I.”

  “Alright, Birthday Skank, where to next?” asks Logan as I finish applying the bandage to Daphne’s forearm. For her twentieth birthday, Willow and I tagged teamed her gift. Willow used her kick-ass calligraphy skills to write the script on Daphne’s arm and I inked it on forever.

  “Actually, do you guys mind giving Trevor and me a minute?” I bring my eyes up to meet hers, curious about her request.

  “Sure. I could use some ice for my hand,” says Willow as she heads for the door. “How about you, Logan?”

  Logan laughs as she follows. “She’s got a death grip, I know…” The rest of her sentence is lost as she shuts the door behind them.

  “What’s up, birthday girl?” I ask, my gaze still trained on Daphne. I’m so proud of her right now. She only cried out twice during our session and she managed to listen to all of us when we told her not to watch me wield the needle.

  “I really wish people would stop calling me that,” she says softly, running her fingers through her hair. When I met her a few months back, her bangs were died purple. Tonight, when she walked in, I noticed right away that they were blue. I like the change and I watch as they fall back over her eye after passing through her fingers. “It’s not something I’m thrilled about.”

  “I know, I’m sorry—I take it back,” I tell her, taking her hand in both of mine. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

  She doesn’t answer me right away. When she sniffs, I wheel my stool closer to her and reach out to brush her bangs away from her face. It breaks my heart to see her cry. I’ve felt this way since the first day that we met. There’s something about her…she’s strong—stubborn; but she’s also frail—fragile, like a rare piece of art. Just like the first time she was in this chair, I feel compelled to do anything it takes to make her feel better. Now that I know her, now that we’re friends, it’s more like a need than a desire.

  “He’s one, today,” she finally speaks, her tears rushing down her face. I tip her chin up so that I can see into her eyes. “I don’t want to—I don’t want to think of him. I don’t—I don’t want to wonder about him—but I do. And it hurts. And I hate that it hurts. And I hate that I woke up this morning and remembered what it felt like the moment he was out. I hate that I felt the anguish of loss that annihilated me the second I heard him cry. He’s not mine. He never was. Not really—but—but—”

  “Hey,” I stand as I move the arm rest and then sit beside her so that I can pull her into my arms. She comes willingly, clinging to me as she cries. I don’t have any words to say. I won’t belittle what’s she’s going through by trying to offer her condolences that fall short. I’ve been on the receiving end of those and it just makes it worse. Instead I rub my hands across her back and let her cry.

  Being here, in this moment, makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt in years. It’s a different sort of rush than what I experience with my art. It’s deeper; it’s somehow softer. It’s intimate. She trusts me to hold her—not just now, not just her body, but the pieces of her heart that she’s offered to me. And I want them. I want her. Not physically—I mean, I am attracted to her, but it’s more than that. I wouldn’t dare ruin the bond that we’ve managed to forge by taking our relationship in that direction. No, I don’t just want her body, I want her heart, too; because, whether she knows it or not, she has mine.

  I’m in love with her.

  I don’t know how it happened, how she managed to barge in and take my love, but she’s got it. Life brought us together and having her around makes me feel less alone. She’s broken; she’s hurting and I might not be able to fully understand, but she’s never asked me to. I give her what I can. She provides the mirror image of that for me. That is something no one has ever been able to give me before.

  “I want another tattoo,” she mumbles against my shoulder, distracting me from my thoughts.

  “What?” I pull away from her, just enough to look into her eyes.

  “For him. I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid, but I keep thinking if I could just…channel every memory, every thought, every emotion that I feel about him into a sort of tribute, maybe I can just let it go but yet still carry it with me.”

  “That’s not stupid,” I assure her, reaching up to dry her cheeks. “What were you thinking you want?”

  She stares at me for a moment before she begins to lift her shirt. I watch her with interest, more intrigued than aroused when she discards the garment into her lap. She’s wearing a bikini top instead of a bra and she reaches over to her left side, just where the slight curve of her breast begins. “I want a heart right here. I don’t want anyone to know that it’s there.”

  “Okay,” I say with a nod.

  “I want it to be baby blue. I don’t care outside of that. I mean, do your thing. I trust you.”

  “Yeah. Yeah—I’ve got an idea. I can have this done in fifteen minutes.”

  It takes me no time to do my prep work and then I freehand a heart, about the size of a nickel, on the side of her breast. I turn the music up, hoping to drown out the sound of the tattoo gun as much as I can, and set to work. I do a little more than half of the outline in baby blue ink and then complete the rest in white. Then I shade the inside so that it looks as though the blue heart is fading into a ghostly shadow.

  When I’m done, I hold up a handheld mirror so that she can see it. “It’s perfect, Trevor.”

  “Good,” I say before I bandage her up. I help her slip her shirt back on and then she wraps her arms around my neck, kissing my cheek before holding me in an embrace.

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “You’re always welcome.”

  I’m startled out of my sleep at th
e sound of the doorbell. I draw in a deep breath as I open my eyes and piece together where and when I am. I smile when I look down and see Daphne asleep against my chest. The doorbell rings again and I mutter a curse before I ease my way from underneath my girl. She groans sleepily and turns to rest on her other cheek while I scramble around for some pants. I hop into a pair of jeans, zipping and buttoning as I hurry for the door before whoever is outside will ring again and wake Daph.

  “You smell that?” says Grace in greeting. “It’s fresh air. Take a deep breath, Trev, I’m sure you haven’t had any today.”

  Pete laughs and I step out onto the front porch in my bare feet and crack the door behind me. “You’re mad,” I guess, looking from her to Pete and then back at her.

  “No. I’m not mad. If I was mad, would I have brought you food?” She points at Pete and I see he’s got a foil covered dish in his hands. “It’s a cheesy zucchini casserole. I thought you two might need a little sustenance.”

  I nod, eyeing her suspiciously before I lift my eyebrows at Pete. “She’s mad.”

  He opens his mouth to speak but she cuts him off before he can get a word out. “I’m not mad. In fact, I wasn’t even going to come. I was going to send Pete—but then I realized that I could never expect him to deliver my message exactly like I wanted so, I thought I’d join him.”

  “Your message?”

  “You get one freebie. Today is it. You can’t pull this sex-a-thon bullshit next week. Family dinners are mandatory. That’s why they’re called family dinners. Got it?”