Driving Me Wild

by Mia Carter

  “If we had met some other way, do you think we would’ve felt like this?” she asks.

  “I think so. I don’t know. You mean at a coffee shop or something. On a blind date?”

  “Mm,” she says. “I feel like we skipped dating and just went right here.”

  “I’m fucking delighted,” I say, my voice brimming with conviction. “There was a reason why I didn’t date. I like this skipping to the good parts business.”

  “The good parts, hmm?” Chloe squirms against me, making my hand slip down a little lower, and I cup her ass as she laughs.

  But then, she grows quiet again. Thoughtful, or asleep.

  “You know, I spent the whole time thinking that I didn’t trust you. Because I didn’t know you, so how could I trust what I felt,” she says. “It all happened so fast. I never imagined that we’d end up here.”

  I know what she is implying, and I hate that she has even a shadow of a doubt that she’s worthy of being loved. But before I can open my mouth to protest these claims, she continues. “I’m still scared. And there’s still things we don’t know about each other. But that’s life, isn’t it? And we could have time to learn them. Right?”

  “As much time as you’ll give me,” I say. “You were unexpected, too. The best kind of unexpected. Trust me. Trust this. Trust us.”

  “Okay,” she says simply, sleepily. And she relaxes in my arms.

  After a moment, her breathing deepens and becomes more even.

  I fall asleep, too.

  …

  Morning comes slowly, the lazy sun painting us with its amber glow. With Chloe in my arms, still asleep, my body responds as it’s always going to do. I doze a little longer, though, and the next time I open my eyes, I see her smiling face, head propped up by her right hand as the fingertip of her left traces gently down the line of my nose.

  I smile. “Good morning.”

  “I had this crazy dream last night,” she says, all innocence and playfulness, her touch as delicate as her body is warm against mine.

  “Oh?” My voice is a little lower, rough from sleep. Beside me, I can feel her shift in response.

  She hums her acknowledgment. “Yeah. This really, really hot computer guy came to my apartment and said he was here to fix my computer for me.”

  I scoff at this, smiling wider, and close my eyes. She continues her tracing on my face, and I decide that I love her gentle touches. I could wake up this way forever.

  “And I bet he did an exemplary job,” I say. “And you left a great review on Yelp.”

  “No, actually,” she says. “I think he got distracted partway through the setup.”

  I laugh out loud at this. “C’mere, you.”

  She shrieks as I pounce on her, and then I cover her with kisses until she yields.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chloe

  Somehow, we make it out of my bed and over to my kitchen. Logan, wearing yesterday’s clothing and messy, sleep-rumpled hair, is the most touchable and inviting thing I’ve ever seen, and as I pull out the only food in my fridge—the leftovers from what my sisters brought me—I can’t stop looking at him.

  “This looks amazing,” he says. “What is it?”

  I laugh and point to the larger tray. “This one is moussaka, lamb meat layered with a white sauce. And these are meatballs and roasted lemon potatoes. My family conveys all possible emotions with food, so you better get used to that.”

  Logan smiles at me, but there’s something else behind his eyes. Something guarded.

  “You okay?”

  He nods. “Yeah. It’s just a lot for me to unpack. I’d like to meet your family.” Then, brightening again, “I hope your dad still doesn’t think I’ve abducted you into the—”

  “Oh God,” I groan, sliding the pans into the oven. “He likes conspiracy theory documentaries, but I don’t honestly think that he thought you were part of a freaky sex cult.”

  “Well, good.”

  Logan slides up behind me as I stand up, pulling my hips into his, kissing me on the neck as he wraps his arms around me. Instantly, my desire for him responds—but if we don’t cool it down, we’ll do things on my kitchen counters that cannot be undone, and I’ll probably let all of the leftovers burn.

  But he leads me to the couch instead, and I sit down and curl against him. He’d lit a fire again this morning, and the pouring rain outside makes the perfect blanket of white noise and clean air.

