Logan Kade

by Tijan

  Cheese—check.

  Eggs—check.

  Vegetables—check.

  I stood back and perused the ingredients on the counter. I had everything…wait, I didn’t. Bacon—and double-check. We were good to go. Mission To-Build-The-Best-Omelet-Ever was about to commence.

  “What are you doing?” Nate came in behind me, opening the fridge.

  I blocked him and swatted his arm. “No juice for you.”

  He moved back, sending me a frown. “I was reaching for the milk.”

  “No milk for you.” I pointed the spatula at him and motioned to the table. “Sit. I am Chef Logan this morning.”

  “Oh God.” He groaned, but sat. “What the hell is that?”

  He was looking at the pile of fruit sitting next to the juicer. “That’s for the wide receiver when he wakes up.”

  “Since no one else in this house plays football, I’m assuming you’re talking about me, and yes, he’s awake,” Mason said, coming into the kitchen. He stopped, gave the pile of fruit a lifted eyebrow, then ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, Logan. I said to grab a few pieces of fruit. You got the entire produce section.”

  I smirked. “You don’t know. That could be my new pet name for Nate’s asshole. Wide receiver—”

  Nate yelled, “Shut the fuck up!”

  Laughing, I waved the spatula at both of them. “Calm your tits, Monson. I’m fooling, and yes, I meant my big badass brother, but no hate, Mase, on the fruit. I’m following Mama Malinda’s rules: Go big or go home.”

  “My stepmother would not buy the entire fruit section at the grocery store,” Sam said as she followed Mason into the kitchen. But when she saw the fruit piled high on a platter, she sighed. “Never mind. She’d totally do that.”

  I raised my finger and pretended to add a number to the air. “Score one for me and a big fat zero for the rest of you. As it should be in Logan Land.” I turned to my brother. “For real, though. I got all that shit for you. Don’t make me regret it.”

  Today was Mason’s first home game. He asked the night before if I could get the fruit and juicer for him. Mason was always one for training, but since he decided to stay at school the last two years and get his degree before going pro, he was extra careful about his body—what he put into it and avoiding injury for the next two years. It was becoming rare to go to college all four years before the NFL. I knew Mason wanted to get a college degree no matter what, but as he started the juicer, I watched him glance over his shoulder at Sam. She was the other reason he had stayed.

  I thought I loved Tate. That ended horribly. Then Sam came into our lives, literally moving in with us with her psychotic mother, and now Sam was family. Then there was my last girlfriend, Kris. She’d been young, with some of her own problems and an overprotective sister. I cared about Kris. I was with her for almost a year, and I was faithful. A lot of people assumed I was unfaithful, but fuck that. I wasn’t a weak-ass coward—not like my dad. I cared about Kris, but I knew I didn’t love her. Maybe that’s why Mason and Sam’s love was a bit much for me sometimes.

  I loved vagina. That was what I loved, and I knew it would be a long-lasting relationship. No matter what, I would never stray from pussy. That sweetest part of the female anatomy was my soulmate.

  “What are you thinking about, Logan?”

  Nate had been watching me. “If I could marry vagina—not a particular person’s, but vagina in general—I think I could call myself happy in love.”

  There was silence.

  Nate coughed. “I’m not even touching that one.” He lifted his hand. “Can I get a glass of juice, Mason?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Mason made the juice. I did the omelets, and everyone got one, even Sam. Hers was double-stuffed with everything. She started to protest when I gave it to her, but I fixed her with a firm look. “You’re going to have all of that worked off within an hour when you go running. Deal with it, and eat it.”

  No one else jumped in to support her, so she lowered her head, lifted her fork, and dug in. After a bite, she gave me a warm smile. Around a mouthful, she said, “Stho goo, Loganth.”

  I grabbed my own plate and sat in the last open spot at the table. “Damn straight it’s good. I made it. It’s Logan approved.”

  “When did you get all this stuff?” Nate reached for his glass. “It wasn’t in the fridge last night. I would’ve eaten it if it were, and I came in after you.”

  After dropping Taylor off, the two chicks took us home. There was a lot of flirting, but for once, I wasn’t into it. I went inside, and Nate left with both of them.

  “I got it this morning. I was well-rested.” I grinned at him. “Did you have a twofer last night?”

  He laughed. “Uh…” He put his glass down, concentrating on it more than he needed to. “Let’s say the one girl was a little hurt you rejected her.” His smile grew more prominent. “I tried to make her feel better.”

  Sam’s nose wrinkled. “I’m eating here.”

  Mason laughed. “I think the big news is that Logan turned a chick down.”

  All three gazed at me. I frowned. “What?”

  Sam asked, “You turned a girl down?”

  “I can be selective.”

  “Not normally,” my brother responded. “With who you date, yes. Not with who you screw. You screw a lot of girls.”

  “Shut up.” I scowled. “I went through all this to get your fruit and your juicer, and I became Chef Logan this morning.” I waved at the table. “Most of your plates are already empty.”

