Hard Truths

by Alex Whitehall

  “So what are your plans for V-day?” Jackson asked, shaking a toy in front of Rosa’s face. They were playing on the floor, so I slumped down to join them.

  “Don’t know yet. Why, trying to wrangle me into babysitting so you can have a night out?”

  “What?” Jackson smacked a pale palm to his chest like some Southern belle. “I would never. I’m only asking.”

  “Because Roe already agreed to babysit,” Emmett added, emerging from the downstairs. “They broke up with whats-her-name, and no, they don’t want to talk about it, thanks for asking. So they offered. I think they need something to distract them on the big day.”

  “Oooh, and what do you two have planned— No, honey, don’t chew on my pants, please.” I carefully removed my jeans from Rosa’s mouth and hoisted her up into the air. She let out a joyous squeal.

  “Honestly?” Jackson said. “We want to go out and see that movie everyone’s been talking about. And we have reservations at Mama Lucy’s. And then we might go shopping.”

  “Ah, married life is bliss.”

  “Fuck off.” Emmett laughed.

  “Language,” Jackson reminded him.

  Emmett winced. He’d always had a bit of a mouth on him, and it was taking time to tame it, while the baby—well, toddler—was getting closer to first-word territory. “Uh, bite me? There. Yeah, bite me.”

  I bopped Rosa’s nose. “I’m sure she’s got some chompers to assist.”

  “And thankfully not much jaw strength to back them up. So spill, what are you and Logan doing since you’re young and in love?”

  Heat flushed my cheeks at the mention of being in love. Not because we weren’t, but because those words hadn’t been said yet. I was pretty sure I loved him. Pretty sure he loved me. But I had no idea if it was too soon. And the holiday of pink and red was not the time to say it.

  “Zack is thinking dirty thoughts!”

  “I am not!” I groused, setting Rosa down facing away from me. Aiming her at Emmett and his pants as he joined us on the floor. “We haven’t talked about it yet. He’s been killing himself getting a bunch of projects done for this client and we’re lucky if we can text, let alone see each other.”

  “Oh, boo. When does the project wrap?”

  “Last week. Except they weren’t happy with something so it got extended. But he’d already had a full plate of other projects scheduled, so now he’s even more stressed. If they weren’t paying him so well, I think he’d rage quit.”

  “Goddamn clients.” Jackson winced. “I mean. Poopy-heads.” He shrugged helplessly. “Well, you should plan something nice for him. Like, if he doesn’t have time to go out, maybe take a fancy dinner to his place.”

  “With a blowjob,” Emmett added.

  Jackson nodded. “Blowjobs are always appreciated.”

  “Yeah? Would Roe agree with that?”

  “Okay, let’s say I’m confident Logan would appreciate a blowjob. Although we haven’t met him yet, so it’s hard to say.” Insert meaningful look here.

  “Did you hear me saying how he’s been crazy busy with his project?”

  “For a month?”

  “Well, we were kinda new and then the project hit.”

  “You’ve met his friends,” Jackson grumbled.

  “Okay, okay! I swear, first weekend he’s free from this project, we’ll make introductions all around.”

  Jackson nodded approvingly and leaned forward to wipe drool from Rosa’s face. “Good. ’Cause you know a relationship doesn’t count until you introduce him to the family.”

  I tensed.

  Emmett rolled his eyes. “This family, Zack. Not your blood family. We’re way more important anyway.”

  I couldn’t help noticing that Jackson had trained his focus on Rosa, practically pulling himself from the conversation. I dragged my gaze to Emmett. “You’re better, if nothing else.”

  That seemed to satisfy them.

  Over the next few days, I worked, talked to Logan on the phone in the evenings when he finally finished work, and plotted Valentine’s Day. I didn’t expect that it would be perfect, but it would be as perfect as circumstances would allow, and that seemed most important.

  On the day of, I texted him at three to let him know I’d be bringing dinner over, since even if he had to work all evening, he needed to eat. Hopefully he was envisioning Chinese food, or pizza, or maybe something I’d cooked.

