His Plaything

by Ava Jackson

  “We're not dating,” Logan continued. “We had one date. Singular.”

  “And you never thought of anything beyond that?” Or purposely waited to make your move until my back was turned?

  Looking a little confused, he shrugged. “Well … yeah, sure. What's the point of asking a girl out on one date if you're not gunning for a second?”

  Several obvious answers came to mind. But Logan had never been a fuck-and-run kind of guy. “I guess,” I said slowly.

  “But things haven't gotten that far yet.” He sipped his coffee. “And if they did later … would that really be the end of the world? You know me, man. I'd never hurt her.”

  As much as it killed me to admit it, I knew he was right. Logan was one of the good guys. I nodded, raising my eyebrows to let him know he was still on trial. “Fair enough. So how'd things go last night?” I wanted Logan to think I was fishing for an excuse to kick his ass, instead of clues about why Avery might hate me—or a morsel of hope that I wouldn't lose Avery to him anytime soon. “What did you guys do?”

  Logan wouldn't outright lie to me, but he was more than smart enough to choose his words carefully. “Nothing much. We had dinner at The Pointe.”

  Holy shit, The Pointe? This guy doesn't leave anything to chance. “Oh, is that all?” I snorted bitterly. Compared to Mister Romance here, I look like a complete tool.

  “Swear to God. We just talked about our careers and Avery's classes and stuff like that. Home safe before curfew.” Logan had completely misunderstood my icy reaction, and I wasn't about to correct him. He hesitated, staring into his coffee, before slowly saying, “She's … easy to talk to. I'd meant to keep the conversation light, but before I knew it, I was telling her how I wanted to leave the SEALs. And all my reasons why.”

  “You mean the settling-down thing?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed through his nose. “Wanting to be a good husband and father. As long as I'm still a SEAL, I could never manage it.”

  “What'd Avery think of your plan?” My curiosity was piqued.

  “Total agreement. She said she wouldn't want to get serious with someone who'd be gone so often … and might end up gone for good.” Logan shook his head. “She looked upset just at the thought. I felt kind of bad for bringing it up.”

  He felt bad? Keeping my face dead blank, I drank a long, slow mouthful of still-blistering coffee, welcoming the burn. I had no idea what to say to that. Hell, I didn't even know what to think. The military was my life; I didn’t want to choose between remaining a SEAL and keeping Avery. With those few words to Logan last night, she might as well have ripped out my guts.

  But it made complete sense for her to feel that way. In our first real conversation, she'd said that if she ever had kids, she wouldn't want them to grow up without a mother, like she did. And if she cared about me, she would want to spend a lot of stress-free time together. She wouldn't want to be separated for months on end, lonely and worried sick that I'd come home in a body bag. Of course, if she didn't care about me…

  I stood up suddenly, leaving my half-full cup on the table. “Thanks for the coffee. I gotta run now, but I'll see you next Saturday. Usual spot.”

  Logan nodded, grunting in acknowledgment. Was he giving me a weird look? Whatever. I didn't really give a fuck right now. I went to the door, then paused and looked back. “I'm trusting you with Avery—for now. But if you hurt her, there won't be enough left of you to identify.”

  “I know. I still have your text from last night.” His lips quirked again. “I can read it out loud to myself if I ever forget to fear your vengeful wrath.”

  I gave a humorless laugh and left before I smashed something.

  I drove back to the condo complex, parked, and headed inside—then stopped and turned toward the beach instead. I told myself a good hard jog would help clear my head, despite knowing it probably wouldn't.

  Or maybe the problem was that my head was already clear. No matter how much I thought about it, all signs pointed one way: Avery had no future with me. More precisely, I had nothing to offer her. We would just be stuck in a holding pattern—we'd get a couple months of mind-blowing sex, sure, but then I'd ship out to God knew where for God knew how long. And we would run on that cycle forever, with no chance for either stability or change, until the Navy put me out to pasture. What kind of life was that?

