Tall, Tatted and Tempting

by Tammy Falkner

  ***

  I wake up the next day and lift my head. Sunlight pours into the room, and I know I’ve slept much later than I normally would. But then again, we were up really late last night reading. My heart clenches inside my chest when I realize that he hasn’t used his voice in eight years, but he spent hours last night reading to me. It makes me feel warm all over, and I look around, wondering where he is. The bed is empty, and there’s not even an impression of his head on the pillow. That’s probably because we shared the same space last night. I draped myself across his chest, and then we adjusted, and I had my head on his belly. All the time he read, his fingers had trailed across one body part of mine or another. It was a tiny tickle, but it touched the center of me.

  I know he wasn’t unaffected by it. He was rock hard, and he had to ball the covers up in his lap more than once. But he ignored it. I ignored it. I wanted to reach over and touch him, but he doesn’t want that from me. He wants all of me. And I’m not free to give it all away. I’ll never be free.

  I roll over and brush my hair from my eyes. I still can’t get used to the black hair. It’s so different from my natural color. Every time I look at myself in a mirror, I have to do a double take to try to figure out who I’m looking at. Maybe I’ll never know.

  My eyes land on a sketch pad that’s propped against the lamp on Logan’s end table. I crawl closer to it on my hands and knees and close my eyes tightly, wincing when I see that he’s drawn a naked woman. She’s drawn in pencil, and he has shaded all the parts of her naked body. But what immediately grabs my attention is that there’s one streak of color on the whole thing. It’s down the left side of her hair. It’s blue.

  Oh, crap. It’s me.

  I sit up on the edge of the bed and pick it up. It’s me. Definitely me. My arms are down by my sides, and my fists are clenched tightly. There’s a look of defiance on my face. I’ve never seen an artist capture a look like that. But he’s done it. There’s a towel on the floor beside my toe, and my foot is pointed as though I just kicked it to the side.

  He’s drawn shadowing around my boobs, and my nipples are standing tall, sticking out like they’ve been kissed tight.  My stomach clenches and I have to force myself to take a breath. There’s a small triangle of hair at the V between my thighs. I close my eyes. It’s almost lifelike. It’s me. He drew me. From memory. At the bottom are some scribbled words. They’re written in all caps, and the letters are spaced far apart:

   

  I   L O O K E D.

   

  Yes, apparently he did. There’s no doubt about it. He saw me naked. And he remembered every dip, every curve, and every strand of hair. Or lack of hair. Yikes. I close the sketch pad so no one else will see it. I’m feeling a bit over-exposed, like he somehow peeled back a layer of me and forced me to look at it as closely as he did.

  I can’t believe I accused him of not wanting to look at me. He obviously did. He looked closer than anyone ever has.  I take a deep breath and sit there for a minute with my eyes closed.

  I slide on a pair of jeans beneath Logan’s T-shirt and put on a bra. I like his brothers, but I’m not one hundred percent sure who’s in the house. And I don’t want to walk out there to get a cup of coffee to find everyone dressed appropriately and for me to be the one who’s not. Padding around in the middle of the night is one thing. This is different.

  I let myself out of the room and look around. The apartment is empty. I’m kind of glad that Logan’s not there, since my face is flaming just thinking about how closely he perused my body. If he was there in the flesh, I’d be a puddle on the floor.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen the apartment when it wasn’t full of testosterone and male bodies. It’s a mess as usual. I pour myself a cup of coffee and load the dishwasher, and then clean the countertops. I can’t help it. They might not even want me to do it. But I do it anyway. My life is such a mess, and what I want most in the world is to tidy it up. Since I can’t tidy my own life, I’ll tidy their apartment. I remove a rubber band from a stack of mail and twist my hair up out of my face. If I’m going to clean, I’m going to do it right.

  I start a load of laundry and fold what’s in the dryer. I don’t know which shirt belongs to which man since they’re all big boys. So, I just make a neat pile and stack them on the kitchen table. The pile grows as the day goes on, and by the end of the afternoon, the house is still empty and quiet, and it’s clean from top to bottom. I didn’t clean any of their bedrooms because that would be an invasion of their privacy, as my cleaning at all might be now that I think about it. I bite my fingernails and look around. They won’t be mad, will they?

  I go into the bathroom and look beneath the sink. There were cleaning supplies there the other day, and it could use refreshing. I lift a bucket of baby toys out of the way and then I stop. I shuffle through them. There are tiny boats, bath crayons, and a rubber ducky. I give it a squeeze, and it goes flat, a hiss of air escaping it.  Why do they have baby toys?

  The curiosity is killing me. Do they have a little sister? They couldn’t possibly. Logan said he had four brothers the day I met him. He didn’t say anything about a sister. I put the bucket back under the sink and keep cleaning.

  The timer on the dryer goes off, and I fold the last load of laundry, blowing a lock of hair out of my eyes. I look toward the window and see that the day is nearly gone. So much for busking in the subway. And Fridays are usually my best days, too, since people just got paid and are feeling generous. I have wasted the whole day cleaning Logan’s apartment, but I feel good about it. I put my hands on my hips and look around the room. I did a good job. I’ve mopped and vacuumed, dusted and put things away. Of course, I had to guess where a lot of stuff goes. The stuff I’m not sure about, I’ve been putting on the kitchen table with the stacked laundry.

  I open a kitchen drawer and stumble back when I see that it’s full of condoms. Nothing but condoms. They’re in every shape, every size, and every color. And every flavor, if the banana on the front of one of them is any indication. My face fills with heat. Why on earth do they have a drawer filled with condoms? I slam it shut, and walk away. It’s none of my business.

  I carry the mop bucket toward the sink so that I can dump it. I pick it up, and just as I’m walking across the kitchen floor, the door of the apartment opens, and Logan walks through. Only he’s not alone. On his shoulders, there’s a little blond girl with two squiggly pigtails. He ducks to get through the door, and she giggles when he wiggles her feet and pretends to dump her off his shoulders.

  He stops in front of the closed door and freezes when he sees me standing there. He must not have expected me to still be there. And I certainly didn’t expect for him to have a child. He starts toward me, one hand holding on to her feet tightly at the base of his neck. The other reaches for me. But I’m so startled by the girl that the bucket of sudsy water slips from my hands.

  “Stop!” I warn because I don’t want him to slip with his daughter on his shoulders.

  Logan

   

  I’m so damn happy to see Kit that I want to run to her and pick her and spin her around. I wonder if she’d giggle like Hayley does when I jostle her. Probably not. I wasn’t sure Kit would still be here, and I was really worried she’d left for good when she didn’t come to see me at the tattoo parlor.

  Water crashes over the toes of my boots, and Kit rushes to right the bucket. She slumps, looking down at the mess. But her dejection only lasts for a second. She gets herself together and rushes to the table—where there are piles of folded laundry—and she grabs towels, throwing them down over the spill.

  She’s saying something, but I can’t read her lips. I walk toward her, and she warns me to stop, holding up her hands. Her eyes dart to Hayley and then back to my face, and she doesn’t look too happy with me. I set Hayley on the counter and put a cookie in her hands, and she settles there to watch us, her mouth full of chocolate chips. Hayley’s three, and she’s a cool kid.

/>   I move the towels around with my boots, and Kit drops to her knees to mop up all the water. She pushes the towels around frantically until it’s all cleaned up. Then she throws the wet towels in the mop bucket and starts a load of wash with them in it. She comes back to the kitchen and looks at Hayley, who’s still perched on the counter, happily munching on her cookie. Paul’s going to have my ass when he finds out I gave her chocolate, but I needed to entertain her for a second.

  Kit blows her hair out her eyes with a frustrated breath and glares at me. “You’re home,” she says. Her hands are on her hips, and she’s not wearing any makeup and her hair’s a mess and she has a line of dirt streaked across her forehead. But she’s pretty enough that it takes my breath at times.

  I nod. The knees of Kit’s jeans are wet, and her shirt’s damp now, too. “What have you been doing?” I ask. I look around. The apartment is clean. And I don’t just mean “straighten it up because Grandma’s coming over” clean. I mean spotlessly clean. Like showroom clean. But better. It smells nice, and it looks nice. And she’s here. God, I’m so happy she’s here.

  She shrugs. “How was your day?” she asks. Her gaze zips between me and Hayley. Hayley’s making a mess, but I don’t care.