  When I arrived a little earlier than planned, he raised his brow, greeted me with a kiss, and said he had to finish up.

  “No rush. I’ll get everything ready.”

  He glanced at the thermal bag in my hand and the messenger bag strapped across my chest. “Ready?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Go tie up your work and then we’ll eat.”

  The raised brow made an appearance again, but he didn’t argue. I kissed his cheek, then went to the kitchen. I paused a moment, listening for him to return to his office, before I started to unload. Not the food, which I’d leave for last to keep it warm, but I put down a fresh white tablecloth, set some candles—cheesy, I know—and then laid out his plates and silverware. I hopped over to the little stereo in his living room and slid in a CD of classical music, then turned it down low enough that it was barely audible. But it set the mood.

  He caught me as I headed back to the kitchen, and drew me into his arms. “Oh, going fancy, I see.”

  “Yep.” I wrapped my arms around him, reveling in the heat and strength he radiated. I doubted I’d ever get tired of that. “Go wash your hands and I’ll have dinner ready.”

  “Wash my hands?”

  “Yes.” I leaned close so my lips brushed his ear. “I need a few seconds for the final prep, so get going.”

  He chuckled, kissed me, and stepped from my arms, his fingertips dragging down my back, over my hips, and away like a lingering goodbye. “Well, I’ve been told. Gotta go wash my hands.”

  He was smirking as he left. I dashed back into the kitchen, my heart suddenly racing. Quickly, I unloaded and plated the calamari appetizer, the stuffed mushrooms, and then our dinners: crab cake for him and herbed salmon for me. I thanked God and all that was holy that it was still piping hot. Then the last steps: I lit the candles and turned off the kitchen light, casting the table in their romantic glow—with the added bonus of hiding all the empty containers on the counter. Surveying my plan in action, I thought it looked good. A fancy dinner without leaving the house. Butterflies fluttered in my gut. Or did it look silly, like I was trying too hard?

  “Isaac, why’s the—” Logan turned the corner into the kitchen and saw what I’d prepared. “Oh.”

  I stood by the table, bowed, heart now pounding, and gestured at his seat. “Monsieur, if you would.”

  He stepped closer to me rather than the seat, and my heart made a bid for escaping up my throat. Didn’t he like it? Then his lips sealed over mine in a slow, lingering kiss. He rested his hands on my waist and slid them to the top of my butt, holding me there as he deepened the kiss, the wet heat awakening a very different hunger before he pulled away. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “I meant for dinner.”

  A single laugh huffed out of my chest—a mixture of amusement and relief—spreading my lips in a wide smile. I bumped our noses together, the flickering candlelight making the action as intimate as a kiss. “It’s all my pleasure, Logan. You’ve been working hard, and I wanted to . . . give you something nice.”

  Our grins matched as he bumped his nose back against mine. “You sure know how to encourage a guy to work hard.”

  We lingered a little longer, holding each other in the dark, but eventually my stomach called. “Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.”

  Once he’d sat, his eyes widened, taking in what I’d placed out—or else he couldn’t see well in the dark, but it probably wasn’t that. “Damn, everything looks good!”

  “I’m glad you like it. I had to guess what you’d want tonight, but I cou
ldn’t imagine you turning down crab cakes from Être Nourri.”

  “It’s fantastic.” He reached across the table and folded his hand over mine, which was waiting not-so-patiently to pick up the fork and dig in. The food was wafting its alluring aroma, and as touching as our embrace had been a few minutes ago, I was getting hungry. But I still met his eyes and turned my hand to hold his. He smiled, pure as fucking gold. “Thank you.”

  I tried not to let my sappy smile take over, but I probably failed. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Then he finally took his hand back, plucked a stuffed mushroom from its little plate, and popped it into his mouth. He moaned in ridiculous delight. “Oh god, it’s so good.”

  That led to several minutes of eating and voicing our complete satisfaction in a way that we couldn’t do in the restaurant, at least not at the volume with which we did tonight. If words like calamari and mushrooms and crab meat weren’t being thrown around, the neighbors would have thought we were having really good sex. As it was, they probably thought we were having really weird sex.

