Sex in the Sticks

by Sawyer Bennett

  He walks back into the lobby and lays the test down in front of me, along with a pen. "Just holler when you're done."

  "Okay," I say as I pick up the pen and look at the first question. I ignore Logan as he walks back to his office, my concentration needed fully on this test.

  --

  Logan buckles up and I do the same. My palms are sweaty as I turn the ignition over on the silver Chevy Tahoe I bought last week from some guy in Ketchikan. It's about ten years old but Jorgen looked it over for me and said it was in great shape. I know I could have bought something new but everyone here drives old trucks and I want to fit in.

  "This yours?" Logan asks as I put my left turn signal on and check the side mirror for traffic.

  "Yeah," I mutter as I start to ease onto Main Street.

  "You didn't check your blind spot," he points out, and I slam on the brakes, halfway out of the parallel space with my heart hammering.

  "Jesus, you scared me," I say as I look at him with round eyes.

  "Check your mirror and over your shoulder before you merge," he says politely, and thankfully does not put down any type of mark on the clipboard on his lap.

  "Got it." I manage to do as he says and merge safely onto Main Street. "Where do you want me to go?"

  "I don't care," he says offhandedly. "Just drive around and show me what you can do."

  I head south out of town toward my house, not because I'm going to show it to him, but because I'm curious if he knows I bought it. We're silent as we drive along and I keep the speed at five miles below the limit. I'm not only nervous this is my driving test, but I'm extremely uncomfortable being in such tight confines with Logan, who is as big, beautiful, and alluring as ever.

  With the exception that he hates me.

  "Who taught you to drive?" Logan asks, and I don't dare to turn my head to look at him. I can't tell if he's just trying to make polite conversation or avoid awkward silence, but I keep my eyes on the road.

  "April a few times. Monte took me out once," I tell him.

  "He didn't seem too bent out of shape about what you wrote about him in your blog," Logan says with a bit of derision in his voice.

  "He accepted my apology," I say simply. "I actually wrote a lot of apology notes when I got back to New York to those I'd wronged. And even those I didn't actually blog about, I let them know I was sorry if I embarrassed their town."

  Logan doesn't say anything, and when I risk a slight look to my right, I see him just staring out the passenger window. I turn to look back at the road and wonder how far he wants me to drive.

  "Heard you bought the old Willard place," Logan says, and it's a well-timed comment, as the house is about a half a mile up the road.

  "I did," I say, pleased he's actually initiated conversation. "Want to see it?"

  "Nah," he says as if it's the last thing in the world he'd want to do. "I've seen it before when Tim and Molly lived there. Nice place, though."

  "I have a lot to fix up," I say cheerfully, because I really can't wait to get started on some things. I even bought a sewing machine and was going to learn how to use the damn thing to make my own curtains. My friends back in New York would shit if they could see me now.

  "A lot of guys around town could use extra work," Logan says flatly. "You won't have any problem getting stuff fixed up."

  "I plan on doing it all myself," I tell him confidently.

  Logan's head snaps my way and I risk a quick look. He's astonished by my proclamation that I'm doing the work myself, but all he says is, "Let's head back into town. You can use your driveway to turn around."

  "Okay," I say, and manage a fluid turn into my driveway, as well as an excellent execution of backing out again to return to town.

  The ride back is silent and I'm okay with that. I am here in East Merritt trying to make a new life. That is very true. But I can make a new life anywhere. I'm here because Logan is and I'm bound and determined to win his heart back.

  He's a stubborn ass, though, and I expect his pride is what's holding things up. Tabby suggested as much because Logan's taken a lot of shit from his friends about the articles, particularly about his impressively sized package and ability to hand out orgasms. Tabby seems to think that if he lets me back in, his manly reputation will take a hit.

  I didn't understand this but she explained, "Val...you wrote shit that embarrassed him. He took a lot of flak for it. The best way he can prove his studliness to his buds is by cutting you out. He doesn't want to look pussy whipped, and if he lets you just get away with that crap, that's exactly what his friends will think."

