by M. J. Fields
She leans over and kisses his cheek. “Hey, Gary, we’re good. Really good.”
She glances at me as he leans over and kisses her cheek and quirks an eyebrow.
Oh, hell no, I think.
I need to get the fuck out of here before I lose my shit. My sister, my mom, Keeka. What the fuck are my plans after the season ends? What is Dad going to do when he finds out I shot down pros? This dick looking at Keeks and her belly like it’s his. Trucker, fucking Trucker, who can’t possibly not know she’s pregnant, but how could he?
The noises in my head make me want to run the fuck away, have a drink or ten, or fuck.
“Did something happen?” London whispers.
I stand up and throw a hundred on the bar. “Let’s jet.”
She picks up her drink, finishes it, and nods. “Okay.”
She has some pineapple juice on the corner of her lip. I run my thumb over it, and she pushes her face against my hand. The overwhelming noise that was just fucking my head dissolves and everything goes quiet.
“Logan?” she says, pulling away.
I take my thumb and suck it clean. “Let’s go.”
I opened the truck door, buckle her in, and hold her hand as I’m driving the long way back, hoping like hell it takes forever.
“You’re quiet.”
I glance over at her. The worry in her eyes brings back the noise.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell her as I look away.
“Like what?” Her giggle is forced.
“Like something’s wrong with me.”
“Is there something wrong with you?”
A million things.
A million things, and I don’t want her to know any of them.
“Logan?”
“Can you just be quiet?” I ask.
“What?” she huffs.
“Not like that. Just...” I sigh.
“Just what?” The annoyance in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed.
“There’s a lot of shit going on, London. A lot of shit, and I just need you to...” I let go of her hand and pull my hat down.
“Logan, spill it,” she damn near demands.
“Maybe I can’t? Will that fuck things up?” I don’t let her answer either question. “Of course it will.”
“What the heck just happened? Is it Keeka?”
“It’s life, London, it’s life.” I speed up, no longer wanting to take the long way.
“Got it.” She crosses her arms in front of her and sits back.
“Got what?” comes out harsh.
“I asked you to stay away. I knew that—”
“I’m sorry. I fucked up. But, you know...” Again, I stop.
“No, Logan, I don’t know unless you tell me.”
“I told you all sorts of shit tonight, London. If you need more than that, I’m gonna have to be honest and say I haven’t figured it out.”
She nods as I pull up in front of Lawrinson.
“I like you, London, a fucking lot. You are everything I never wanted.”
She looks at me, confusion changing to understanding, and nods. Then she unbuckles her seatbelt and looks at me. When she leans in, my heart skips a beat. I want to kiss her so she becomes addicted to me. I want her to want me and no one else.
She kisses the side of my cheek then sits back. “I’ll be your friend, Logan, because I like you, I can’t not be around you. But that’s gotta be it.”
I shrug and want to say cool. But it’s not fucking cool.
When she opens the door, logic and reason hop the fuck out, too, and that empty part in my chest is ever present.
“Come to my last game Saturday.”
“Sure, Logan.”
“Come to the party after?”
She shrugs.
“If I’m gonna be kissing on you, it’s with the condition, won’t be any blondes hanging out.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Grasping and needing her to be there, I use anything I can. “Jamie won’t go if you don’t.”
She nods and starts to get out again.
“We’re doing Friends-Giving Tuesday night, too.”
She looks at me oddly.
“Before break. Celebrating Thanksgiving. Calling it—”
She nods. “Gotcha.”
“Will you be there?”
“Sure.”
As soon as she gets out of the truck, she hurries into the building without a glance back.
Under the tree at her place, I was selfish. I may not know everything about myself like I used to, before that got fucked up when Mom and Dad split, so fucked up. But what I do know is I’m competitive as fuck, and her telling me no made it almost a game. Almost.
Over the past few weeks, I missed her, but how could I not? I agreed to look after her and was still doing so when she didn’t even know it. It’s not going to go away either, not when I am staring at her from a distance. Even if I told Maddox I was out. I was done.
Knowing I put a huge fucking target on her hot, little virgin ass made me feel responsible for her, as well it should have. If she knew how many guys I have fought or threatened since that night, she would never look at me again. I fucked up.
Tonight was selfish, too. I want her closer for more reasons than not. I want to protect her, I want to touch her, I want her to look at me the way she always has. In a fucked-up way, I want to show her how fucking good I am so that, when she isn’t under my protection for the next three and a half years, she compares all those fools to me and doesn’t give them a second thought.
I’m such a selfish fuck when it comes to her. And I know I should be kicking my own ass for being so, but how the hell can I stop when I know how much she wants me? She wants me enough she demanded I stay away because she can’t handle it. She wants me so much that she stopped hanging out with her friends because I was there. That kind of attention is addicting.