  When the initial rush of savoring had taken place and we were both able to talk, I asked him how his day was.

  “Not bad considering the runaround they’ve been giving me. I sent the ‘finals’”—he included finger quotes—“this morning and did other projects while waiting for their reply.” He exhaled, his shoulders sinking with the weight of the gust. “This dinner is the perfect way to relax. God, you’re wonderful.”

  Heat flooded my cheeks, and I dropped my gaze to the lone piece of fried calamari remaining, before snatching it up. “Well, it was a bit self-serving, since I wanted to spend time with you. You have Emmett and Jackson to thank: they gave me the idea to bring Valentine’s Day to you if you couldn’t get away from work.”

  “Then I’ll have to send them a bouquet of flowers. Though, wait. They’re the ones with the baby? Maybe they’d prefer a bouquet of diapers instead.”

  I grinned at the image that painted. “Actually, I think they’d like to get a chance to meet you. It was hinted—” I raised my hand to show a small space between my forefinger and thumb “—a little, that it wasn’t fair I’d met your friends and you hadn’t met mine.”

  “Ooh, the vetting process.”

  “Or they want to steal you from me. I can’t be sure which.”

  “Are the ones with the baby married? I doubt they want to steal me.”

  “Hey, maybe they’re searching for a third. Possibly someone to help take care of Rosa.”

  Looking amused, Logan shook his head as he ate another bite of crab, then spent a moment with his eyes closed in bliss. When he opened them again, the teasing had faded. “I’d like to meet your friends too, you know. Any excuse to spend time with you.”

  My smile widened. “We’ll have to set up a time, then. When everyone can make it. Not to overwhelm you or anything.”

  He chuckled. “You think I’d be overwhelmed so easily?”

  I scoffed. “No. I just sometimes forget you don’t flip out about things like I do.”

  “They’re your friends—I trust that everything they do is in your best interest.”

  “Best interest in embarrassing me, more like,” I mumbled.

  “That works too.”

  I threw him the driest glare I could, but it was hard against the power of his smirk. It shouldn’t be legal for a smirk to be that sexy. Especially when it was at my expense. And it shouldn’t send a shiver through me. I distracted myself with the fantastic dinner, but the heat still sat deep in my chest, warming me as I talked about how my week had been, the concert I’d gone to with Roe, and the terrible direction a show Logan and I watched was heading. Exciting stuff.

  And yet.

  There was something magical about the night. Not only gazing across the candlelit table to meet his dark gaze. Not only sharing this splendid meal on this forced-romance consumer holiday. Not only getting to see each other after a long week of not. It was sharing all the little moments of our lives that the other hadn’t been there for. Telling thrilling tales of misadventures at the grocery store. Yes, they were stupid and pointless, but by sharing them, we shared so much more. Like the threads of a shirt, a thousand tiny stories slowly weaved us closer and closer together.

  A different kind of warmth blossomed in my chest and radiated through me. The smile on my lips was nearly bursting. I caught him staring at me and nearly blushed again. “What?”

  “Nothing. That’s a good look on you. I’ve missed seeing it this week.”

  And there was the blush, sweeping up my face full force. I didn’t mind so much. “Well, once you’re done that project and catch up, you can see it all you want.”

  “That is the best reward.”

  He was such a cheeseball and knew exactly how to make my blush intensify. But it was hard to be even slightly annoyed with him, because he segued seamlessly back into chatting about those silly, stupid things that had put the smile on my face in the first place.

  After dinner, we both moved to the sink, dirty dishes in hand. After we set them down, I snagged him around the waist and tugged him to me, relishing the heat of his body after having gone so long without. I kissed him and tried not to sigh at the thought of letting him go. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean everything up. I know you have to go back to work, but I’m glad I could give you some time tonight not thinking about that stupid project.”

  His smile widened and he pulled me a little closer. Or maybe not closer, but he held me firmer. “Thank you. But now it’s time for me to give you your Valentine’s present.”