  "So?" was how I responded. I just didn't get the big deal.

  "It's just the way it is with Logan," she explained. "His ego is sturdy, but it's not impenetrable. No man's is."

  "So what do I have to do? Kiss his ass or something?"

  "No way," she told me with a laugh. "Trust me...that boy wants you. Just put yourself in his path and he'll eventually get off his ass and come after you."

  "And how do you know he wants me?" I had asked her breathlessly and was embarrassed by how important that answer was.

  Tabby's voice was affectionate to me, and this said something, since we'd only been friends for a few weeks and we'd only ever talked and texted.

  She told me, "Because he talks about you with me. He's angry he lost you. Granted, he's angry at you, but he knew what you two had was special, despite him acting like what you did cheapened it. He'll come around. Trust me."

  And so that was the big game plan. For me to be visible and hope he gives in to attraction and feelings for me. For him to remember what we had was real, and wasn't made less real just because I did something really stupid.

  I've told him I'm sorry.

  I can only hope he really accepts it, because that's the only way he'll let me back in.

  Chapter 26

  Logan

  I look at my watch and see it's getting late. I should head home. I'm starving and I'm pretty sure I have some leftover spaghetti in my fridge.

  I'll admit, this is a pathetic move on my part because it's Saturday night and I'd normally head over to The Wounded Caribou for a few beers. Granted, I'm on duty, but the most that would happen is a fight, and those are few and far between in this small town.

  But I don't consider going because I'm pretty positive Valentine will be there, and I've been trying like hell to avoid her. Of course, that's been practically impossible in this little town, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say she was putting herself directly in my path so I'd notice her.

  Because fuck, she could be three blocks down on Main Street talking to someone with her back turned to me and I'd still notice her. It's like I've got a heightened Valentine radar going or something.

  Then there are the times where we're in closer proximity, and there's no escaping her. The other day I went into Jebby's for breakfast. It's nowhere as good a restaurant as The Wounded Caribou, but they do have a decent stack of pancakes. Plus, I didn't think Valentine would ever be in there, since The Wounded Caribou is where she hangs out now with all her new East Merritt peeps.

  But fuck if I didn't walk in and she was in there with April, having breakfast.

  And fuck if she didn't see me, give me a wave and a loud, "Hey, Logan," and then proceed to call me out in front of everyone. "Why don't you come eat with April and me?"

  I swear the cosmic universe was conspiring against me or something. My first instinct was to run right back out the door, but then that would be around town in about fifteen minutes, so I did what any big, macho dude would do. I stalked right up to her and slid into the booth next to April, telling both ladies, "Good morning."

  To Valentine's credit, she kept the conversation light. She entertained me with stories about the fishing lessons Jorgen was giving her, and her home improvement project to pull up the linoleum in her kitchen and replace it with tile. Then she stunned me when she told me she was blogging about it, and that's when I learned that Valenti
ne had taken her talent for writing and her love of blogging and turning it into a witty, charming narrative of a city girl gone rustic.

  After breakfast, I went back to the station and pulled up her blog, and read all about her getting her driver's license for the first time. She didn't mention me or the driving test. She focused on April and Monte helping her learn, which sort of burned me just a bit. Technically, I gave her her first lesson in my driveway.

  At any rate, it seemed that wherever I went in town, there was Valentine. I'd run into her at the drugstore, and once I passed her Tahoe on the side of the road with a flat tire. She was standing at the rear of the vehicle with the tailgate down, hunched over and reading the instructions on how to put on the spare.

  As a cop, it was my duty to stop and help her.

  She refused, though, determined to learn how to do it herself. So I stood back and gave her some pointers, and I did have to help her with one really cranky lug nut that needed more elbow grease than she had, but fuck if she didn't change it all herself. She was so fucking proud of herself she gave a loud whooping cheer and held her hand up for me to high-five her.

