Tailspin (Better Than You)

by Raquel Valldeperas

  But something’s not adding up. “Kait,” I start, looking up to see where she’s at in the room. “How many bottles of-”

  When I finally see her, the extra body standing in front of the door, it takes a minute to compute. She looks so different- more beautiful, if at all possible. There are lines around her honey eyes, which I know from experience are from smiling. Her hair is pulled back into a long ponytail, exposing the fullness of her cheeks and the length of her neck. A neck I can still remember grasping, touching. My fingers twitch, longing to pull her to me again, just to see if this is as real as it looks.

  Instead, I let my eyes roll down the length of her- curves where there were none before, confidence where none existed.

  And then she speaks, and I swear the world stops spinning, the force of it throwing me sideways and backwards and twisting me inside out. It’s one word, “Hey,” spoken so softly and normally that it’s as if all of this time hasn’t passed by. But it has. And she’s here. And she’s healthy, that much is obvious. Time has healed her.

  I stand. Somewhere in the distance I can hear the clipboard with the numbers fall off of my lap and hit the floor. Another part of my mind has realized that Kait and Bridget aren’t even in the room. Within a matter of seconds, my life has changed again. Finally the pieces inside of me that never stop moving have settled. Of their own accord, my feet bring me closer to Logan, closer to the woman who has the power to correct a tailspin with just one word. We’re just inches apart now, the space between us so infinitesimal compared to where we were. I would have been happy with a text message, accepted a phone call gladly, but this? Her being here, solid, close enough to touch, it’s almost too much to bear.

  Almost.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice barely squeezing through the ball wedged in my throat.

  “I, uh-” Her voice wavers, a contrast to the confidence in her stance, and it hits me then: This is still Logan. “I came to say that- I wanted to-”

  I move closer, notice how her chest pushes against mine as each breath expands and contracts. After a few exhales, my breathing matches up to hers. We’re in sync. Always connected. “Can we start over?” she finally says, her breathing heavy and voice light.

  “Is that what you want?”

  She nods. It’s jerky, desperate. So much raw emotion in that one, common movement that it’s like a fist reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart. She wants to start over. With me.

  Clearing her throat, she slips her hand in between us. I slide mine into hers and wait. “Hi,” she begins. “I’m Logan Reynolds. Former drug addict and current addict of trolli gummi worms. I’m twenty years old, freshman at Florida Gulf Coast University and lover of all things beachy.”

  I’m smiling so hard it hurts, but I can’t stop. “I’m Nathan Hawkins,” I mimic. “Former undercover cop and addict of the smell of surf wax. I’m twenty four years old and owner of this fine establishment.” With my free hand, I glide my fingertips across her cheek, noting how smooth the skin is; how smooth it’s always been. It feels right, this moment between us and the moments that are sure to follow. It feels whole. “Welcome to My Friend’s Place.”

  And then, because I can’t stand it any longer, as if she’s the piece that’s always been missing, I close the distance between us, sealing her mouth with mine. This time when the world starts to spin, it’s a good feeling. Everything sets back in motion, moving forward towards a better ending. Her smell, something new and flowery, engulfs and stretches around me, closes us in this little bubble of time in the stockroom of my bar.

  Eventually I pull away and look into her eyes. Eyes that smile. “How much time do we have?”

  “A few hours, at least.” She bites her lip and smiles, flashing white teeth and a crooked bottom tooth. “I want you to meet someone.”

  “Is this someone a guy?” I ask, joking around. Mostly. She just laughs and grabs my hand, pulls me out of the stock room and through the bar. Around to the employee exit and out into the parking lot. The sound follows me the whole way, a welcome echo.

  Leaning up against a car is blonde girl, probably around Logan’s age. She stands upright when she sees us, practically jumping up and down with excitement. “Nathan,” Logan says, watching me with unrestrained joy. This person is important to her, I realize. “This is Melissa. My very best friend.”