To say I don’t want to end my last season of football on a high would be a fucking lie. And it’s been my best season yet. The fucking NFL wants me and can’t have me. It feels so fucking good to be sought after. I have been addicted to that drug for years. It has gotten me through a whole lot of hell.
What I didn’t expect was that drug, that high would be multiplied by adding one ingredient to it. One little drop of a girl like London in the seats and the thought of her between the sheets increases that high an infinite amount.
I crave it.
I crave her.
When that realization struck a few weeks ago, and then she blew me off, it weakened me to the point that I showed up here tonight.
I didn’t plan on her looking at me like she did. I didn’t plan on being like a little crack whore, willing to sell my soul to have just one more hit. But when she looked at me like that, those intentions were blown to shit. When she pushed her tits against me, I wanted more. I still do.
I came with good intentions, but I’m sure every fuck who has a couple drinks and gets behind the wheel intends on getting home safe without causing death and destruction.
She doesn’t deserve that. She doesn’t. It’s a good fucking thing she is in her building now. If she had asked me to fuck her, I would have.
I punch my steering wheel a few times, needing to remember who the fuck I am when I’m with her. I pray to God for the strength to continue intervening when I am too weak to walk the fuck away.
She is everything I never wanted, and I need a constant reminder of, no matter how quiet she makes things, it’s not fair to expect that from her.
God help me, help her, because this thing between us is fiery and will damn sure take us straight to Hell.
When my phone lights up with a message, I click on it.
- I forgot. My whole family is coming to your last game. I’m not sure I trust that Lexi won’t blow it...LF
I laugh to myself and think just how fast God works when He’s up against a guy like me.
- I’ll be in student seating with the girls. I hope y
ou kick butt, player...LF
Player?
Game on.
Friends-Giving
London
From the stands, I watch him break every record he has set in all the previous years and a realization sets in—I’m not wrong about my feelings for him. I did the smart thing by going home to help bake pies in preparation for Thanksgiving and missing the after party.
I did it for two reasons. The first because I love our traditions. And the second because I need my family to draw strength from. Strength to remind myself that I am important, and that I need to stay grounded to continue working toward my dreams. Strength to remind myself their love surrounds and protects me, even from myself. And strength to remind myself that I am in fact strong because of them, and it’s not selfish or childish to need or admit that.
When Piper asked me where Logan was, and before I could wrap my brain around why she would associate him and I, she placed her hand on my heart and said, “He’s wight hewe.” I then realized I also came home for that moment, that realization that I need the strength to be vulnerable.
When I left his truck that night, I did so knowing he has a very long road ahead of himself.
I sent a message ending in the word “player,” and he didn’t reply. It was wrong. It was out of hurt and my selfish and childish ways. It was like saying to a blind man, “I see you. Why can’t you?” But I do. I see him. I see in him what he doesn’t. I always have.
The desire to protect myself has resulted in the building and tearing down of the wall around my heart my entire first semester of college. In doing that, I have missed the opportunity to be vulnerable. I thought I may have even missed the opportunity to have the man of my dreams be my first kiss.
I take a deep breath while looking in the mirror. I look stage ready. My hair is blown out straight, my makeup is done yet looks perfectly natural, and I am dressed in a top that actually doesn’t hide what cleavage I have or is part of my normal everyday street to stage look.
I walk out of the bathroom to my waiting friends who I have now admitted to that I am very interested in Logan Links, and they all smile.
On the ride to Friends-Giving, I am not nervous. I am empowered with the realization that it doesn’t matter if my heart gets broken. It only matters that I live.
I look next to me and know without a doubt that, not only do I have a family who has and will always pick me up when I am down, but friends who hide the fact that some twisted bitch was putting posters on our door so I wouldn’t hurt.
I am not alone.
When we walk in, we are all carrying the pies I made at home. The room is full, but not like it was when I was here last.
I see Keeka and am instantly reminded there is something about her that I can’t let go of. I want to be her friend, and I will be.
We exchange smiles, and then I force myself to look away because there is a harsh reality I have come to terms with—that I am able to make things very awkward at times.
I scan the room for Logan and see him standing with his back to us, leaning against the kitchen counter.
I walk up and set my pie directly behind him, ensuring it’s loud enough to grab his attention. When he turns around, I do, too, at the same time, guaranteeing that, when I remove my overcoat, he sees the knee length skirt that hugs my body.
After I take off my coat, I bend to remove my boots. I do it slowly and with intent.
When I hear grumbling behind me, I stand and turn around. Logan is still at the counter, and several of his teammates are behind him, all trying to hide their amusement at whatever outburst I may have caused, that he is trying so hard to mask, that I will be sure to get details of from my friends later.
Pulling from not only my secret desires, but my arsenal of acting abilities, knowing damn well this will get the reaction I crave, I point to the pie. “I brought you pie.”
I have to suck in my cheeks to stop from smiling when his jaw drops and he grips the counter, all while shooting daggers at the snickers and comments under his teammates breaths.