  “Better now,” I admit. I feel like someone took a weight off my chest when I walked into the room and saw her here. I reach for Kit and squeeze her to me, kissing her on the forehead. She scrunches up her face, and pushes back from me, her gaze jumping to Hayley again.

  “Who’s that?” she asks warily.

  I wet a kitchen towel and wipe Hayley’s mouth and hands clean. She hasn’t gotten it on her dress yet, but I know it’ll happen any second. Her mother will shit a brick if we send her back with dirty clothes. I tickle Hayley’s tummy, and she giggles, her belly clenching as she arches into my hands. “This is Hayley.”

  Hayley looks a little confused, and I pick her up, putting her on my hip. She wraps around me, and one hand covers my mouth. I kiss her palm and make noises at her. She wiggles in my grasp. She’s probably confused about the noises coming out of my mouth. I’ve never talked in front of her before.

  “How old is she?”

  “How old are you Hayley?” I ask her, jostling her on my hip.

  She holds up three fingers.

  “Three?” Kit says as though she’s amazed. “Such a big girl.” Kit looks at me. “Does she talk?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. Her lips are really hard to read, so I don’t know if she talks or if she’s just making noises. She knows how to sign simple words like food, milk, bath, water, and other things she needs. She and I do pretty well together. Most of it is just me trying to figure out what she needs, but Hayley doesn’t seem to mind. “She might.”

  Kit bends down to her level, and asks, “Do you talk?” Kit smiles, and she’s so damn pretty making faces at Hayley that I want to kiss her. I grab Kit quickly around the waist and jerk her to my side with a hand on her hip, and she laughs, looking up at me. I kiss her on the forehead again, and Hayley bats the side of my face with her open palm.

  “I don’t think she likes that,” Kit says, backing away from me.

  “She’ll have to get used to it.” Kit’s eyes meet mine, and then they skitter away.

  “She’s adorable,” she says, but she’s not looking in my eyes. We’ll have to talk about that later.

  “What happened to the apartment?” I ask, a grin tugging at my lips. She looks unsure of herself as she brushes her hair back from her face. That streak of dirt is still across her forehead, and I reach out to wipe it away with my thumb.

  She wrings her hands together and doesn’t look me in the eye. “I did a little cleaning.”

  I take her chin in my hand and tip her face up to mine. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

  “You’re not mad, are you?” she asks. She bites her bottom lip.

  “That you’re here?” I ask softly. “I’m fucking ecstatic.”

  She scowls and looks at Hayley. “Language,” she says. “And I meant about the cleaning. I started it this morning and…well…I couldn’t stop.”

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “I know,” she says with a shrug. “I wanted to. And I sort of feel like I owe you guys for letting me stay here.”

  “You don’t owe us anything,” I try to explain. I tug her to me again. I like the feel of this girl in my arms so much more than I should. “I like having you here.”

  She smiles up at me, and then Hayley starts to jump in my arms. She’s excited and reaches over my shoulder. I look back, and Paul’s coming in the door. She gets so excited to see Paul.

  Kit starts smiling beside me, and then she grins, and air escapes her in one big, relaxed breath. I’m not sure what that’s about.

  “You met Hayley, I see,” Paul says to Kit. She nods as Paul takes her from me. “See, Hayley,” he says to his daughter, “now you won’t be the only girl in the house.” He dances around in a circle with her. I’m reading his lips because it’s really hard to sign when your hands are full of baby. I can’t see what he says when he dances around in a circle, but whatever it is makes Kit smile.

  Kit points a finger at Paul and smiles. “She’s yours?” she asks.

  Paul looks from me to her. “You’re not trying to use my daughter to score with chicks again, are you?” Paul asks, punching me in the shoulder. “I can’t let him take her to the grocery store. He gets too much attention from the ladies.”

  Paul looks around the apartment and grins. “What the fuck happened here?” he asks.

  Kit scowls at him, too. “Language,” she says, looking toward Hayley. She’s smiling now, though, and she looks like she’s taking deep breaths, which she wasn’t doing when I first walked into the house.

  “Who cleaned?” Paul asked. He wipes a spot on Hayley’s cheek with his thumb and says, “And who gave you chocolate?” He scowls at me. I shrug my shoulders and grin.

  Kit cleaned up. I pull her against my side, and she wraps an arm around my waist, lays one hand on my chest, and looks up at me. Isn’t she amazing?

  Paul looks from me to her and back again, sticks his finger down his throat like he’s going to hurl, and walks away with Hayley toward his bedroom. He looks back at me long enough to say, “You’re going to be late for work if you don’t hurry.” He looks down at Hayley. “Tell Uncle Logan he’s going to be late.” He shows her the sign for late, and she does it. She’s adorable when she signs. They disappear into his bedroom, and I look down at Kit. I bend my head and touch my lips to hers. I don’t want to pull back, but I do have to hurry. “I have to go out,” I say.

  Her brow raises, and she looks wary. “Out?” she says.

  I nod. “I have to work tonight. Do you want to go with me?”

  She looks down at her wet shirt and brushes a lock of hair from her forehead. “I haven’t even had a shower today.”

  “How quickly can you get ready?” I ask, looking at my watch. I have thirty minutes before I have to be there.

  Emily

   

  Warm water sluices over my body, and I force myself to hurry up. Logan is probably dancing from foot to foot in the living room waiting for me so he won’t be late for work. Apparently, he’s a bouncer at some club around the corner on Friday nights. And he wants me to go with him.

  I hear the door to the bathroom open, and I freeze. “Matt?” I call. He’s the only one who might come into the bathroom with me and that’s only if he’s sick.

  I open the bath curtain an inch and look out. Logan is standing there, looking at me. He changed clothes, and now he’s wearing a pair of jeans, boots, and a blue T-shirt that says Bounce(r) on the front of it. It strains across his broad shoulders. His eyes are a startling shade of blue against the azure shirt, and he looks at my face as I poke my nose through the curtain. My hair is full of suds, and soap is burning one of my eyes.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and smiles at me. He doesn’
t say anything else, but he stands there with one shoulder against the wall with his arms crossed. “I have a question,” he finally says.

  I lean back and wash the soap from my face and hair, and then poke my head back through, blowing water from my lips. “Ask it,” I say.

  “It bothered you when you saw me with Hayley, didn’t it?” he asks. His face doesn’t change. He’s still appraising me closely. But he’s not leering or trying to look at my naked body. He’s totally respectful, just like always.

  It did bother me—I thought Hayley might be his. They have the same deep blue eyes, and their hair color is similar. And he was so familiar with her. But then she’s called Paul “Daddy,” and everything was suddenly all right. I know he can’t read my lips unless I stick my head out of the shower.

  “What makes you say that?” I ask.

  He snorts. “I read people every day, all day, and I have to tell how they feel by the way they hold themselves, rather than the inflections in their voices. And something tells me that you didn’t like seeing me with Hayley.”

  He looks closely at me, and I know he’s still appraising my reactions.

  “Either you don’t like kids or you didn’t like the idea of me with one.” He shuffles his feet. “I just wanted to tell you that I might not be able to hear, but I’m fully capable of taking care of a child. If I wasn’t, Paul wouldn’t leave her with me.”

  He heaves a sigh, and then he turns to walk out of the door. I call his name, but he doesn’t hear me. So, I jump out of the shower and grab for the towel, letting it fall open in front of me, but I don’t have time to wrap it around me. I clutch it to my chest and grab his arm. He turns back toward me, one eyebrow raising as he looks at me.

  “It wasn’t that I don’t think you’re capable of taking care of her,” I say. “It wasn’t that at all.”

  “Then what was it?” he asks.

  It’s so hard to explain, but if I don’t tell him the reason it bothered me, he’ll go on thinking it’s because I think he can’t do the kid justice with his disability, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “I thought she was yours,” I say with my eyes closed. He tips my chin up with an insistent finger.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I thought she was yours,” I repeat. This time, I make sure he can see my lips; although that’s the last thing I want him to see me say. “I thought she was your daughter.”

  He grimaces. “Again, I’m fully capable of taking care of a child. I can watch the lights on a monitor just like anyone else. And changing diapers doesn’t require my ears.” He’s irritated—I can tell. “She cries, and I can figure out what she needs.”

  “It’s not that.” God, I’m so stupid. I bury my wet face in my hands, and he urges them down, watching my lips. “I was jealous,” I admit. There. I said it.

