by R.S. Grey
I’ve told them to cut it out, but that’s nearly impossible. Telling two parents to stop gloating about their only daughter? Good luck with that.
Logan and I are still trying to learn how to navigate it. He’s come up with a brilliant plan:
I should quit working at District, let him hire me a bodyguard, and oh yes, MOVE IN WITH HIM.
He told me all about it when I phoned him Wednesday night.
“I worry about you in that apartment. That building isn’t secure at all.”
“Isn’t secure?! I’ve got at least four hardened Russian grannies between me and the first floor. They’re as scary as they come. They shout at me if I bang up the stairs too loudly or if they think I’ve gotten too thin. One of them threatened a takeout man with an umbrella last week when he tried to bring Yaz and me some noodles. Believe me, no one is getting past them.”
“Candace.”
“Logan! What you’re asking is insane. I can’t move in with you! I barely know you!”
“You’re deflecting. We know each other. I know you.”
“Yes, well, you know all the outer bits, don’t you? But you don’t know what I’d be like to live with. A real slob, I’m afraid. You’d hate it.”
“Lois can help with that. Besides, I think you could learn to hang your clothes up in your closet instead of just throwing them on the floor.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’d be surprised.”
“I think you should consider it.”
“Right, well, even if I did agree, good luck convincing Kat and Yasmine! I think they’d have my head if I tried to move out. We’re a package deal, you know. I can’t just abandon my friends.”
The next day, I arrive back to the flat after work to find that Kat and Yasmine have gathered up all my clothes and dumped them in the living room in a huge pile.
“What in the world are you doing?!”
Kat glances up then from her spot on the sofa. “Oh look, Yaz, Judas is home.”
Yasmine glares up at me with her arms crossed over her chest. “Who? I don’t see anyone.”
“Guys, what are you going on about—”
Kat shakes her head. “You’re dead to us. Don’t even look at me.”
“KAT!”
She jumps to her feet, stepping over the mound of clothes in the middle of the room. They’ve really cleared out my closet, haven’t they?
“So you’re moving out, huh?” She starts circling around me like a seasoned interrogator. “Logan phoned me today, offered to cover your part of the rent. He told me he’d asked you to move in with him. Yaz! Grab a lighter—I’m burning all her bras.”
I can’t help but laugh, but that doesn’t go over well.
“You’re both in need of a mental check. Truly.”
“She thinks she’s too good for us now that she’s got that lover boy of hers,” Kat continues.
“I thought you and Jay were getting on well?” I prod.
“We are! But I’m not moving in with him and abandoning my best mates!”
“I think you’re both overreacting. I haven’t agreed to anything.”
Yasmine rolls her eyes. “Oh sod off. There’s no way you’re going to turn that bloke down, not with that lovely hair and those nice eyes—”
“And don’t forget his arse!” Kat chimes in.
“Listen, you two. God, you’re both mad. I’ll phone him right now and tell him I won’t do it. I’m staying here.”
“Good. We’ll listen in. You can no longer be trusted, Judas.”
“Would you stop with that? Do you even know what Judas did?”
“Yes, of course—something horribly traitorous back in the day.”
“Yeah, wasn’t he the lad with the Trojan horse?” Yasmine chimes in.
“Ugh, don’t bother!” Kat shouts. “She’s only trying to change the subject!”
I make a big show of getting my mobile out of my bag and waving it in the air.
“Dial him,” Kat insists, stepping closer and crossing her arms.
I do, and then she reaches out to put it on speaker.
When Logan answers, he sounds so sexy I sort of wilt. He gives me a hello and I forget my agenda for a moment as I try to think of some way to get over to his flat for a quick lay.
Kat clears her throat with an exaggerated, “AHEM.”
“Right, hey Logan…I’ve got Kat and Yasmine here with me on speaker. Say hello, you loons.”
I fully expect him to get the same loathsome treatment they’re giving me, but instead, they’re positively delightful.
“Hello Logan!” Yasmine says in a chipper tone.
“Hey bud!” Kat adds.
I frown. “What? You aren’t going to shout at him like you’ve been doing with me? How’s that fair?”
“Well Logan hooked us up with his lovely mates.” Yasmine shrugs.
“And he’s not the one abandoning us!” Kat says with a narrow-eyed glare in my direction.
“So I guess you haven’t made much headway with them?” Logan asks me.
“They’ve piled all my things in the living room. Kat wants to burn my bras.”
He laughs then. “I thought you were joking about them giving you a hard time.”
“No, we’re quite prepared to cut her out of our lives completely. You know, excommunicado style,” Kat says, leaning toward my mobile. “But Logan, while we’ve got you, has Jay said anything to you about me?”
“Yeah, actually. I talked to him today during our workout. He mentioned that he was going to call and ask you out on a date for this weekend.”
Kat beams. “Brilliant. I can’t wait. Did he look handsome then? At the workout? I’ll bet.”