  Over the long haul, I just couldn't see anything for us. But it was easy to imagine her and Logan together. He was the objectively smarter choice.

  That knowledge sat heavy in my gut like a cold slug of lead. Late last night, or early this morning, I had wondered whether and when and how my chance to set things right would come. But all along, I'd misunderstood what was really at stake here. This moment of truth wasn't about losing Avery or winning her back. This was about her happiness. And if Logan would make her happier than me—be a better man for her—then I had to suck it up. Just let her go.

  I turned around and started jogging back home. Now that I had decided to face facts and do what was right, I felt a weird sense of peace. Or maybe it was just hollowness.

  Chapter 18

  Avery

  Nixon's attitude toward me had definitely changed. He was … cooler. Not cold, but not his usual flirtatious self, either. Evidently a few days away had satisfied his appetite for female attention, and he didn’t even attempt to salvage things with me. Apparently whatever we’d had for the five minutes we’d been together wasn’t even worth an after-thought. Or maybe he was moping because he missed Pam already. Things were obviously pretty serious between them, if he was flying to other cities just to spend time with her. So why hadn’t they invoked the exclusivity clause in their relationship? Maybe because Nixon was incapable? Regardless of the reason, Nixon's attention had gradually turned away from me until it disappeared.

  As excruciating as it felt, I had to face facts. I’d been nothing but a passing fling for him. A novelty. It really was time for me to move on. Whether or not I wanted to start anything with Logan, the Nixon chapter of my life was over. We'd had good fun, and the sex had been incredible—I had the unpleasant feeling that I'd struggle to meet that standard for the rest of my life—but it was over.

  And maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If our relationship had been doomed to fail since the beginning, then it was better to end things before they could’ve gotten serious... Before any more of my heart was bound up in his. The sooner I ripped off this bandage, all in one quick burst of agony, the sooner I could enjoy the air on my skin again.

  Over the following week, I tried my best to do just that. I spent a lot of long hours in downtown San Diego. Going to class and my professors' office hours, studying at the library, staying out late with my friends—anything to stay busy and away from our apartment. I wanted to get my mind back onto my own life and shed the life I'd started slipping into with Nixon. Trying to bury or deny those memories would have been impossible; all I could do was give myself breathing room. Let my feelings fade naturally over time.

  Although forgetting was much harder when I was still stuck living with the guy. Turning a corner and unexpectedly seeing his face never failed to reopen my wounds. But each time, it hurt a little bit less and healed a little bit faster. All I could do was wait until the end of the semester. I could handle that; it was just a few more months.

  And who knew? Maybe by then, we could be something like friends.

  ***

  On Friday afternoon, while I was sitting up in bed working on my laptop, I heard a quiet but firm knock. “Yeah?” I called, reluctant to leave my warm linen nest.

  The door cracked open to reveal one blue eye. “I was just going for a run on the beach. Wanna tag along?”

  My first impulse was to wonder what he had up his sleeve. But by now, I had started feeling pretty okay about seeing Nixon around the apartment; this was a good chance to test the waters by hanging out one-on-one. Being exercise buddies might be fun. If nothing else, I would get in a good workout today. “Sur
e,” I replied, “just let me get changed.”

  “Cool. Meet you in the living room.” His eye disappeared and the door shut.

  I hopped out of bed, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and traded my ragged lounge pants for a navy blue tank top and capri-length yoga pants. Even if I'd gotten a little more comfortable with Nixon lately, I still wasn't quite ready to prance around wearing a sports bra and gym shorts in front of him.

  But my jaw dropped when I rounded the corner and saw him waiting by the couch. Evidently he didn't feel the same reservations about clothes as I did. Apart from his high-end tennis shoes, he wore only a pair of crimson athletic shorts that hung from his hips, revealing a dark trail of hair and the deep muscle-creases along either side of his lower stomach. All leading my eyes straight down to…

  I swallowed back drool. Through the shorts, I could make out the outline of his long, thick bulge from across the room—and what little I couldn't see, my stupid, traitorous memory filled in for me. And the rest of Nixon was just as distracting. His perfect pecs begged to be kissed and licked. His thighs could cause traffic accidents. Every inch of his incredible body reminded me of all the sinful things he'd done to me with it.