  “Jealous?” he asks. “Of Hayley? She’s three, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I know.” I don’t know how to tell him. “It made me wonder what kind of a stupid woman would ever let you go.” And made me realize someone else has had him. Probably a lot of someone’s. A lot of someone’s I can’t compete with.

  He chuckles, the air in the room lightening. “That’s all it was?” he asks, his voice incredulous. That’s not really all it was. I also wondered how in the world I would share him with someone else. But he’s not mine to share, is he? Not really. Not at all.

  I nod. “That’s all. It’s not because you’re deaf. I was just jealous.” I shrug. “I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” I want to tell him that I want him all to myself, but I’m not free to do that.

  “I don’t have any kids,” he says. “In case you were wondering.”

  The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until I saw Hayley. “All right.”

  “I want kids someday,” he says. His voice is soft, and he’s looking into my eyes. “Do you?”

  “I don’t know.” The idea of trying to help a kid of my own with homework and spelling and school is sometimes overwhelming to me. “I don’t think I’d make a great mother.”

  His lips press against my forehead, and he lays his hands on my hips. I draw in a breath. My skin is bare, and he pulls me toward him. The towel that was draped in front of me gets sandwiched between our bodies.

  “I’m glad you came to talk to me,” I croak out.

  He dips his head and kisses the side of my jaw. I don’t even think about it; I tilt my head to give him better access. “I am, too,” he says against my skin.

  I could say more, but he’s not looking at my face. He’s not looking at anything. His eyes are closed. His hands slide around to my bottom, and he lifts me against him. “I have never wanted to have sex with someone I care about,” he says.

  He’s hard against my belly, and I can barely think or take in a breath.

  I lift up his shirt and lay my hands on his stomach. The muscles ripple under my fingertips. I want to touch him. I want to touch him so badly. “Pretend I’m someone you don’t care about,” I say impulsively.

  He must have seen my lips because he stills. “You think I can do that?” he asks, his voice incredulous. He lifts a hand and runs it through his hair. “I don’t think you realize how very much I like you.”

  He likes me a lot if the rather impressive size of him pressed against my stomach is any indication.

  He must have read my mind because he sighs heavily and says, “I don’t mean like that.” A muscle ticks in his jaw for a moment, and then he steps back from me, lifts the towel, and wraps it around my naked body. “I’ve had sex. Lots of sex. But I’ve never had it with anyone who matters to me.”

  He’s only known me a few days. “Why do I matter so much? What makes me different?” Now I’m dying to know.

  He shakes his head.

  “Tell me,” I prompt.

  “I’ve been locked in my own world for a really long time,” he says. “I have an excuse to keep people away, because of my disability. And then I saw your tattoo…” I turn his wrist over and trace my finger across it. He shudders at my touch, closing his eyes tightly. “And I felt like maybe, just maybe, we were each locked in our own little worlds and could let each other out.”

  He’s pouring his heart out here, and I have nothing encouraging to say. “But there’s nothing wrong with you,” I start. I look up at him, and he’s looking at me with a warning in his eyes.

  “That’s not true.” He shakes his head.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you. So, we’re not on equal footing, and we never will be.”

  He shakes his head again, as though there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he wants to say but won’t.

  “I can’t read. I can’t get a job. I can’t go to school. I can’t do any of the things my family wanted for me.” Actually, they’d wanted me to get married and have babies because all I was good for was being a trophy wife. But I’d refused. That’s why I left. They’d compartmentalized me, deciding I couldn’t play my music because it was “beneath our class” and I couldn’t further my education because it was too hard for them to watch me struggle. It was all about them. Always about them.

  “Don’t underestimate your own value, dummy,” he says.

  I stiffen. I hate that word. Absolutely hate it. He stiffens when I do.

  “What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t ever call me a dummy, Logan,” I say, my teeth grinding together so hard they hurt.

  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he rushes to say. He takes my face in his hands, holding it tightly as he looks into my eyes. “I didn’t mean it.” He chuckles, but there’s no mirth in the sound. “It’s a term of endearment in our family. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Really, I didn’t. I don’t think you’re stupid.  You have a learning disability, but you’re not stupid. I know that.”

  I wish I knew it. He sounds so sure about it. “It’s all right,” I say, but I’m already pushing back from him.


  “Don’t pull away from me,” he warns.

  That makes me laugh. “I’m not the one who’s always pulling away, Logan,” I remind him. I push him back again, but he’s not having any of it. Suddenly, his hands clutch my bottom, and he hoists me up onto the bathroom countertop.

  “Forgive me,” he says.

  I nod, and he kisses the corners of my eyes where tears have formed. That word hurts me. It always has. And it was the final straw that made me leave my parents’ house. That word and others like it—I’ve heard them for too long.

  He bends his head, and his lips touch mine. He licks into me, his tongue soft but insistent. I lay my palm flat on the side of his face, and he keeps kissing me. He’s taking my mind off that word. I already know what he’s doing. I applaud him for it because he’s stealing the pain along with my wits.

  He jerks the towel from between us and looks down at my naked body. I’m perched there on the countertop, and he stands between my legs. He licks his lips, and my heart beats double time. God, he’s sexy. I pull his mouth back to mine, and he allows it. But not for more than a moment. Then his head dips, and he takes my nipple into his mouth. He’s not gentle. He’s rough. His five-o’clock shadow rubs against the underside of my breast as he suckles my nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth, touching something inside me that I didn’t even know existed.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, lifting his head to look into my face.

  I shake my head. “Don’t stop,” I say. I thread my fingers into his hair and hold him tight to me, tugging his hair gently, and he moans around my nipple. My head falls back, and I lean against the mirror, watching his face as he sucks on the turgid flesh. His other hand slides down my belly, toward my curls, where it slips between my legs. I open my legs wider for him. Logan raises his head and buries his face in the curve of my neck as he dips a finger inside me and brings it forward, using my own wetness to slicken his way. His finger strums across my clit, and I nearly leap off the counter. He presses his body closer to mine, his free hand plucking at my nipple, elongating it with his urgent tugs as his middle finger strokes me.

  If he doesn’t stop, I’m going to come. “Logan,” I say. He can’t see my lips, so I tug his head up until he looks at me. I can barely get the words to form on my lips. “I’m going to come before you if you don’t stop.” I start to work at the button on his jeans, and he brushes my hands away.

  He looks deep into my eyes and asks, “What’s your name?”

  I can’t answer. I don’t answer. I close my eyes tightly and arch against his fingertips, which are still taking me higher. When I don’t respond, Logan growls, drops onto his knees in front of me, and shoves my legs apart. Then he licks me from bottom to top.

  I sink my hands into his hair, tugging him up when he goes down, and he takes the hint. He latches onto my clit with his lips and tongue, suckling softly as he stares up at me, his eyes as blue as the sea. I look into his face as he pushes me and pushes me and pushes me, and then finally I’m crying out. He doesn’t stop when I start to come. Instead, he slides a finger inside me and strokes me from the inside, while his mouth feasts on me. “Oh God!” I cry.

  My body quakes, and I shake uncontrollably, pressing his face closer to me as I come. He slows his licks and nudges as my body stills. Now when he licks me from bottom to top, I like it, and I tremble as he passes my clit. He does it over and over until my body stills. I lie back limply against the mirror and pull him up to face me. “Your turn,” I say, and I reach for the button of his jeans.

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “What?” I don’t understand.

  He lifts me to stand in front of him.

  “You don’t want me?” I ask.

  “Fuck, girl, I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone or anything.” He presses his forehead against mine, and he’s breathing hard. His lips touch mine softly, but there’s an urgency there, too. He bends over and picks up the towel, wrapping it around me, tucking it tightly between my breasts. Then he opens the door, shoves me out into the hallway, and locks the bathroom door behind me.

  Logan

   

  Fuck! I scrub my hand down my face, and then run my fingers through my hair, squeezing my head in my hands like a big pimple that’s ready to burst. That’s not the only thing that’s ready to burst.

  I’ve never been as fucking turned on as I am right now. Kit was wet and warm, and she was willing. She would have let me fuck her right here on the countertop if I’d said yes. I know she would have. And she wouldn’t have had any regrets. But I would. Although right now, I’m rethinking my decision to put her outside the door. I reach for the handle and get ready to turn it so I can beckon her back into the room, but I jerk my hand back.

  I desperately needed to take that look off her face, and the only thing I could think of was to put her mind on something else. But now I can’t get my mind off the look on her face when she came. Or how tightly she gripped my finger when she trembled. Good God, that girl can undo me.