He cocks his head to the side then rights it quickly, hiding whatever it is he’s thinking and feeling right now.
“Looks okay,” he says, trying to sound unaffected, but with no white hat to pull down, I see the steam rising from those blue oceans.
“I haven’t tasted it yet, but I’m sure it’s going to be amazing. Best pie ever.”
Again, the guys react, and his grip tightens on the counter.
“It’s actually the very first time that I—”
“You got a fucking minute?” he asks as he comes around the counter, grabs my elbow, and drags me behind him as everyone laughs.
Once in his room, he lets go and steps back.
“What the fuck is this?” He waves his hand up and down, motioning to my attire.
I shrug and sigh to add dramatic effect. “Just pulled it out of my closet.”
“You’re full of shit, London. You did this to—” He stops when I put one hand on each side of his cheeks. “What are you doing?”
“Tell me I look pretty.”
He looks shocked.
I lean in, push up on my tiptoes, press my face against his, and whisper in his ear, “Tell me.”
His breaths become deeper and harsher. “You know damn well you do.”
I grab his earlobe between my teeth and tug gently before kissing just under it. “Tell me.”
“You look too good to be here with all those fuckers.”
I take his hand that is balled at his side and pull it to my hip. “Logan, tell me.” I run my tongue down his neck, and he groans.
“You look sexy.”
“You, too.” I kiss his neck softly then pull back and look up at him.
His eyes cast up, avoiding mine, and he grips my hip. “What are you trying to do here, London?”
His mouth is gaping slightly as he tries to even out his breaths. I take the opportunity to hook my finger in his mouth and pull down so he has to look at me.
“I’m sick of trying to protect myself against you.”
He closes his eyes and sucks lightly on my finger, making heat resonate everywhere.
When I push my painfully erect nipples against him, he opens his eyes.
“I was so pissed at you the other night,” he growls.
I put my hand over his mouth. “You were pissed at yourself.”
He immediately scowls, and I take one of his hands and run it up my body, stopping just below my breast.
“London...” he warns.
“I need to figure out a lot of things, Logan, and so do you. But it was really, really cold the other night, and I tried every blanket I had to warm me, comfort me, soothe me, and nothing worked. Then I thought, it’s cuddle season.” I take his other hand and move it down until it rests very low on my back.
“Jesus L...fuck.”
I push his flannel to the side, untuck his tee-shirt, and put my hands on his hot, hard abs. “Then I thought about how warm you are.” I slowly move my hands up his abs. “And I thought how you said things are quieter with me.”
“Well, right now, they’re harder,” he hisses between his teeth.
I cover his mouth with one hand while moving the other up a little farther. “I need you to be my friend, Logan, but I want to be able to do this, too. I don’t want the entire campus watching me or you, and I don’t want you to need anyone else but me.” I uncover his mouth and press my forehead to his chest, hiding a bit when I say the next part. “I’ve come up with a plan, with conditions. If you can promise me that you won’t need anyone else while you’re here for the rest of this semester, I can promise you I won’t overthink it and that I don’t need a label, or a commitment, I just need to put some limitations and—”
“London.” He tips my chin up. “It goes against every natural, male instinct while fully and painfully erect to be one hundred percent honest, but I’m going to do my best.”
I nod.
“I have no
fucking clue what I’m going to be doing when I’m done, and if I were you, I would not offer up something like that to me.” He clenches his eyes shut and scolds himself. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“Love is unconditional,” I sigh. His eyes pop open and he looks horrified. “I’ve come up with some conditions that makes this okay.”
Before I can say anything, he continues.
“I will promise that I won’t touch another, because I am going to explore every fucking inch of you to an almost indecent precision.”
I nod. “First condition, you gotta take it slow with me.”
“Oh, baby, it’s going to be so slow you’re going to throw one of those little fits because you want my cock so bad.”
“Logan?”
“Yeah?” he asks with his lips at my neck.
“The next condition is, we need to make a promise that we don’t fall in love, that we are honest with each other, and this doesn’t end badly. I need you in my life.”
“I promise.”
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
I grab his face between my hands and pull him away from my neck. “Kiss me.”
“You’re sure?”
“It has to be you.”
His puts his hands on my face, and my hands drop. “You’re damn right it does.”
I close my eyes and try to remain calm, because this is the moment I have waited for my entire life. This is the moment I have dreamt of, fantasized about, and with the man I have wanted it to be, always.
“London.”
I open my eyes as he pushes his forehead to mine.
“I need you to do something for me first, and this is a deal breaker.”
I nod.
“You need to ask yourself a question.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want your first kiss to end with murder and mayhem?”
“What?” I choke out a shocked laugh.
“Do you?”
“No,” I smile.
“I didn’t think so.” He lets go of me, walks to the door, and opens it.
“What are you doing?” Now I laugh because I’m embarrassed.
He walks out and says, “Whatever you want to wear in my closet is good.”