  Dear God, why me? It hadn't even been five minutes, and I was already cursing myself for agreeing to Nixon's request. That bastard was practically strip-teasing me; our friendly jog would be nothing short of erotic torture. Maybe a meteor would hit the Earth before we reached the jogging trail? I could only hope.

  We headed downstairs and out into the hot, muggy September day. I had no idea where we were going, so I couldn't walk in front, but if I followed behind Nixon, his taut ass drew my eyes like a magnet. So I walked beside him, trying my best to ignore the warm, muscular body less than two feet away from me.

  Surprisingly, it got easier when we actually reached the concrete path along the beach's edge. I could tell that Nixon had slowed down for my sake, but he was still Mister Fitness, and I had to concentrate if I wanted to keep up. As my legs and lungs began to burn, my mind lifted slowly out of the gutter. All that existed was the impact of my shoes on the pavement. The crashing blue-green surf just a few yards downhill. Seagulls mewing, the rumble of distant cars. It was almost peaceful.

  “You thinking of going out with Logan again?” Nixon asked out of nowhere, breaking my reverie.

  “Huh?” The question took a second to sink in. “Oh. Uh, I dunno. Probably not.”

  “Why's that?”

  Okay … zero to weird in record time. “Because I don't feel like it,” I replied flatly. Maybe that was a little rude, but Nixon's snooping had been rude first.

  “Oh.” He looked like he didn't know how to respond to that. Just as I'd settled back into the quiet, though, Nixon piped up again. “You'll be done with school in a couple months, right? Any plans for after you graduate?”

  If I hadn't known better, I might have thought he was chatting me up. Did he just suck at small talk? “Pretty much what I already told you. Start a blog, write about fashion and beauty, achieve world domination in five years or less.”

  “You ever think about … getting married?”

  Where the hell is this coming from? I wondered. Then it all suddenly clicked: Nixon was trying to mend fences. Trying to help us become the friends I'd hoped we could be. In that case, I couldn't get too annoyed with him, even if he overshot “polite interest in my life” and landed well into “nosy” territory. I was more than willing to meet him halfway.

  “Sometimes, in an 'idle daydream' kind of way,” I replied. “But not really. I don't see myself settling down for a long time. Right now, I want to focus on building my career, and just … you know, having fun. Seeing where life takes me.”

  “Hm.” Now he looked thoughtful. But he didn't comment further, and soon the silence descended again.

  After we had turned around and started jogging toward home, I finally felt brave enough to fire his own question back at him. “So what about you? Do you want to get all domestic?”

  Nixon blinked at me. After a long moment, he answered, “I … might be open to it. If the right woman came along.”

  We were less than a mile from home and my lungs were on fire, but I still had to lay one last question to rest. Before I could chicken out, I asked, “Is Pam the right woman?”

  He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Thrown off guard, I stumbled to a stop beside him. My heart was pounding as much from emotion as from exertion. When I'd rehearsed this confrontation in my head, I had expected Nixon to react with guilt or even anger. His harsh response just made me confused.

  Trying not to notice the sweat on his tanned skin, I stuttered, “When you went out of town … you told me it was for work, but…” Stress tightened around my stomach and spine, as if I were reliving that horrible conversation in the lobby all over again. Trying not to burst into tears while Pam just stood there, oblivious, with her handful of junk mail and her childishly excited smile. Before my voice could fail, I pushed all the words out in one breath: “I ran into Pam right after you left and she said she was meeting you for a romantic getaway.”

  Nixon's mouth opened and closed, speechless. The shock on his face slowly gave way to white-hot fury. “That two-faced bitch,” he finally growled. “I haven't touched her since the day you moved in. Hell, we've hardly even talked. When you said you didn't want me bringing women home, I told Pam I couldn't see her anymore. I said my stepsister had moved in and I was trying to be respectful. Pam flipped right the fuck out. It was a pretty bad scene.” He gave a snarling huff, raking his fingers through his hair. “But if she's cooking up poisonous bullshit like this, I guess it's even worse than I thought.”