  My junk is so hard I could pound nails with it.

  The door vibrates as someone bangs on it. Probably Paul telling me to hurry up again so I won’t be late for work. But my dick’s so hard that I can barely stand up straight, much less walk.

  I run my hands through my hair again. Deep breaths.

  Shit. I’ll never get out of here this way.

  I take a towel from under the sink, lay it in front of me, and unzip my jeans. This won’t take but a second. Because I know I’ll think about her while I do it. I spit into my palm and take the head of my dick in my hand, pulling away from me with a tight grip.

  God, I’ll never get the sight of her coming out of my mind. She’d cried out once. I’m sure of it. I could feel her throat move through the side of my cheek.  It was a soft vibration, and it happened when she started to squeeze around my finger.

  It only takes a few pulls, and I rise up on my tiptoes, spilling onto the towel on the sink. I think about how it would feel to be inside her right now, and my balls lift up tight against my body as I come.  Oh God. God, I want to be inside her so bad.

  I sink back down onto my heels, spent. I lean against the door, trying to catch my breath.  The door shakes with another pound from the heavy fist. I wash my hands and throw the towel in the hamper. Shit. I’m glad I did that. But I wish it had happened differently.

  I tuck myself back into my jeans, and I’m still semi-hard but not so hard that I can’t walk. I open the door, and Paul greets me with an arched brow. “Better?” he asks, grinning.

  Fuck you, dumbass, I sign.

  “Fuck you,” he repeats, laughing. “Oh, wait. You already got fucked.” He tilts his head at me. “How was it?”

  I jerk him into the bathroom with me. I didn’t fuck her.

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, tell it to someone who couldn’t hear her crying out in here.” He pushes against my chest playfully.  “Next time, warn a guy so he can leave. That shit was loud.”

  What was loud? I’m confused.

  Very dramatically, he signs, Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Logan! Logan! Logan! He punches me again. This time it hurts. I rub at the spot. That shit would have been hot if it hadn’t been my brother on the other side of the door. As it was, it was just awkward.

  I couldn’t hear her. Sorry. I am. Well, sort of.

  “No shit,” he says. He’s looking very closely at me. “You all right?”

  I nod. Then I shake my head. Fuck, I don’t know.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She’s making me crazy, man. Stark fucking crazy.

  “You just got laid, and you’re complaining?” He waves his hands in dismissal. “I don’t even want to hear it. Do you know how long it’s been for me? Shit, asshole. You don’t get to be all torn up inside when you just got some.”

  I didn’t get any.

  “Shut up. And stop rubbing it in.”

  I run a frustrated hand through my hair and close my eyes.
/>   He taps my chest with his open palm, forcing me to open my eyes. “Wait. You’re serious.”

  I nod. I said something stupid to her. She was crushed. And it was all my fault.

  “So…” he prompts.

  So, I wanted to make her feel better. I’m not giving you details.

  “It’s like you’re being re-virginized. That shit’s fucked up.” He has this mock look of abjection on his face.

  I can’t hold back my grin. Tell me about it.

  “You’re going to be late for work,” Paul warns.

  Shit. I am going to be late for work. I run out of the bathroom just as Hayley runs in. Paul picks her up and dances around with her in his arms. He has her every other Friday until the next Friday, and he loves every second of it.

  Pete’s standing beside Kit in the living room. He works with me at the club sometimes. “You ready?” he asks.

  Kit’s shuffling from foot to foot, avoiding my eyes. I walk over to her, tip her face up to mine, and kiss her. It’s a kiss full of promises of what could be and what’s not possible yet. She’s breathless and clutching my shoulders when I pull back.

  “Thank you,” she says. She signs it at the same time, and my heart swells.

  Ready, I sign to Pete.

  He follows us into the hallway, and I catch him looking at Kit’s ass. Knock it off, I sign to him.

  He grins and shrugs. I can’t help it.

  I can, I warn. I mock punching my fist into my open palm.

  He looks away somewhat sheepishly. I motion for him to look at me. Help me take care of Kit tonight? In case I get busy with something.

  Pete nods. He understands exactly what I mean.

  Emily

   

  The name of the club is Bounce. Logan leads me by my fingertips through the back door, but on the way from the street, I see a huge line out front and a few men about Logan’s size watching the door. This place is nothing like I expected. It’s a lot bigger.

  A broad, burly guy in an apron stops us as we walk inside the rear entrance and puts a hand in the middle of Logan’s chest. He looks at me and lifts his brow.

  Logan starts to sign something, and Pete translates. “She’s with me.” Pete sheepishly looks over at me and points a thumb toward Logan. “Well, with him,” Pete admits. “She’s nineteen,” Pete interprets. The guy motions over a man with a stamp pad and he stamps the word No on the back of my hand. I roll my eyes. Seriously?

  “It’s a bar, sweetheart. I’ll get in all sorts of trouble if someone serves you when they shouldn’t.” He has him stamp Pete’s hand, too.

  I nod. I understand.

  “Is she deaf, too?” he asks.

  Logan shakes his head.

  I think he says something like “flavor of the night” as he walks away, rolling his eyes. Pete goes with him.

  Logan leads me to the end of the bar and shoves a really big guy off his stool. The man teeters, complains, and turns to find Logan standing behind him. The man holds up both hands like he’s surrendering to the cops, turns, and walks away.

  “Why did you that?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “You needed a seat.”

  He says it like I needed a soda. “But you just shoved him off the chair.”

  Logan follows him with his eyes. “He didn’t care.”

  “He didn’t care because he thought you would kick his butt if he said anything.”

  He nods. As if he would kick his butt. Seriously?

  “What?” he asks. He pats the stool. I slide onto it slowly and look at him.

  “You want me to stay here?” I point to the stool. The bar. The general area.

  He nods. He tips my face up so that I look at him. “Don’t drink anything unless the bartender gets it for you. Do you understand?”

  Not really, but I nod.

  “I’m serious,” he says.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To work.” He presses his lips to my forehead, holding there for a moment. Then he bends his head and says close to my ear. “Just so you know—I can still taste you on my lips.” He looks down toward my lap. Heat floods my face. I’m probably as red as a tomato, but I force myself to look into his eyes.

  “Wish I could say the same.”

  He groans, pushes back from me, winks, and walks away.

  I look down at the bar counter and see the perky blonde who’s making drinks. She shoots me the stink eye and says, “What can I get for you?”

  “Root beer?” I ask. She raises an eyebrow, nods, and pours one from the tap on the bar.

  “How do you know Logan?” she asks as she slides my drink over to me.

  The words “he’s my boyfriend” come unbidden to my lips, but I bite them back. “I’m staying with the boys for a bit.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline. “Really?”

  I nod, taking a sip of my root beer. “Thanks,” I say absently, pointing toward the drink.

  She drops two cherries with stems into it and smiles. “I’m Abby.” She holds out her hand, and I take it. She has a firm grip. I like that.

  “Kit,” I say. “So, are you one of the thousands of women Logan has slept with?” I ask. I try to make a flippant sound, but if the look on her face is any indication, I fail. I don’t really want the answer. But then again, I do.

  She laughs. “Honey, I have more respect for myself than that.” She looks at me for a moment as she pours someone else a beer with a perfect head. “You?”

  I feel much better about her knowing she hasn’t slept with him. “No. But girl, do I want to.”  I force a chuckle that I don’t really feel past my lips.

  “He has that effect on all the girls.” She laughs. “Hang in there.”

  I don’t want to be like all the girls.

  Someone taps the bar in front of her rudely, and she looks up scowling. “Don’t ever bang on my fucking bar again, asshole,” she says, but there’s a smile under her words, I can tell.

  “Oh, come on, Abby,” he says. “You know you love it when I bang you.”

  Snickers erupt around the bar. He leans over the bar, and she stands up on her tiptoes, putting all her weight on her arms, so she can touch her lips to his. She points to me. “Ford, this is Kit.”

  Ford looks over at me and smiles.

  “Kit came in with Logan,” Abby explains. She shoots him an odd look, and he narrows his eyes at her and then looks over at me.

  “Say it ain’t so,” he says with a laugh.

  I press my lips together, not sure what he’s insinuating.

  “It’s about time somebody caught that bastard.” He laughs, rubbing his hands together with excitement. “Payback’s a bitch,” he says. Then he saunters off into the crowd.