  “I didn’t have a family like yours,” he says softly. “I didn’t mind being an only child, but when my dad walked out, for the longest time, I thought it was because of me.”

  And then, I’d walked out on him, too. Not anywhere near the same degree of trauma, not like a father, but I feel guilty all over again for not trusting in myself, or in him, to stay and communicate like adults.

  “Even though I know it wasn’t,” Logan continues, his hand softly stroking my bare arm as he thinks. “But you weren’t the only one who was afraid of what they felt. Even before meeting you, I guess I had fooled myself into thinking that if I just pushed harder, if I just kept going, then I’d never feel afraid or uncertain again. Like I could control it. Control myself. But it’s a lie. The tighter I held onto everything, the worse I felt. Until you.”

  I blush at this, and shake my head. “I didn’t change you.”

  “No,” he says, with a smile, “but you were there, in my way, a sign that I needed to change myself or miss out on something that mattered.”

  I understand that feeling. I feel humbled that he did it all for me.

  “You, coming here… it makes me feel like I matter to someone,” I say quietly. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

  “You do matter,” Logan says. “This whole sharing feelings thing is new to me, but I don’t want us to ever feel like we can’t talk to each other about anything. I think we could avoid a lot of pain if we try, at least.”

  “I want that, too,” I say.

  “Good.” Logan smiles at me. He leans over and kisses me, and it’s only the beeping of the oven’s alarm that keeps us from testing the couch’s springs. Great sex with him is a given. Great communication, we’ll have to focus on. Especially when he’s looking all rumpled and sexy. It’s a proximity hazard, one he seems to feel, too, as baffling as that is. I’ve never felt so beautiful than when his hands are on my body. He is walking temptation, and he’s mine, all mine.

  But we do the responsible thing and keep my apartment from burning down. I dish him up a plate, and we eat, sitting on the couch together because my dining area is still filled with computer parts (which Logan promises he’ll finish, just as soon as he goes back for seconds).

  I finish my food and get up to put my plate in the sink. When I come back, Logan is frowning down at his phone.

  “Work?” I hope they don’t call him back in. I kind of want to keep him for myself, in our little bubble of happiness, forever. But after what happened, I’m sure he’ll be in demand.

  He glances up. “In a manner of speaking. I should probably show you this, before you find out from somewhere else.”

  “What?”

  Logan looks at me, then tilts his phone so I can see it. It’s a news page and the headline, in big, bold letters, catches my attention immediately.

  Logan Weiss Resigns Position as WhiteLight CEO

  For a long moment, I can’t process what I’m seeing. I just stare at the screen. I don’t understand what the words mean at all.

  “What? Logan, why did you do this?”

  “It was time.”

  I turn to him, trying to read the expression on his face. “You quit. You quit? Why did you quit? I thought your company was—”

  “It was,” he says, “until it wasn’t.”

  “Why would you walk away?”

  Logan sighs. “I’ve been ready for a change for a while. I didn’t realize how long. And then you came along, and I—”

  “Please tell me you didn’t quit your job becaus
e of me.” I can feel the color drain from my face, the horror of having somehow ruined this man’s life, all because of something I might’ve said or done.

  But he just laughs and shakes his head. “No. It wasn’t like that. Meeting you made me realize how lonely I was. How much I needed someone. And how incompatible joy was with the life I had made for myself. I guess I was just tired of trying to push the same boulder uphill. Seeing myself fail, time and again. Thinking it was my weakness that I couldn’t get to the top. Then you showed me I could do something different, and feel better.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to say to this. His words, and his embrace, warm me back up. But I still shiver. “What are you going to do now?”

  He shrugs and takes my hand in his, thumb tracing over the knuckles in a soothing gesture. “I don’t know. I’ve heard that Dryv is a pretty good company to work for.”

  I laugh out loud at this and shake my head. “You’re too smart for that.”

  “And you’re too talented to keep hiding your gifts,” he counters. “Your comic, I love it. It’s funny and insightful. Did you ever think of maybe publishing it?”

  My eyes widen. “You found that? How?”