  Couldn't fucking help myself.

  I did, and laughed when I did it.

  Fuck...I want her back bad. I want everything about her. Her laugh and her humor, the way she pushes my hair back from my face, the way she makes others just seem to glow in her presence. I want to help her tile her floor and hike with her in the woods, and I don't know how to go about doing it. I've managed to be in this same town with her for almost two weeks now and I've not even acknowledged her apology with actual truthfulness.

  Never even bothered to tell her I forgave her.

  Or that I realized that when I broke things off I was operating off of some extreme emotion.

  Or that I missed her and was probably foolish in letting her go, and more foolish in not trying to get her back sooner.

  I have no excuse for my inaction. There's only been one other woman in my life that I was serious about and I was able to leave her back on the East Coast without a backward glance.

  But not Valentine.

  I can't sleep or eat right, I'm an asshole to most people, and I'm obsessing on how to make this right. She's apologized to me. She's come back to town and done nothing but be friendly and engaging.

  If I want her back, it's all on me now, and I'm not sure how to go about eating crow. I've not really had it before and I bet it tastes awful.

  The station door opens and I see Ted walking in, a worried look on his face.

  "I've been trying to call you for ten minutes," he says irritably.

  I jerk in surprise and pull out my cell phone. Fuck if there aren't five missed calls from Ted on it. "Christ, I need to get a new phone. This fucking thing doesn't ring half the time."

  "Yeah, you need to jump on that," he snaps. "No sense in having a police chief if you can't reach him when he's needed."

  "Ever heard of fucking 911?" I snap back at him. "Or, Jesus, Ted...call the landline. It's not rocket science."

  Ted at least has the grace to look sheepish for just a moment, then admits, "Well, it wasn't necessarily a criminal emergency. But it is sort of an emergency and it could prove to be criminal at some point."

  This causes me to bolt from my desk. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  Ted ducks his head briefly before looking back up at me. He scratches at the back of his neck and says, "I wasn't sure if I should even come tell you or not, but it's Valentine..."

  "What about her?" I clip out.

  "Well, she's been at the bar for a few hours. Had dinner and then, well...you know how it is...all the guys started buying her drinks. They're damn stalking around her like lions for the kill."

  "Is she okay?" I ask as I start to come around my desk.

  "Well," Ted says hesitantly. "She's...um...well, she's really drunk. And there's some guys trying to egg her on to dance on the tabletops again."

  "And you didn't think to shut that shit down?" I ask as I march past Ted to the front door of the station.

  "I tried," he says as he follows me. "I even tried to talk her out of it. I told her, 'Valley...don't do this. You know if Logan heard about it, he would not like it.' "

  "And what did she say to that?" I ask as I wait for Ted to exit behind me so I can lock the door.

  "Um...well...it's probably not important..."

  "Ted," I bark at him. "What did Valentine say?"

  "She said you didn't care about her or what she did, so she was just going to live life to its fullest, and she couldn't do that wondering if you'd ever get your head out of your ass," he admits.

  "She said that?" I ask incredulously.

  "Yup."

  "And where is she now?" I ask.

  "Last I saw as I was coming over here she was crawling up on top of one of the tables. I think ZZ Top was on the jukebox and she seemed to like that song."

  "Fuck," I growl, and then take off running toward The Wounded Caribou. I hear Ted's boots hitting the sidewalk behind me.

  When I jerk the door open, I don't hear ZZ Top but rather Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me." I groan internally, not even wanting to know how Valentine would dance to that song, nor would I want to know how many hard-ons that will produce for the male patrons.

  I step inside and my gaze lands straight on her.

  She's dancing on the center table.

  Sexy as anything I've ever seen in a pair of tight faded jeans, knee-high boots, and a low-cut black blouse.

  Her arms flow upward as her hips gyrate, catching the glorious red hair, so she raises it up briefly before she lets it cascade around her again.

  The place is packed with men and they are swarming the table, catcalling, whistling, and egging her on. Some of the men look like they want to pull her off that table and do very bad things to her.