  “Ford works with Logan in the front,” she explains between pouring drinks. She takes a twenty from a guy and presses it down her top. I can see the tip of it sticking up from her cleavage. And so can her customer. He licks his lips. “Oh, did you want change?” she asks sweetly. He shakes his head, laughs, and walks away.

  “Have you worked here long?” I shout. The band is just getting started on the stage, tuning their instruments and playing some snippets of music. I turn around to look toward them. The lead singer is already shirtless, but the crowd seems to love it.

  “About a year,” she says. She’s working quickly to fill drinks, and the club is getting busier and busier. I almost wish I could go and help her. I feel pretty useless sitting on the sidelines with nothing to do.

  “Who’s the band?” I ask, jerking a thumb over my shoulder.

  She shrugs. “They’re new.”

  I hear the beginnings of “Free Bird” start to play, and my fingers itch. I swipe the tip of my pointer finger across the calluses on my thumb and wish it was me on that stage. But it can’t be. They’re just doing cover songs, anyway. But they’re songs that make my fingers twitch and my heart start to beat faster.

  I turn around to watch them.

  They’re really
very good. But there’s one problem: their lead guitarist is stinking drunk. They barely got through their warm up, and he’s already stumbling over the cords. Their bassist turns to glare at him, and he grins and keeps on playing. But he can barely stay on his feet. He motions to a waitress and she brings him a shot. He tips it back and keeps on playing.

  The bass guitarist is pissed. I can tell. I would be too. You don’t mess with the music. Ever. I’m itchy on the stool, and I want to go snatch the guitar from him and take over. I force myself to sit still.

  Logan stalks close to me from across the room and stops half way. “You okay?” he mouths. I nod at him and shoo him away with my hands. He grins at me and stays where he can look my way. I hope he’s not planning to hover all night.

  I twitch for a completely different reason when I see a girl walk up to Logan. She’s wearing a short skirt and a skimpy top, and her boobs are sitting up like they’re stacked on a shelf for people to look at. Logan’s eyes skim across her chest, and she lays her hand on his arm, leaning close to him. I scoot to the edge of the chair, watching to see how he reacts. He watches her lips for a moment and then puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back. She scowls. He takes a step back from her, and my heart trills.

  “Damn,” Abby says. “Never thought I’d see that happen.”

  I look over at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never seen him push one away.”

  Logan looks over at me and winks.

  The girl glares at me and turns to say something sharp to him. He looks at her kindly, but there’s no heat in his gaze. At least not the kind she was looking for. She huffs off.

  Suddenly, the band’s amp screeches loudly, and their lead guitarist stumbles, falling to his knees. His buddies stop playing and try to stand him up, but he just lies there laughing.

  The crowd starts to shout, pushing toward the stage. They are not happy. And I can’t say I blame them.

  I motion to Logan, and he rolls his eyes as he walks toward the stage. The crew staggers the lead guitarist to his feet and lifts the guitar strap over his head, but he’s too wobbly to stand. Logan bends, shoves his shoulder into the man’s middle and hoists him over his back. Logan winks at me as he walks toward the back of the bar and disappears behind a curtain. The band members are huddled in a circle, trying to figure out if they can continue or not without their lead guitarist.

  My fingers twitch, and I wiggle my feet, trying to keep away. But it’s impossible. I slide from the stool, my legs wobbly as I walk over, and very nonchalantly step onto the stage. My heart is pounding in my ears, and I couldn’t utter a sound if I wanted to, my throat is so tight. But I pick up the abandoned guitar, slide the strap over my head, and look at the band members. I pull my pic out of my pocket and hover over the steel strings. One of them reaches to take the guitar from me. But I start to play before he can.

  “Sweet Child of Mine” rolls off my fingertips, the sound of it filling the space, and the men step back, aghast at the little girl who’s playing the big-boy guitar. Truth be told, it’s too big for me, but I don’t let that stop me. “We going to play or what, boys?” I yell. But I don’t stop playing, no matter what. The crowd is hooting, and I do a quick show for them.

  The members of the band all rearrange themselves, and the lead singer comes to me and asks, “What can you play?”

  “I can play anything you can sing,” I say with a laugh. My blood is surging in my veins, and the rhythm of the music is taking me away with it.

  “Can you be more specific?” he asks. But he’s smiling and watching my fingers as they fly around on the guitar. He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

  He goes back to the mic and says, “We have a surprise for you, folks!” He motions toward me. “She’s a whole lot prettier than our usual lead guitarist, don’t you think?”

  The crowd yells and claps. I keep playing until I wind down “Sweet Child of Mine.” I stop and look up at the lead, grinning. “What’s next?” I ask.

  He raises a brow. “‘Hotel California’?”

  I nod. I was playing that when I was eight. But I wait for the drummer to pick up the beat, and then I fall in with it. Their bass guitar duels with me for a minute, and then we find a rhythm.

  I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. Not since I left my band back home. I forgot how much I missed this.

  We finish up the song, and the lead singer mouths at me, “‘Welcome to the Jungle’?”

  I nod, laughing. I look out over the crowd and see Logan leaning against a post in the middle of the room. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his mouth is open slightly. I blow him a kiss, and he shakes his head, smiling. Goodness, that boy is pretty. He gives me a thumbs-up and walks away.

  I wish I could share this with him because this is the best feeling ever. The fans, the sound, the way I feel complete when I do this… There’s nothing that compares. I’m not scared. Not in the least bit. I love this. I love music. I love the guitar. And I’m afraid I’m a little bit in love with Logan.

  Logan

   

  I turn around to watch Kit as she plays. Her cheeks are all rosy, and she’s smiling. Every now and then, the others stop playing to give her a quick solo, and she strums the guitar, dancing around, her knees bending as she works it. By the way the crowd’s going crazy, I guess she’s really good at this.

  I can feel the thump of the music in the floor and on the walls, and I stop and rest my hand on one of the speakers.

  Kit’s hair is all wet, and her face is shining. She’s never looked more beautiful to me. This is obviously what she was born to do. And I can’t help but wonder why she’s busking in a subway for pennies rather than doing this full time. This is where her future lies. This is her passion.

  I’m happy just watching her. And I have to keep reminding myself to keep an eye on the crowd, rather than both my eyes on her.

  Someone chucks my shoulder, and I look over to find Pete standing beside me grinning. “Damn, she’s good,” he says. He plays some air guitar, and I can’t help but laugh at him. He waves at me and says, “Hell, I’ll leave it to the pro.” He points a finger toward Kit. “Did you know she could do that?”

  I shrug. I knew she could play. But apparently they think she’s really good. I motion to the crowd.

  I watch as the lead singer walks toward Kit and says something in her ear. He’s shirtless and sweaty, and she brushes him away like he’s a pesky fly. He goes, but he’s laughing when he does it, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I stand up taller.

  “He’s not worth it,” Pete says.

  I know. But I still don’t like it.

  “You got it bad for this one, don’t you?” he asks. He’s smiling, but his question is serious.

  I nod. I don’t need to say more than that. I do have it bad for this girl.

  The band breaks, and Kit wipes her hairline with her forearm. The lead singer walks toward her, but I go that direction and hop onto the stage before he can get to her. He nearly bumps into my back. But he stops and goes the other way.

  “Oh my God!” she says, excitement in her eyes as she jumps in place in front of me. “Did you see that?” she asks.

  Then she grabs my shoulders, jumps, and wraps her legs around my waist. She kisses me. She tastes like root beer and excitement as she licks into me. I hold her ass and jerk her tighter against me. The owner of the club waves, and I catch him out of the corner of my eye. He jerks his thumb toward the back of the club. I nod and carry Kit in that direction. But she’s all hyped up on nerves and attitude. And she hasn’t taken her lips from mine. I carry her into the storage room with her legs still wrapped around my waist and back her up against the wall. She’s tangling her tongue with mine, and I don’t ever want her to stop.

  She finally pulls back and looks at me, her hands clutching my face. “Did you see that?” she asks.

  “See what?” I have lost all my wits in her kiss.

  “Me
playing. Did you see it?”

  I nod, nuzzling my nose into her neck. “You were amazing.”

  “I know! Wasn’t I? Oh my God, I want to go back out there.” She unclenches her legs from around my waist and drops her feet to the floor. She starts to pace back and forth across the room, chewing on her fingernail. I can’t see her lips moving at all, but I lean against the wall and smile at her.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks, stopping to look at me.

  “Nothing,” I say. I walk to her and brush her sweaty hair from her neck. “You’re just so fucking beautiful.” She shivers as I blow across her neck.