  “It’s linked from your portfolio, Chloe.” Logan gives me an “are you kidding me” look. “I read it on the plane back.”

  “Oh God,” I groan, and hide my face in my hands. “No, that’s just a…no.”

  “You’ve got a ton of readers,” Logan says. “People want more. It’s at least worth pursuing, right?”

  I shrug, but remain both frightened and unconvinced. “Maybe.”

  “Hey, if I can walk away from my job, you can be brave enough to put yourself out there and see what happens.” Logan gently holds my wrists, lowering my hands so he can peer into my eyes. His warm brown gaze melts over mine, and I smile. “The worst thing people can say is no, and then you’re exactly where you are now. Right?”

  I nod. Logan leans in and kisses me.

  He pulls back and his hands gently brush back my hair. “No more hiding. Life’s too short.”

  He kisses me again, and again, and again, until we’re horizontal on my couch, and all fear is forgotten. Maybe this happened too fast, and maybe it’s crazy, but it’s ours now. He’s mine, I’m his. This is something beyond the two of us. Beyond lust or desire.

  Soulmates, I think. I never thought it could happen to me, but here we are. To be loved like this, to feel like I can fall, and he will catch me. I’m not afraid to let it happen.

  Outside, the rain falls. Steady and sure, like the beat of his heart.

  Epilogue

  Six months later…

  “I honestly don’t know how you do this,” Chloe says, turning to look up at me with something close to panic in her eyes, clutching a can of ginger ale. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “You’re not going to throw up,” I say. I trust my assessment of her nerves well enough to pull her into a hug.

  Chloe sighs a little and nestles close to me. I’ll never get tired of this feeling. And I have to be supportive of her and not let my own nerves show.

  This time, it’s Chloe going up on stage instead of me. Since stepping down as CEO, I’ve had six blissful months of just enjoying life. When Chloe’s lease came up, I invited her to move in with me, and now the brightness and beauty of her splashes across all of my walls, even as her familiar, charming clutter covers most of my counters. Skipping ahead to the fun parts has paid off in ways I can’t even begin to count, and waking up next to her is just one of the benefits.

  Being here for her in this moment is another. Chloe pulls back a little, patting her hair, smiling. “Do I look okay? Did I smear anything?”

  “You look beautiful.” I seal the compliment with a kiss, coming away with a taste of ginger ale and some of her coconut-mint lip gloss slick on my own mouth.

  “Miss Weaver?” One of the convention staff steps near us and smiles with an apologetic look at the both of us. “If you could just come over here, we’re ready for the panel to go up now.”

  “All right,” she says. Chloe looks back at me. “That’s a good color on you, really brings out your eyes.”

  I roll my eyes and wipe the coral gloss that looks so cute on her off on my hand. “I just bet it does.”

  Chloe laughs. A bit of color returns to her cheeks. “Wish me luck.”

  “You’ve got this.”

  She goes one way, and, after watching her for a moment, I go the other. Out into the general audience.

  This is her first comic convention, as well as mine. People surround me dressed in a wide array of costumes, from the sweet to the elaborate. Families with kids, teens grouped in energetic, anime-adorned gaggles, grown adults wearing wings and halos or spiked hair and impressive cardboard armor kits.

  Every time I see someone holding a copy of Chloe’s book, I feel my joy for her build a little higher. I’m so proud. About a week after our little Helsinki adventure, Chloe had come into contact with a comics publisher who’d been a fan of her work online. With a little gentle prodding from me, she’d begun to see that offering her work to the wider world wasn’t so terrifying or so impossible. And now, at her very first comic-con, she’d been invited to participate in a panel on Modern Mythology in Comics.

  I find a seat in the convention hall near the aisle. It isn’t one of the large ones, and people are still trickling in, finding their own seats as the panel attendees go up to the stage. Chloe’s searching gaze scans the crowd. When she finds me, she gives me a brilliant smile.

  God, she’s beautiful.

  The panel starts.