  I begin to stick out my hand for Melissa to shake, even go as far as opening my mouth to say, It’s a pleasure to meet you, or something cheesy like that, when Melissa jumps into my arms, practically throwing me to the ground. “It is so good to finally meet you.”

  Looking over at Logan, who is wearing the widest smile I have ever seen, I say, “You too, Melissa,” and pat her back.

  She finally backs up, wiping tears out of her eyes in the process. “Sorry, ignore me,” she says with a small laugh.

  “She’s a hugger. And a crier,” Logan explains.

  “Ah. I see,” I say, and I mean it. I can still feel her vise-like grip around my neck.

  “Anyway, I’ll meet you back here at,” Melissa looks at her cell phone. “Eight? Sound good?”

  “Yep.” Logan and Melissa hug and I look away, feeling as if this moment doesn’t belong to me. I can hear them whispering back and forth, Logan laughing again, and I smile. It’s all so normal.

  Logan’s small hand slips into mine, warm and soft. Not cold and clammy like the last time I held it. I turn to her, my smile widening. Brush my fingers against her cheek because I can’t help it. “Where to?” I ask.

  “Ice cream, and then the beach.”

  While we’re walking along the strip, I notice several different things. Logan’s hands are not only warm and soft, but they’re steady, her grip strong and sure. She’s looking around at all the people, the beach, the sky, when she says, “God, I miss it here.”

  “You don’t like Ft. Meyers?”

  “I do, but it’s different. There’s just so much going on here. I couldn’t handle it before, but now…”

  Her words trail off, sucked into the murmur of passing cars and conversation. “Now?” I ask hopefully. Will she be coming back? Will we get another chance?

  She shrugs and squeezes my hand. “It’s not for sure yet, but we might be moving back. Melissa and me, I mean. She wants to go to school for fashion design and the Art Institute down here is her best bet.”

  “What about you?” I ask. “What are you going to do?”

  She stops and faces me, her eyes boring into mine. “I’m not sure,” she says and then bites her lip, hesitancy spread across her features. “I just- I want to be closer to you. I know that so much time has gone by since…everything, and maybe it’s presumptuous of me, but-”

  “Stop, Lo,” I interrupt, placing a finger on her lips to silence her. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you. That doesn’t change just because time has gone by.” I realize then that it’s true. That even though each day has passed, pulling me farther from her and my memories of our time together, the inexplicable draw to her hasn’t let up. We’re opposite ends of a magnet. A bee and a flower. A bullet and a gun.

  She lets out a long breath and then places her forehead against my chest. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she mumbles into my shirt.

  Wrapping my arms around her, I laugh. I savor this moment, so much better than anything my mind could have dreamed up. Adjusting my hold on her, she snuggles underneath my arm and we continue walking towards the ice cream shop; towards our future.

  ~~

  “If she said she’ll text you, than she’ll text you.”

  I glance at Emily, then look back down at my phone. “I wasn’t thinking that she wouldn’t.”

  “Sure,” she says, dragging out the skeptical word.

  “Really. I just want to make sure I don’t miss it.”

  “Right. Because text messages disappear.”

  Locking the screen, I sigh and sit back. “You know, I could call you out on so much, but I never do.
Why do you give me such a hard time?”

  She scoffs and continues to flip through the channels on the TV. Joshua’s in bed, and we’re down here watching late night sitcoms like an old couple. “What could you possibly give me a hard time about?”

  Lifting my hand in the air, I count off the list on my fingers. “Derek, Derek, oh and Derek.”

  Much to her credit, Emily doesn’t flinch. “Whatever. Nothing’s happening there.”

  “You sound upset by that,” I say, averting my eyes. If she is then I’m the one to blame.

  “It’s not a big deal. We’re just friends.”

  “That’s good.”

  A few minutes pass with nothing but the TV as noise, and then my phone vibrates. I lunge for it, as if it might grow legs and run away, swiping the screen in the process of picking it up. It’s Logan. A huge cloud of doubt that I didn’t realize was lingering floats away.