  Her hand comes up to cover mine where it lies on her shoulder, and I get more comfort from that little touch than I ever have from a girl I’ve been inside. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she says.

  “Thank you for coming with me.”

  “I haven’t had this much fun in a really long time,” she admits. She’s glowing.

  I lean down and kiss her because she’s that damn pretty. She hears something from the doorway and turns to look that way. “I’ll be right there,” she says, holding up a finger. She looks up at me. “They’re ready to get started again.”

  “I have to get back to work, anyway. The owner just sent us back here because he was afraid I was going to fuck you on the stage.”

  She covers her mouth with her hand. “So, they think we’re having sex back here. Are you serious?”  Her eyes are wide.

  I can’t keep from grinning. “Probably.”

  “Do you do that back here often?” she asks.

  I freeze. I don’t want to answer her. Because I have done it. She doesn’t push for an answer. But she heaves a sigh and shoves herself away from me. I feel the loss of her immediately. “Don’t do that,” I say, taking her face in my hands. “I can’t change my past.”

  She looks deep into my eyes and says, “I know. I didn’t ask you to. I just have to go back on stage.” She kisses me softly. “Can we come back to this later?” she asks, grinning. She’s nearly vibrating with excitement.

  She’s not mad at me. Thank God. “We can come back to this as often as you want.” Anytime. Anyplace.

  She darts away from me, and I tug on her fingers to hold her back. She leaves me slowly, and I ache with wanting to jerk her back into my arms. But she turns and runs away.

  She hops back up on the stage, and I follow her. The lead singer turns to her, scowling. “You and Logan, huh?” he asks. I can read his lips from where I’m standing.

  She grins and nods her head.

  He says something that looks like, “Figures,” before he scowls and turns toward me. I point to her then point to my chest and mouth the word mine at him. He gets it. He totally gets it. He might not want it to be true, but he knows she’s not in his future. She’s my future.

  I go see Abby and get Kit a root beer. She’s been sweating up there for an hour, and they have another set to do. I point to the root beer lever on the fountain and raise my eyebrows.

  “For you?” Abby asks, with a pointed finger as she fills a glass. I point to Kit. She nods and drops two cherries into it. I turn to take it to Kit, and Abby tugs on my sleeve. “Where did she learn to play like that?” Abby asks.

  I shrug. I have no idea where she learned to play. All I know is that she’s good. I can tell by the way the crowd is reacting to her. My heart is filled with pride—and a lot more. A lot more that she’s probably not ready to address yet.

  I take her root beer to her and stand by the side of the stage to wait until she’s done with the song. But she marches down the steps, her fingers flying over the strings, and she leans over, taking the straw into her mouth. She sucks it greedily, and there’s not a man in the room who’s not envious of me right this moment. She never stops playing, but she drains the glass. Then she smiles at me, kisses me quickly, and struts back up the steps and onto the stage. Great. Now I have a hard on and so does every man within a twenty foot radius. Suddenly, she runs back down the steps. She nods toward a cherry in the glass, and I lift it to her lips. She takes it against the tip of her tongue and closes her lips around it. She pops it off the stem with a gentle tug. She nods to the other and looks at my lips. She taunts me with her grin, and I lift it to my lips and open my mouth for it. I tongue it from the stem, taking my time with it, playing with her, until she leans over, opens her mouth over mine, and takes it back from me.

  I pretend to look offended, but I’m so fucking turned on that all I can do is look like an idiot.

  Emily

   

  I crash onto the stool at the end of the bar I’d vacated when I took over the band’s guitar and lean my elbows on the table. A grin I can’t suppress tugs at my lips. Abby clinks a root beer down in front of me. “That was amazing!” she says as she tosses in two cherries.

  I nod. It was pretty damn amazing. I’m still trying to catch my breath. I lift my wet hair off my neck and roll it into a lump then let it go.

  “You been playing for a long time?” Abby asks. She wipes the bar down with a rag.

  “I think I was playing before I could walk,” I admit. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have a guitar. “My grandfather gave me my first guitar.” My dad was all for it until it became the only thing I was good at.

  “Well, you can tell.” She raises a hand to give me a high five. “That was fantastic.” She clenches my hand for a second and meets my eyes, smiling. I don’t quite know what to do with that yet.

  I look around the bar. The place is finally quiet, and Logan is stacking chairs on tables for the cleaning crew. He raises the tail of his T-shirt and mops his brow with it. His abs ripple as he bends, and a whistle escapes my lips. “Goodness gracious,” I breathe.

  “That boy is one fine piece of man candy,” she says, stopping to lick her lips.

  “Makes me want to lick him from top to bottom,” I reply softly, more to myself than to her. My face floods with heat when I see that she heard me.

  She laughs and keeps cleaning. “What’s stopping you?”

  I point to Logan. “He is.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline. “Logan won’t scratch your itch?” She points a finger toward him. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give her mouth-to-mouth, she looks so shocked.

  I shake my head. “He scratched my itch. But he won’t let me scratch his,” I whisper fiercely. I have no idea why I’m talking to this girl. Probably because she’s a bartender. They have a natural way of making people open up and spill their guts. Consider me eviscerated.

  Abby steps back, her chin dropping toward her chest. She regards me like I just grew two heads. Then she smiles. “It’s about damn time,” she says, throwing her head back with a laugh.

  “It’s not funny,” I pout. “And don’t say anything to Ford, okay?” I add.

  She holds up a hand like she’s raising it to God and says, “I promise not to say a word.” She laughs again. “Even though it’s the news of the century, I’ll keep it to myself.”

  I look up as Pete walks out the back, but he’s deep in conversation with Bone and another man. I watch them closely. Pete reaches over and shakes hands with Bone. What in the world is that about? You never shake hands with Bone. Ever. That would imply that you made a deal with him. And Bone’s deals never turn out well for anyone but Bone.

  Logan smacks his hands together to get Pete’s attention. He signs something really quickly, but Pete brushes him off with a wave. Logan sets down the mop he was wielding and steps toward the pair of them. Bone squeezes Pete’s shoulder and then walks away from him and straight toward me.

  Bone leans back against the counter beside me, and Abby tries to make herself look really busy. I watch Logan as he yells at Pete in sign language. I have no idea what he’s saying, but it’s not pleasant, whatever it is.

  Bone looks at me over his shoulder and says, “You got a place to stay tonight, Kit?”

  I nod. “Yep. But thanks for checking.”

&
nbsp; Bone looks closely at me for a minute. So closely that my skin crawls. “Let me know if you ever need anything.”

  “Sure will.” I don’t say more than that. I just play with my straw and wait for him to walk away. It’s best not to antagonize him.

  Bone stands up tall, nods at me, and walks toward the back entrance. He leaves. Logan is still yelling at Pete, and Pete’s finally deflating a bit. Logan’s bigger than he is. But that’s not all. Pete looked like he wanted to argue with Logan when they first started talking. But then Logan wraps his fist up in Pete’s shirt and jerks him into his chest. He’s not signing a word. He’s just glaring at Pete until Pete holds up his hands in surrender. If looks could kill, Pete would be a dead lump on the floor.

  Logan releases him, and Pete falls back from his tiptoes onto his heels. He signs something that calms Logan down, but he’s still pissed, and he starts shoving chairs from place to place. He was stacking them. Now he’s stacking them forcefully. Pete walks toward me and grumbles.

  “What were you doing with Bone, Pete?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he mutters.

  “That man’s no good. Don’t let him get you into trouble,” I warn quietly.

  “Why does everyone think I’m going to get into trouble?” Pete asks, affronted. He pats his chest. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Not with the likes of him,” I say.

  He looks up at me and asks, “What do you know about Bone?”

  “More than I want to know,” I admit. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. I’ve seen what he’s done to girls at the shelters. I’ve seen how he uses them.

  “Mmm hmm,” Pete hums.

  Just then, the band members walk out from the back of the building. The lead singer walks toward me and slaps a small pile of bills in front of me. He sits down on a stool next to me, his shoulder a little too close to mine for comfort. I shift away. He doesn’t take the hint.

  I look down at the stack of money. “What’s that for?” I ask.

  “That’s your cut of the door.”

  “What’s that mean?” I ask.

  He nods toward the front door. “We get a percentage of the cover charge. That’s your cut. We split it five ways.”

  A grin steals across my lips. “Seriously?”

  He smiles and nods. “Seriously.” He lays a hand over mine. “You did a good job tonight.”