  I look down at the convention booklet, reading the bios of the four other participants, then skimming Chloe’s twice, three times, as the moderator begins. I have to admit, my knowledge of the traditional comics genre mostly arrives through watching the movies first, which, I know, I know, is going to anger a purist somewhere. My general nerdiness, as Chloe puts it, went more in the tech direction than pop culture.

  Reading the bios also gives me a good distraction from the nerves I feel. There’s a small velvet box in my jacket pocket, and I promised myself I wouldn’t ruin her first, nerve-wracking experience on stage promoting her work by proposing to her before she went on.

  But after? After is definitely fair game.

  The moderator introduces each of the panelists and gives the titles of some of their work. I’m not ashamed at all to clap the loudest for Chloe, but I’m also not the only one clapping for her, not by a long shot. The serene-looking panelist closest to the moderator gets the first question, and I have to tear my full attention away from my beautiful girl up there to pay attention. The subject itself is genuinely interesting, and when it’s her turn to talk, after she’s sipped a bit at her can of ginger ale, she gives me another brilliant smile.

  “I started thinking, what are myths and legends and fairytales supposed to be doing, you know?” she says, softly at first, then growing in confidence. “I definitely don’t want to shy away from a cynical reinterpretation of it, and I think I definitely don’t stop myself from going there, but what is it that has made these stories endure? Why do we keep telling them, not just to others, but to ourselves?”

  Her gaze once more connects with mine. I can feel a smile pull at my mouth.

  “We tell them because they give us hope,” she continues. “Hope that things can be better. More magical. That we can fall in love and our special someone really is out there, waiting for us. Stories give us the strength to keep believing, even when things seem impossible.”

  Hope.

  I understand that feeling now.

  Not the endless striving. Not the feeling of pushing the boulder uphill, or the fear that if I rest, it will roll back down and crush me. Being with Chloe makes me feel so much more hopeful, in ways I never could’ve imagined. She is a light in my life that I hadn’t even known I was missing. All that time, sitting in the dark and cursing my eyes for not adjusting, and then she w
alked in and changed everything.

  She made me want to change everything. And I’m so glad I did.

  “You were amazing,” I say after I’ve met her in the backstage area. The sound of the pop music they’d decided to play before the next panel starts filters in over us, and one of the other panelists comes by, smiling at Chloe, telling her the same thing.

  “Thanks,” she says to me. I offer her my arm, and she tucks hers into it contentedly.

  We stride off to the side of the conference room and out toward one of the doors. “You ready to get some dinner?”

  I have it all planned out. An Italian place, a private table for two, and then I can ask her what I’ve been anxious to ask for…

  “I think my stomach is a little upset,” she says, shaking her head. “I know you made reservations, I just…is it okay if we go back to the hotel and lie down?”

  “Of course,” I hastily reply. “Are you okay? Just nerves from the panel?”

  “Yeah,” Chloe says, but her brow wrinkles a bit as we walk together, out into the covered area in front of the convention hall. “Yeah, I’m fine, I just…”

  Her voice trails off.

  Suddenly, inspiration strikes me. Why wait? I fumble for the ring box in my jacket, waiting until Chloe is turned away slightly to pull it out. When she turns back, her eyes widen. I’m already crouching down to one knee.

  “Chloe Jane Weaver, will you please marry me?”

  “I’m—”

  “I had it all planned, but I realized, why keep waiting?” I say, holding the ring aloft, opening the box. “I love you. I want to be with you forever. Please say you’ll marry me.”

  Chloe’s cheeks get very pink. There’s a glint in her eye, joy and expectation.

  “What do you say?” I ask.

  “I’m pregnant,” she blurts out. Her face gets even redder. Her smile, wider.

  Wait, what?

  I suddenly understand the nausea, the ginger ale, the way her breasts had been so sensitive just a few nights ago when we’d—

  My hands are shaking. “Holy shit.” She takes the ring from me before I can drop it, and I place my hands over her lower belly, smoothing over the long sweater dress she’s wearing. “Are you serious?”