  “No one’s saying anything negative, and you know I appreciate you doing all this. I really do.”

  I could hear the but coming from my brother. He shared a look with Nate before continuing. “We’ve all noticed a decline in your female activities over the last week.”

  Sam shot her hand up in the air. “I’m okay with it. I love that I’m not coming home and finding a new random in the kitchen or wandering around the house.” She pointed her fork at Mason. “I didn’t enjoy that one girl in our bed last week.”

  He stiffened and pointed to me. “That was him. I had nothing to do with her.”

  “I know.” Her fork rotated to me. “We have a lock on our door, but I’d never used it till that day.”

  “That was the redhead, right?” I grinned, remembering her. “She was a spitfire. I liked her.”

  Nate grunted, tucking a napkin under his plate. “Not enough to date her.”

  I shrugged. That was normal.

  “I was just wondering if it had anything to do with Coach Bruce’s daughter.” Nate’s eyes were narrowed, but he showed no other reaction as he spoke.

  I leveled him with a look. He held firm.

  Nate was Mason’s best friend. He’d been our neighbor growing up until his family deemed Mason a bad influence and moved away, taking their son with him. He came back at the end of his senior year of high school because he’d finished all his classes and turned eighteen. His parents had no say anymore.

  He’d been with us since then, but dynamics changed. I was Mason’s best friend. Nate was the second-best friend. Well, that wasn’t counting Sam who was more than Mason’s best friend, so I still claimed the spot. Nate didn’t handle the shift in friendships well. He was a weasel for a little bit, doing some shady shit and had a full-blown rebellion when he and Mason came to Cain University for their freshman year.

  He was the reason Park Sebastian had even come into our lives.

  A brooding feeling came over me. My thoughts were too intense. I could play an asshole. I could be the asshole, but no matter what brought it on, I didn’t enjoy feeling like the asshole.

  I studied Nate for a moment. “What’s your problem?”

  “You like her.”

  The table grew silent again. That wasn’t a question from him. It was a statement. And for some reason, it didn’t sit right with me. I scowled. “Back off of this, Monson.”

  Sam looked up at me. It meant something when we
used last names. But she didn’t say anything. Neither did Mason.

  Nate’s hands lifted in the air. “I’m not trying to be a dick here.”

  “But you are. You’re inferring shit that’s not there. I didn’t want to screw a sidechick. So what?”

  “You’re getting upset over one question.”

  “I’m not.” I leaned over the table. “Coach Bruce’s daughter is a friend. That’s it.”

  “I’m not saying anything otherwise.”

  “Yes, you were.” I gestured around the table. “No one here is an idiot. I’m not going to sit here and let you lay the groundwork to what? Tease me? Cause trouble? If I like a girl, I’ll date her. If I want to screw a girl, I’ll bang the hell out of her. If I want to piss on someone, I’ll do that too, but what I’m not going to do is let you steer things around so I’m on the defense and you’re on the offense. Never going to fucking happen with me.”

  “Logan.” Nate moved to the edge of his seat. His eyes were wide and clear, not narrowed or cagey. He placed his palms flat on the table. “I know how that shit happens, and that’s not what I was doing. I swear. The girl was hot last night, and you seemed into her until the ride home. Then you were all about Bruce’s daughter. I was just trying to bring it up in a nice way to see if there was something more there. I’m not trying to fuck with you.”

  My pulse pounded in my veins. I felt it through my jawline as I stared him down. Fuuuuck. He wasn’t holding anything back. I thought he was coming for me, but he wasn’t. “Sorry. I misread you.” I felt like a dipshit.

  “I wasn’t trying to stir anything up,” Nate murmured. “But a week ago, you would’ve taken that girl up on what she was offering last night. Plus, you wanted to hang out with Bruce’s daughter. That’s not normal. You don’t hang out with chicks unless you’re banging ’em.”

  Nate cast Mason a look. He’d been quiet, observing the entire exchange.

  “Nothing’s there,” I told them. “Yes, I want to bang her. She’s hot. But I don’t know.” I glanced at Sam. “She reminds me of you somehow. Maybe that’s it.”

  She cocked her head to the side, growing thoughtful. “Because both our dads are football coaches?”

  “No. I mean, yeah, but there’s something else—”

  “There’s trauma there.” Mason stood and took his plate to the sink. He turned and rested his hands against the counter as he leaned his back on it. “His wife died a few weeks before Christmas break last year. Coach Bruce was a mess the rest of the year.”

  “There was a thing at his house, right?” Sam asked. “We took food over there?”

  He nodded. “I heard rumors, but I didn’t say anything because we were dealing with Sebastian then. It was all around the same time.”

  “What do you mean he was a mess?” I moved my chair back from the table, folding my arms over my chest.

  “He was always in the fieldhouse. I didn’t notice it much during off-season training, but I heard rumors. His wife didn’t die from cancer or anything medical.”

  Sam inhaled softly. “Did she kill herself?”