  I slide my hand from under his and wipe it on my jeans. He doesn’t notice. He looks at me like he’s hungry, and I’m cake.

  I pick up the stack of bills and fan them out in my hand. There’s more than three hundred dollars here. My mouth falls open. “Thanks,” I say. I can live for weeks on this much money.

  He shrugs. “You earned it.”

  Abby jumps in. She’s watching Logan across the room—and warning me by shooting her eyes in Logan’s direction. “Logan’s girlfriend is an amazing guitar player, huh?” she asks.

  “Girlfriend, huh?” he asks me quietly.

  I smile and nod. “Girlfriend.” I look over and see Logan walking toward us. He’s not smiling. He’s doing the opposite. I get up and step between him and the lead singer. I didn’t even get his name. But I don’t really want it. I tuck the money in my pocket and put my hands on Logan’s chest. He looks down at me and tries to brush me to the side, but I won’t let him.

  “When can we go home?” I ask, purposefully tugging him toward me by the loops in his jeans. He finally looks down at me. His brow is furrowed as he glares at me. “What’s the sign for home?” I ask.

  He shows me, looking into my eyes as he signs it. I point to me and then repeat the sign. Logan nods.

  The lead singer walks by us and speaks softly so I can hear but Logan can’t see his lips. “When he’s done with you, give me a call, sweetheart,” he says.

  Abby gasps. He looks over at her and winks, and she flips him the bird. He laughs louder, and then he leaves, taking his bandmates with him.

  Logan wants to talk to me, I can tell. But he won’t do it with everyone looking. “When can we go home?” I ask again.

  He looks around. The chairs are all put up, and Ford took over with the mop. Logan claps his hands at Pete, and Pete turns around. He makes the sign he just showed me for home, and Pete nods. He’s still pissy, but he comes with us.

  I wave at Abby, and she waves back. She’s lifting her purse from beneath the bar, so I think she’s about to leave, too. “Don’t be a stranger!” she yells at me. I smile back and nod. She’s nice. I like her.

  We walk through the bar to the back exit and let ourselves out. It’s after four in the morning and I’m tired, but the cold air wraps around me and I feel more invigorated than I have in a really long time. I just got to play with a band for hours. And I have over three hundred dollars in my pocket.

  Logan takes my hand in his and looks around. The streets are dark and more than a little scary at this hour. I’m suddenly really glad I’m with these two men. They’re both built like mountains, and the tats make them look much fiercer than they are. I want to talk to Logan, but I know he can’t walk beside me and see my lips. So I stay quiet all the way to his apartment. He motions for Pete to go up the stairs, and we stand in the stairwell for a moment. He brushes back a strand of hair that’s stuck to my lip.

  “You really enjoyed tonight, didn’t you?” he asks as soon as Pete’s gone.

  I nod and bury my face in his chest for a moment, squealing inside with excitement. I want to bite his chest, but I lift my head and say, “Thanks so much for taking me with you.”

  “What did Bone want with you?”

  I shrug. “Same thing he always wants.”

  “Have you ever worked for him?” He appraises me closely, his blue eyes searching my face.

  “Never.”  It’s true. I have never fallen that far. Although I came close more than once.

  He takes my hand in his and starts up the stairs. I kind of like holding hands with him. It’s nice. He pushes me up the steps before him, and I turn around to say, “Do you know this is the first time I’ve ever walked up these steps of my own free will?”

  He turns me around, slaps me on the ass, and I hear him chuckle. It’s more of a murmuring sound, but it’s all Logan, and it warms my heart.

  Logan

   

  I’m so pissed at Pete that I can barely keep from running up the stairs and strangling the living shit out of him. He has something going on with Bone, but he won’t tell me what they were talking about. Bone’s no good, and Pete knows it. So I have no idea what his purpose is for talking to the loser. He should have stayed far away from him.

  But Kit’s hand is in mine, and it jerks me from my thoughts about strangling Pete. I stop at the top of the stairs and draw her to me. She laughs and falls into me, her hands landing flat on my chest. Her thumb scrubs across one of my piercings, and my breath catches. “Kit,” I warn.

  “What?” she asks playfully, a grin tugging at her lips. “After what you did to me on the bathroom counter, you still won’t let me touch you? Seriously?” She’s playing, and I know it. But I don’t want to explain it. I cup her neck with my hand, and I feel a soft purr in her throat. God, I want her so bad.

  “I enjoyed what I did to you on the bathroom counter,” I say as I touch my lips to hers. I lick across the seam of her lips, and she opens for me. Her tongue is a velvet rasp against mine, and I can imagine her taking my dick in her mouth and licking across it the same way. I groan into her mouth, and she steps up on tiptoe to get closer to me. Her hands slide around my neck, her tits pressed against my chest.

  She lifts her head so I can see her lips. “When do I get to return the favor?” she asks. Her cheeks color prettily, and I can tell asking the question embarrasses her. God, she’s so damn cute.

  I shake my head. “Not going to happen.”

  She pulls back farther, her eyebrows drawing together into a crease. “How long are you going to stick to that rule?” she asks.

  “As long as it take
s for you to trust me.”

  “I trust you now,” she protests.

  She doesn’t. If she did, she would tell me her secrets. “No, you don’t.”

  “There are just some things I can’t tell anyone.” She takes my face in her hands. “Even you.” Her breath rushes against my lips, and it’s all I can do not to press her against the wall and sink inside her right here and now. I could have her jeans off in seconds. Her legs around my waist.

  She breaks me from my haze of lust when she says, “I want to tell you everything.”

  “You don’t have to tell me everything. But you can’t hold back from me.”

  She lets me go and steps away, her breath rushing from her. I can feel the blast of it against my chin. “You mean like you’re holding back from me.”

  I jerk her back to me, and she pushes off. She’s irked. I try to explain. “If I ever get to fucking be inside you, I want to know what to call you. I want to at least know your name. Because when that happens, you’re going to fucking own me.” I tip her face up so she’s looking at me. “Do you understand?”

  She looks unsure.

  “You’re going to own me.” I jerk her hips to mine, letting her feel how much I want her. “And there’s nothing I want more.”

  I step back, brush her hair from her face, and open the door, tugging on her fingertips until she follows me. She’s dragging. She yanks at my hand until I look at her.

  “I want everything you want,” she says. She’s not looking me in the eye—hers are closed. So, I wait for her eyes to open. They finally do, and she meets my gaze. “I do want everything you want. I just can’t have it.”

  I lay her hand on my chest and spread her fingers over my heart. “You already have me.” I laugh. “You had me from that first moment in the shop.” I hold up my arm, so she can look closely at her tat.  “I’m wearing your fucking brand, dammit.” I tip her face up to mine. “What are you afraid of? You’re hiding from something. I know that. But I don’t know what.”

  She bites her lower lip and worries it. I tug it free with my thumb and lean down, sucking it between my lips. She growls against my lips. I set her back and away from me, and I can feel the rumble in her chest as she moves.

  “I’ll tell you. I can’t tell you everything. But I can tell you some of it,” she says.

  My heart swells. I take her hand and lead her into the apartment. The whole place is quiet. Everyone is already in bed. “Want to take a shower?” I ask her. She sweated the night away.

  “I thought you wanted to talk,” she says, looking everywhere but at me.

  “I do.” And I don’t. Now I’m really afraid. “Take a shower and then we can talk until the sun comes up, if you want.”

  She nods and bites her lower lip again, which sends a kick straight to my gut. Then she turns from me. Suddenly, she spins back. She grins and jerks her thumb toward the bathroom. “You want to join me in the shower so we can talk in there?”

  Something tells me that if we end up in the shower, we won’t be doing much talking. “We’ll talk when you get out.”

  Her bottom lip pouts out. But then she shrugs and says, “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  Emily

   

  I shower quickly, trying to put my thoughts in order. I have to be really careful about what I tell Logan, mainly because there are so many people looking for me. I still see the “Lost” posters at times. And there are news blasts sometimes with pictures of the old me. They’re of the version of me with dark-blond hair, pretty headbands, and shoes that cost more than the Reeds’ monthly budget. I ignore the searches, telling myself that person no longer exists. It’s easier that way.

  I miss home about as much as I would miss a toothache. But I’ve been gone so long now that I can’t go back. I left out of anger, and I can’t go home out of shame or necessity. I will only go home when I’m strong enough to stand up for myself. And I haven’t felt like that for quite some time.