  “She … she lied? Just to make me angry?” My head was spinning. “So you didn't really…?” No. Fucking. Way. All that emotional destruction because some bitch was feeling catty about losing her fuck buddy? My anger ratcheted up, but I shut it down just as fast. I wasn’t going to let that ho ruin this moment too.

  My decision was instantly rewarded when Nixon’s expression fell into something softer, but just as fiery. Something a little desperate and a little hopeful. “I haven't slept with anyone else since we met. I swear on my life.” He reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “The only woman I’ve wanted is you.”

  My heart fluttered at his words—and something lower, too, had fluttered at his touch. But I tried to keep my feet on the ground a little longer. Regardless of how sincere he seemed, I still needed a few more answers. “Then what were you doing last week?”

  He pressed his lips together, then sighed and nodded. “Okay. I guess this is a day for full disclosure, huh?”

  As we walked home, Nixon finally told me everything about his trip: the medal, the Pentagon, the gag order, everything. “I had to keep my whereabouts under wraps,” he finished. “Otherwise I would have told you all this in the first place.” He smiled at me—the first real smile I'd seen since our fight last week. “Actually, I'm still breaking protocol right now, but … there are more important things.”

  By now we had reached the condo complex. As a concession to my sore legs, we took the elevator up. But when we reached the sixth floor, Nixon marched straight past our apartment and started banging on the adjacent door like he was trying to break it down.

  “W-what the hell are you doing?” I hurried after him, wondering if he'd lost his mind.

  Pam opened the door wearing black booty shorts and a metallic violet tube top that barely contained her vast chest. Holy shit, where's an attack of spontaneous blindness when I need one? I itched to give this poor woman a makeover—but that would be way too nice of me. After imploding my relationship with Nixon, suffering in fashion hell was the least she deserved.

  “What the fuck, Pam?” Nixon barked before she could speak. “Where the hell do you get off spreading bullshit around about going away with me?”

  “Oh, that.” Her confused expression quickly morph
ed into irritation. “If you've got the whole story, why come break my door down?”

  Nixon gestured back at me. She spared me an acid look and I held back the urge to flinch. “Because you owe her a personal apology.”

  Her laugh sounded more like a shriek. “Me? Owe her? After you dropped me like a hot potato to go hump your own stepsister? Is her pussy made of gold or something, or do you just have an incest fetish?”

  “Y-you knew we were together?” I croaked. Suddenly it all made sense. The only reason Pam would invent a tryst with Nixon was if she knew I was into him; otherwise, that kind of lie wouldn't hurt me. She had to have known…

  “The whole damn time.” Her lip curled, utterly disgusted. “Whether or not I wanted to. Our units share a wall, remember? I could hear you fucking just about every night.”

  “So slip a note under our door asking us to tone it down,” Nixon spat. “The slightest inconvenience doesn't give you a right to mess with other people's lives.”

  “Yeah, I told one lie. I wanted to piss off Little Miss Perfect. So fucking what?” She threw up her red-taloned hands—not in surrender, but in challenge. “I'm not sorry. It's you people who're fucked up.”

  “Don't you dare play the martyr here.” Nixon's voice had lowered into a snarl. “If you had even a shred of common decency—”

  With a glare that could have turned us both to stone, Pam slammed the door in our faces.

  Chapter 19

  Nixon

  I stormed back into our condo, barely able to hear Avery's trailing footsteps over the blood pounding in my ears. Confronting Pam had only enraged me more. I'd thought I could take revenge by rubbing her nose in her cruel, desperate lies, but it was impossible to shame the shameless. She was totally convinced that she was right and we were wrong. How could that bitch look me straight in the eye, bold as brass, and say I had no right to be angry? After the way she'd treated the most important person in my world?