  “Oh?”

  He squeezed where his hands were gripping my lower back. “I really was finishing up when you got here. The project’s done, so you have me all evening. Oh, and there’s a fruit tart from Paris Baguette in the fridge for us.”

  I leaned in, letting my words caress his ear. “Later. Once we’ve worked up an appetite.”

  “Oh, planning a trip to the gym? Sexy.”

  I slid my hands over his broad shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “Yeah, baby. We’ll do some squats and thrusters and, uh, downward-facing dog . . .”

  He muffled his snickers against my neck.

  “You started it.” I kissed the hinge of his jaw. “I was always more into aerobic exercise anyway.”

  “Gonna test my endurance?”

  I nipped his earlobe. “And your flexibility.”

  “Oh?” I could hear the raised eyebrow that went with that. “Are you now?”

  “Unless you don’t want me to fuck you senseless?” I asked, all innocence.

  He snorted a warm breath into the crook of my neck. “When have I ever not wanted that?”

  “Usually when you’re craving my delectable ass.”

  “Fair.” He trailed kisses along my jaw and ended with a hot kiss. “Ready to go work out?”

  I grinned, grabbed his hand, and pulled him into the bedroom.

  The television screen cast white light over Roe’s living room as the movie’s closing lines called back to the opening, and then the end credits began to roll, bathing us in dark blue. I shifted, too comfortable in the cocoon of Logan’s arms to want to get up and stretch like everyone else was doing. It wasn’t a long movie, but we’d been caught up in the drama for the last half, and nobody had moved an inch.

  Roe flicked on the lights, and a cry of disgruntled surprise rose up along with hands to block the brightness. I shouted and hid my face in the nook of Logan’s arm, drowning myself in the heady depth of his scent: clean sweat from being packed in a small room with five other people, a hint of gasoline from where he’d filled up his tank, the lingering spice from his deodorant, worn thin this late in the day. I never wanted to leave.

  “Wow,” Logan said, his chest rumbling against my cheek, “that was a great movie. I can’t believe I’d never heard of it.”

  “It flew under a lot of radars,” Jenna said, releasing a grunt like she was stretching tow
ard the ceiling.

  “Which is a shame, because it’s so good.” Laura sighed. “Of course, it also empowers women and breaks the patriarchy, so I can’t imagine why it didn’t get more traction.”

  “Not to mention bringing attention to the natives of New Zealand and, well, not their plight, but kind of their living situation,” Mark added.

  “That’s true,” Logan said, “but beyond all that, it’s a solid movie. Like, it hits these big goals, but it also entertains, has good acting and beautiful visuals. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy political and socioeconomic depth as much as the next person—though the next person probably doesn’t, but whatever. Anyway, I like those things, but sometimes the movies they’re in are so dense that you can’t enjoy the movie itself. So the message gets stifled by not being in an accessible medium. But if you can get the message across while entertaining? Perfect.”

  “Oh my god!” A second later Roe glomped Logan, which was awkward since I was still tucked against him, barely starting to peek out. All I saw as my eyes adjusted to the brightness was a flash of green, and then they were on top of us. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I’m always saying. But Mark insists that we shouldn’t dumb down the message simply to reach more people.”

  The hug lingered a little longer than I liked, but before I could pinch Roe’s side and get them off, they leaped up and clapped their hands together. “So what should we watch next?”

  I groaned and slowly unburrowed from my Logan-cave. “Can we take a break from movies, and chill? I’m visually exhausted.”

  Jenna stage-whispered, “And I heard Roe wanted to watch Pan’s Labyrinth.”

  “I definitely need a break before that!” I rolled over and sat up, Logan’s arm still wrapped around my shoulders, but like what you’d see in any park.

  Logan squeezed my arm. “What’s wrong with Pan’s Labyrinth?”

  “Nothing. But this film put us through an emotional wringer, and I’m so not ready for subtitles and woman’s disease.”

  Laura leaned over and smacked my shoulder.