  I wrap a towel around my head and another around my body, and I step into the bedroom. Logan’s reclining on the bed wearing nothing but his boxers. He tosses me a clean shirt, and I pull it over my head. He closes his eyes as I slide the towel down and step into my panties. I can hear the hiss of his heavy breaths across the room, and it’s a heady feeling to know how I affect him.

  “You still want to talk?” I ask. “Or are you too tired?” I shake out my hair and run a comb through it.

  “There’s no way you’re taking back your offer,” he warns. “You can’t tease me like that.”

  I laugh. “I’m not taking it back. I just thought you might want to wait until tomorrow.”

  He sits up and crosses his legs in front of him. I crawl onto the bed and mirror his position.

  His gaze darts down to my panties, where he can probably see the strip of fabric between my legs. But I still sit criss-cross-applesauce. He groans. “You’re killing me here.”

  I tug his shirt down over my knees. “You’re making me spill my guts. You can take some torture, too.” I glare at him until his gaze becomes indecipherable. “What is it?” I ask.

  He heaves a sigh.

  I hold up a hand to stop his melancholy mood. “If you could do anything, what would it be?” I ask.

  His eyebrows shoot up. “We’re supposed to be talking about you.”

  “We will,” I warn. “I promise. Just tell me, if you could do anything, what would you do?”

  He doesn’t even blink. But his eyes darken, and he says, “I’d lay you down, move your panties to the side, and slide inside you.”

  I freeze. My gut clenches and my belly quivers and my face heats up. I want what he wants. I want it so badly.

  He laughs. “Oh, you meant the thing I want second-most?”

  “That’ll do,” I croak.

  “I’d go back to college,” he says over his laughter.

  “Back to college? When were you in college?”

  He scrubs a hand down his face. “Before Matt got sick. I had a scholarship.”

  “But you had to come back home because of Matt and his cancer?” I lay a hand on my chest. My heart is breaking for this family. For Logan.

  He shrugs. “We had to get some loans against the shop to pay for his treatment. And then he couldn’t keep doing tats because of the germs. So, we couldn’t pay the loans. Pete and Sam weren’t old enough to work there. Not doing tats.”

  “What school did you go to?” I ask.

  “NYU.” His brows furrow. “Why does any of this matter?”

  “You gave up your scholarship for Matt. For your family.”

  He shakes his head. “I got a deferment. I didn’t give up. I can go back once things are good here.”

  “Did it cost a lot of money for Matt’s treatment?”

  He nods, but he doesn’t elaborate. I can guess what a lot of money is to them.

  “I wanted to do that, too,” I say quietly. No one knows this. No one else knows I had dreams once. “Well, not to NYU. I wanted to go to Julliard. But my dad said it was a worthless endeavor, and he refused to pay for it.” I hold up a finger when he opens his mouth to protest. “But he was willing to pay for a wedding that cost four times what Julliard ever would.” I shake my head.

  Logan looks a bit shell shocked. “A wedding?” he asks.

  I nod, looking up at him from beneath lowered lashes.

  His breath hitches. “Please tell me you’re not married.”

  I shake my head. “No. That’s why I’m here.” I scoot forward so my knees are touching his. I don’t touch him anywhere else, but I need a connection with him. “My father arranged a marriage for me. That’s all I was good for, being on the arm of a senator or a high-powered attorney. I had no worth of my own, aside from being someone’s trophy. Since I can’t read, that was supposed to be my future.”

  “But you said no.”

  I nod. “I said no. And he didn’t like it. So, he went on without me. The wedding was planned. The dress was pu
rchased. The church was decorated.”

  His eyebrows shoot toward the ceiling. “But you ran away.”

  I nod, biting my lower lip. He pulls it free with the pad of his thumb and strokes across it. I kiss his thumb, and he leans back. “I ran away,” I confirm. “On the morning of the wedding, I ran away. I took a bus from home to here.”

  “With nothing.”

  I show him my empty hands. “I took some clothes, my guitar, and bus fare.”

  “Where are you from?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I can’t tell you.” Yet. I know I’ll tell him eventually. But I can’t risk him calling my family. I can’t risk them finding out where I am. My father is one of the richest men in the country. He would spare no expense in bringing me home.

  He nods. He’s not happy about it, but he understands. “Julliard, huh?” he asks, smiling. His thumb trails across the back of my hand.

  “Julliard,” I say with a smile. “I struggle with reading,” I admit, “but Julliard didn’t care. I even auditioned for them without him knowing. They wanted me and offered special services for my dyslexia. But my dad’s of the opinion that I can’t learn. Anything.”

  “Your dad is an idiot.” Logan says it deadpan.

  I laugh. It’s a watery sound. He believes in me. Logan believes I could do it.

  “What’s stopping you from going now?”

  “My social security number,” I explain. “My father is looking for me. And I’m afraid he’ll force me back there if he knows where I am. He can track my movements if I go to the doctor or get a bank account or register for school.”

  Logan shakes his head. “You’re an adult. You’re not under your father’s thumb.”

  “I know.” I’m starting to realize that. “I don’t think I’ll ever go back.”

  “Do you miss them? Your family?”

  I miss them like crazy. “Almost every day.”

  “Your dad?”

  I nod.

  “Your mom?”

  I nod, and tears prick at my lashes when I think of her. But she didn’t help me when I begged and pleaded. She’d sided with my father.

  “Siblings?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “My parents didn’t have more children. I’m their only one. Poor things got gypped, huh?”

  “Don’t say that,” he warns sharply.

  “It’s the truth. I’ve never been what they wanted.”

  “What did they want?”

  Someone else. “Someone who could read, follow in their footsteps. Someone who doesn’t struggle with street signs or financial statements. I can’t do any of those things.”

  “Have they ever seen you play?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Not like I played tonight.”

  “Then they’re even bigger idiots than I thought. You were amazing tonight. You had the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand.”

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  His eyes narrow. “It’s the truth.”

  “I appreciate you so much,” I say. I know I’ve only known him for a few days, but it feels like forever. “Did I tell you enough?” I ask.

  “Not by a long shot,” he says with a laugh. “I want to know everything.”

  Maybe someday. “Can we take this slow?”

  I can’t give him enough info that he could contact my parents. Because I’m afraid he would, thinking he was helping me.

  “You’re worried that I’ll betray your confidence?” he asks. He sits back, affronted.

  “Some people have good intentions. I know you do. But you don’t understand how much I have to keep my anonymity. I can’t trust anyone.” If I do, my parents will suddenly have the info they need to sweep down and snatch me back into their world.

  He nods. He’s somber. I should have known how this would affect him.

  “Now that you know where I came from, I understand if you want me to leave.” I turn to reach for my bag, so that I can gather my things.

  “What the fuck?” he says, his arm snaking around my stomach as he picks me up and lifts me into his lap. I turn to face him, my legs over his thigh. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I heave a sigh. “I have no idea.”

  He tips my face up and looks into my eyes. “I want you here. Will you stay?”

  “Will you be satisfied with what I told you?”

  He nods. “For now, yes.”

  His eyes narrow, and I know what his next question is. “Will you tell me your name?”

  I shake my head. I can’t. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  He nods, settling me against his shoulder. He holds me like that for a minute, and then he jostles me out of his arms. He pulls the covers back and picks me up, tucking me in. He climbs in after me and turns me to face him. “I had hoped for more, but I’ll take what I can get. Thank you for telling me what you did.”

  “Thank you for listening.”

  I lean forward and touch my lips to his. He’s hesitant. “What’s wrong?” I ask, leaning back.

  He pulls me into him, and I feel the length of him against my hip.

  “Oh,” I say. My belly clenches. My need matches his.

  He brushes my hair back from my face with gentle fingers. “Yeah,” he says with a laugh. “It’s like this crazy torment, having you this close to me.”

  “You know, we could—” I start. But he puts a finger against my lips to stop me.

  “I can wait,” he says. He reaches over and turns off the light. He rolls me into him, and the sparse dusting of hair on his chest tickles my cheek.

  “I think I might love you, Logan,” I say to the darkness.

  His head lifts. I can see it in the sliver of light that’s falling from the open curtain. “Did you say something?” he asks.

  I shake my head, letting my nose brush his chest so he can feel my answer.

  “You sure?” he asks.

  I nod, my nose moving up and down. He kisses the top of my head and hitches my leg up over his hip. I wrap an arm around him and snuggle in deeply. “Go to sleep,” he says softly.

  So I do.