  A sick feeling started in me. I didn’t like my parents most days, but I loved them. If they ever took their lives—I locked gazes with my brother—that would gut me. How could a parent choose not to be there anymore? I thought about Sam. Her parents weren’t dead, but they’d left her. David, Garrett, Analise—all three of her parents had left her at one point or another. Shit, I guess our mom was half gone most of the time, but that was different. One phone call and she’d be here. She’d be annoying and acting all pretentious, but she’d be here. Sam didn’t have that, and go a step beyond that to where the mother actually offed herself?

  Is that what had happened to Taylor? Did she see it?

  It felt wrong to be talking about it. “Let’s shelve this, can we?”

  Mason and Nate nodded.

  “You like her?” Sam asked me.

  My eyes went to hers. She wasn’t inferring anything like Nate had been, so I nodded. “Yeah. I like her.”

  Resolve firmed her features. She nodded, and her eyes grew serious. “Then I will, too.” There was one last piece of omelet on her plate, and she speared it with her fork, eating it quickly. She gave me another small smile. “Sounds like she could use a few friends.”

  MERLOT AVOIDANCE

  TAYLOR

  Monday morning I went to the registrar’s office and switched to a different session of Sociology 101. I felt ridiculous—switching a class because of a guy? I was that girl? But I had to face facts. Even if Logan and I were friends, as he’d said we were, I couldn’t be stupid. I was already damaged.

  After changing my schedule, I went to my class. Mr. Fuller, Jeremy—I still didn’t know what to call him—asked me to wait after class and walk with him to Professor Gayle’s office. Maybe it was the empty feeling I got when my dad and I crossed paths during the weekend. We stopped and stared at each other. There’d been no easy words between us, or maybe it was even because I knew I wouldn’t be running into Logan anymore, but when he invited me again to the Honors Study Group that Thursday night, I said I’d go.

  The small party was at Jeremy’s apartment. No professors would be there, but each student could bring a date. After he said the last part, he waited, and an awkward silence settled between us.

  I frowned, but nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

  “Great.” He smiled, but it seemed forced. “In case I don’t remember to give you the details during Wednesday’s class, here you go.” He scribbled directions to his apartment on a piece of paper. “Uh, just remember to let me know if you’re bringing a date. I need a head count for ordering food. Oh—” His smile softened. “And there’ll be wine, and I know some students aren’t twenty-one yet, so if you could keep quiet about the party…yeah…”

  I pretended to zip my lips. “Consider the key thrown away. I won’t be narcing on an Honors Study Group party.”

  “Great.” He pointed at a number on the piece of paper now in my hand. “You can buzz that apartment, but if it’s really loud—oh, hold on.” He took the paper back and wrote his phone number on it. “You can call me, too. I’ll keep my phone in my pocket. If I can’t hear it, I’ll still feel it vibrating, so no worries. People will probably be outside anyway, so the door will be open. You shouldn’t have a problem getting in.”

  “Okay.” I tucked the piece of paper into my textbook. “I’ll see you Wednesday for class.”

  “Yeah.” He followed me to the door. “And then Thursday for the party.”

  I nodded. Yeah, the party.

  The week was uneventful. I hated to admit it, but I missed the Loganisms. My new sociology class wasn’t fun. There were no comments about mindfucking. No one made me feel awkward with sexual innuendos, or made me feel something I really shouldn’t be feeling yet. But that was why I switched. Logan was too much, too soon. And on Thursday night as I was headed to Jeremy’s apartment, I had a feeling I wouldn’t have that problem at this event.

  A group of students were standing on the front steps of Jeremy’s building. I recognized a few of them from around the science building, but I faltered. Did I really want to do this? Go up there and be social? But no. This was why I came to this party, I reminded myself. It couldn’t only be Claire and Jason. It was the same reason I was getting a job—which I still needed to do. But until then… I looked up to an opened window on the third floor. Music and laughter drifted down.

  Okay, Honors Study Group party, here I come.

  Jeremy didn’t answer when I knocked on the door. A girl was there instead. Her cheeks were red, along with her neck, and her eyes glazed over. She held a huge glass in her hand, filled to the rim with red liquid, and she almost fell over from the force of opening the door. “Whoa.” She skidded a little. Keeping a firm grip on the doorknob, she nudged some of her hair from her face with her arm and squinted at me. “Do I know you?”

  “Uh—”

  She pointed at me. “You’re Cl
aire’s friend.”

  I frowned. Claire was here?

  “Hold up.” She turned around and hollered, “Claire! Your high school bestie is here.”

  I didn’t hear a response, but when I stepped inside, the girl shut the door behind me and took off. She held her glass high above her head and weaved through the crowd standing in the living room.

  “Taylor?”

  Claire’s head appeared, popping up from the kitchen. She wedged her way past a guy and two of his buddies, circling the table covered in fruit trays, cheese trays, platters of meat, and bowls of crackers. There was popcorn too, next to little clear plastic plates and a bowl filled with toothpicks. A pile of napkins sat next to the plates, but no silverware.