  I’m home :)

  I smile, wondering what her dorm looks like; if it’s messy or clean, bright or dark, big or small. There’s so much I don’t know about her. I’m hoping that I get the chance to learn everything there is this time around.

  30

  November 19, 2010

  It’s been two weeks since Logan came waltzing into my bar. Since she’s finishing up school, she hasn’t been able to come back. I’m on my way to surprise her at her dorm. I pick up the phone on the seat next to me and read the directions one more time. I’ve never been good with them, and unfortunately, I’m lost. I’m also an hour behind schedule.

  An idea pops into my head. The line rings four times before Logan picks up. “Hey,” she says. I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “What does your dorm building look like?” I ask.

  “Um, it’s the biggest one. Lots of windows, obviously.” She laughs. We do this a lot, where I ask her to describe the building she’s walking into, so it doesn’t give away my surprise. “It’s actually a pretty boring building. I don’t know how else to describe it…”

  But I already have the building in my sights. Finding a guest spot, I tell Logan I have to go, that Chief is calling me, and hang up. Melissa said she already called me in this morning, and sure enough, the security at the desk checks my ID and waves me in. The entire time I’m climbing the stairs to the third floor, my heart is pounding. Not only are the cement floors and posters on the walls bringing back memories, but I’m imagining Logan sitting in bed with text books strewn all around her, how I would have to shove those aside to lay her down.

  Turning the corner onto Logan’s floor, I stop suddenly. She’s there, just down the hall, leaning against her door jam and talking to some guy. Naturally, I size him up, from the messy brown hair on his head to the boat shoes on his feet. He’s tall, but not very wide, tanned and wearing a Guy Harvey shirt that’s pushed up to his elbows. I look at her next, clad in a pair of jeans shorts and an off the shoulder T-shirt. Her brown hair is up in a messy bun, some of it falling out to surround her face. She looks beautiful, relaxed and comfortable talking to this other guy. Jealousy, as lethal as acid, pools in my stomach.

  The thing is- I don’t want to interrupt. This is her world, her new start, and here I am, a piece of her past blasting in like I own the place. I should have called. I should have given her fair warning that I was coming. Maybe she would have convinced me not to come, told me she was too busy with schoolwork while Guy Harvey dude sweet talks her outside her dorm.

  But I can’t look away. Like a creeper, I half hide behind the wall and watch as Logan laughs, uncrosses her arms and tucks a hair behind her ear. Guy Harvey dude is gesturing with his hands, telling a story that she obviously finds funny. How many times have I made her laugh like that? I know the answer, and it makes me want to punch someone. What am I doing here?

  Logan’s talking now. I can hear the sweetness of her voice, unfiltered and bright. She sounds so different over the phone. She gestures behind her with her thumb, and Guy Harvey dude nods. Logan turns and opens her door, and then they disappear behind it.

  The right thing to do in this situation would be to walk away, drive back home and pretend nothing happened. If all she wants is to be my friend, than so be it. At least she’s in my life. But it doesn’t make sense. Why would she drive all the way to Miami to see me, after so long? Why would she tell me that she wants to be with me, and then invite this guy into her room?

  Before I know it, I’m half jogging to her room, pounding on the door so loudly that it echoes in the empty, cement hall. Logan opens it and when she sees me, her eyes widen. She looks behind her, and then back at me. “Nathan? What are you doing here?”

  I lift my shoulders. “Surprise?”

  “Um,” she says, glancing back again.

  “Is this a bad time?” I’m being an asshole, I know it, but I can’t help it. I move around her and walk into the room. Guy Harvey dude stands from sitting on the edge of her bed and looks at me, then at Logan.

  Instead of decking him like I want to, so badly it burns, I stick my hand out and say, “I’m Nathan.”

  He hesitates, and then grips my hand. “Cody. Nice to meet you.”

  “We have a few classes together,” Logan interjects, and Cody looks at her like he’s seeing an alien.