  Or maybe that's my imagination, not sure. I know all these guys and they're basically harmless, but come on...that's Valentine French up there. The most beautiful, sexy woman ever to grace East Merritt.

  In all my years in law enforcement, I've never hesitated. I've always been decisive and quick to act. But as I watch Valentine dance, and they guys look up at her in adoration or lust or whatever the fuck they're feeling, I just don't know what to do.

  Until I get a sharp push between my shoulder blades and I stumble forward two feet. I turn around and glare at Ted behind me. He nods at Valentine. "Will you just go and get your fucking girl? I'm tired of watching you mope around about it."

  My eyes go back to Valentine, and I'm surprised to find her watching me as she dances. She rotates her hips, smooths her hands up her rib cage, and looks at me with absolute desire in her eyes.

  For me and only me.

  Decision made.

  I wade through the crowd, not necessarily shoving guys out of the way but having no problem clearing my path to the table that Valentine's dancing on. And the entire time I walk her way, she never takes her eyes off me.

  When I reach the table, she angles her body toward me, and from that moment forward, she's dancing just for me. I can't help it...I fucking smile at her, but because I don't want anyone else looking at her anymore, I crook my finger at her, telling her by that action and the look on my face that she needs to get her ass to the edge of the table so I can help her step down and we can leave together.

  She ignores my request and continues to dance...still, only for me, but now her eyes are challenging. Does she fucking want me to get up there with her? Because that will never happen.

  Or does she want me to make a statement?

  Because that I can do.

  Without another thought, I lean across the table, catch her around her legs, and haul her over my shoulder. I can hear her giggle over the music and several of the guys laughing. Valentine places her palms on my lower back for leverage, and goddamn...it feels good just having that simple touch.

  I swing her around, the guys moving out of the way, and march her back
toward the door, where Ted stands staring smugly at me. He opens the door and as I pass him, I ask, "You plan all this out?"

  "Might have had a part," he says with a grin.

  "It was his idea," Valentine says, and I notice her voice is clear and strong. No way she's drunk the way Ted told me she was.

  Both of them lying, conniving, amazing, wonderful people who worked a magic plan to get me off my ass.

  "Owe you one," I mutter as I walk past him.

  "We'll name our firstborn after you," Valentine calls to him as we hit the sidewalk and just before the door closes and we're alone outside.

  I lower her to the ground and when she's stable, she smiles at me. "Are you still mad at me?

  "For writing those blog pieces?" I ask.

  She nods.

  "No," I tell her truthfully.

  "But you're mad?" she guesses.

  "You were just shaking your ass for all of East Merritt to see," I tell her sternly. "And I'm pretty sure there's an ordinance against that."

  She cocks an eyebrow at me playfully and holds her hands out, wrists touching each other. Her voice is a sexy taunt. "I think you should probably arrest me then, Chief."

  My hands go to my cuffs and I pull them free of my belt. Who am I to deny a lady's request?

  Chapter 27

  Valentine

  My orgasm ignites, runs a short fuse, and then explodes so brightly my entire body bucks off the bed. Logan groans his approval of my reaction, but doesn't move his face from between my legs.

  "S-s-s-t-o-p," I say in a trembling voice as my entire body quakes.

  He pauses, lifts his eyes to me in question.

  "Enough," I tell him. That was three times he made me come with his mouth while my wrists are cuffed to the rails of his mission-style headboard.

  "Not enough," he says with a grin, and I can see he's got that gleam in his eye where he's being competitive with himself. He wants to prove I chose the right man, beat his chest like he's king of the jungle and all that. His head tips down.

  "Logan, wait," I say softly, and he pauses again as he looks up to me. "I sort of thought this would be the other way around."

  "What do you mean?" he asks as he scoots up a few inches and rests his chin on my lower belly.

  "I thought I'd be the one giving you blow job after blow job to make up for things," I tell him.