  “We’re friends,” he adds, sounding annoyed that she belittled their acquaintance to just classmates. The air is thick with tension, our words wading through a pool of mud. “I’ll go,” Cody says while walking towards the door, exchanging a look with Logan on the way out.

  The door clicks shut. Cody’s footsteps echo through the hall and then the sound of a door opening and closing. So he lives in this dorm, too.

  “We’re just friends,” Logan says, her hands balled by her sides. She’s trying to keep them from shaking.

  I can do one of two things; continue to be an asshole, and pretend like the whole situation doesn’t mean a thing to me, or act like a jealous asshole and get mad. I opt for option number one. Shrugging my shoulders, I stick my hands in my pockets. “That’s cool.”

  She eyes me carefully. “You’re not mad?”

  “Why would I be? You’re just friends and we’re just friends.”

  “Friends. Right.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest “Why’d you drive all the way over here?”

  “I had some free time. Didn’t feel like working at the bar.” It’s a lie. I had to beg Chief for the day off. He only agreed because I offered to do detail work for some craft fair his wife is doing.

  “Free time,” she repeats skeptically.

  “Yeah. Weird, right? So,” I say, trying to change the subject. “What were you doing before I got here?” She gives me a look. “Before Cody got here,” I add.

  With her chin, she gestures at the desk in the corner of the room. “Homework.”

  A piece of hair falls in front of her face. I’m expecting her to move it, but she doesn’t. It hangs there, caressing the skin just below her chin. I stand and walk towards her, slowly approaching until we’re so close that I can tell she’s not breathing. Her arms have dropped, now hanging loosely by her side. I reach out and brush the strand of hair away, push it behind her ear and let my finger linger on the side of her neck.

  “I’d offer to help with your homework, but I’m no good at that stuff.”

  She finally lets out a breath, warmth running over my chest where her lips are almost touching. Forgetting about Cody and my jealousy, and focusing on the way her skin feels underneath my fingers, I shift my hand to the back of her head, tangle my fingers into her messy bun and pull so that her lips are just a few inches away from mine. “I’m good at other stuff, though.”

  “Like what?” she asks, her lips barely moving.

  As an answer, I push my mouth against hers, slip my arm around her waist and push the rest of her body flush against mine. Everywhere our bodies touch is electric, sizzling. Her arms wrap around my neck and my tongue wraps around hers and then I can’t even think straight. I knew that if I ever had anot
her chance with Logan, I wanted to take it slow, savor every inch of her. But this is frantic, our teeth colliding and our feet tripping as we shuffle to the bed.

  We land on the hard, skinny mattress in a tangle of arms and legs, her underneath and me on top, each movement punctuated by our heavy breathing. Logan’s hands follow the line of my spine, my hips and then my abs, her fingers tracing each individual muscle. They tense in response, everything clenching and pulling and throbbing.

  And that pull of blood, that need to bury myself inside of her that surges through my body, makes me put on the breaks. It’s a splash of cold water, because Logan and I are nowhere near ready for this. Part of me is man enough to admit that while the other part of me is screaming in frustration.

  Pulling my mouth away from hers is like extracting a tooth; painful and unwanted. Her eyes stay closed for a while after I pull away, her lips still pressed into that perfect pout. When she realizes I’m not coming back, her eyes pop open, glazed over from passion and lust.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, concern and confusion furrowing her brow.

  “Nothing, I just- I need a minute.” I push off the bed and slide to the ground, kneeling in front of Logan with my forehead on her knees. Breathe. Control yourself.

  Her fingers brush through my hair, delicate, tempting. “Come back up here,” she says, her voice sultry and soft.

  I lift my head and look into her eyes, this position so fitting for our relationship. I’m not the rescuer, the prince charming, the white knight; merely a slave at the feet of her mercy. She watches me for a minute before sitting back. “Are you thirsty?” she asks.

  Before I can answer, she stands and walks over to a mini fridge, pulls a water bottle out and throws it to me. “Thank you.” The cold water fills my mouth, slides down my throat and pools in my stomach, extinguishing the slowly building fire inside.