“Can you ask him about Marcus?” Yasmine shouts from across the room.
Kat slices her with a hard look. “Not right now, Yasmine! This is important. Logan, your girlfriend is a traitor for abandoning her mates, and we do not accept your offer of partial rent payment. Good day.”
Except I don’t hang up, and we all go silent. Then finally, Logan laughs.
“Call me later, Candace?”
“Sure, yeah, before bed.”
There’s that heavy pause again! The one we keep doing at the end of our calls! It happened when I left his flat the other day too. He kissed me then I pulled back, and we looked each other in the eyes. It was like we were right back in primary school, all blushy and awkward.
“Right, well, ta-ta!” I say quickly.
Then I end the call and look up at my flatmates.
They’re wearing odd expressions, looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Why haven’t you said you love him?”
“LOVE?!” I bark out a hearty laugh, and then one more for posterity. “Who said anything about love?”
Yasmine tilts her head, studying me with a you-poor-sod expression. I hate it.
“Right, well, now that everything is settled…Kat, grab that pile of panties and help me shove all these clothes back into our room. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank god,” she says, walking over to start kicking my garments back to where they belong.
“You know, a real mate wouldn’t have done this in the first place,” I point out as my blouse flies up into the air and lands on the corner of the telly.
She screws up her face like I’ve just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. “What kind of mates have you had before? This is very standard.”
“So you’ve excommunicated people before?”
“Oh loads. I’m quite stubborn when I put my mind to it.”
Saturday can’t come soon enough.
It’s like the second half of the week is in cahoots to go really slow, like the days know how eager I am to get to the weekend (the good bit) and they want to draw it out for a bit of fun. I’ve got another shift at District Friday night, and it doesn’t go very well. I’m waiting on a group of lads, asking for their drink orders, when I notice the girls one table over start to snap photos of me.
They’re doing it real sly, so at first, I’m not totally sure what they’re doing. They have their mobiles positioned partially behind their water glasses, but when I look over, they all laugh and scramble to shove them away, back down into their purses.
I tell myself I’m just being paranoid, but it only gets worse from there. I’m asked by two different groups to give them my autograph. What in the world do they want with my chicken-scratch letters on a stained cocktail napkin? I laugh and try to play it off as if they’re kidding, but they insist, and well…I don’t want them to think I’m some snotty brat, so I do it, but I feel crummy afterward, like they think I’m someone more special than I am. I’m a total fraud—or at least that’s the way it feels. Neither of the groups leave decent tips, which just goes to show you how annoying people can be sometimes. I’ve worked my arse off the whole night and I have barely anything to show for it. Still, I count out the bills and set most of them aside in my head to send to Mum in the morning.
I had a long chat with her last night, same ol’ same ol’: her trying to insist they don’t need money, me not budging on the subject. She asked about Logan, and I told her we’re proper dating, girlfriend/boyfriend and everything. Even with the press and such, she still didn’t quite believe it and made me swear I wasn’t pulling her leg.
After I grab my purse and mobile from the employee break room in the back of District, I head for the exit, more than ready to be done with my shift. I’ve gotten used to seeing Pat waiting out on the curb for me, so when I spot an unfamiliar sleek black SUV in his spot, I frown, assuming he’s forgotten to pick me up.
I turn toward my subway stop, a bit mopey that I have to trek home like a normal person, when the front door of the car opens and out walks Logan, rounding the front so he can get to me.
I stand there on the sidewalk like a total knob, just soaking him in.
He’s a sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure, all hunky and done up in a black button-down and slacks. He’s dressed up, and I remember that he had a fancy dinner tonight with Nike. He must not have changed out of his clothes yet. Yummy.
“What are you doing here?” I ask with a smile I can’t quite keep from spreading across my lips.
“Picking up my girlfriend,” he says, with a slight tug of his brows like he’s almost offended by the question.
“You didn’t have to do this. You’re probably dead on your feet. I can make it home on my own.”
There’s not even an argument from him. He just moves behind me and starts prodding me toward the passenger side of the vehicle.
“I’ve never seen you drive before,” I point out.
“You sound impressed.”
“I suppose I am. Is that silly?”
He laughs and helps me up into the seat. I’m quite useless, apparently, because he takes it upon himself to buckle me in place too. He gets really close and leans over to click the seatbelt into the little slotty thing, and well, I take full advantage of his position. I inhale his cologne and melt into the seat. He turns to look at me, his eyes as dark as my thoughts.
I lean in and kiss him, and he must have expected it because there’s no shocked delay, just a responsive mouth and a little bite on my bottom lip. God. I want him and he bloody well knows it, because when he breaks the kiss (much too soon, if you ask me) and leans back out of the car, he’s wearing a cocky grin as if he knows everything I’m thinking.
He shuts my door and heads back to his side. I scan the sidewalk for paparazzi, but for once, we’ve lucked out.
I don’t even ask where we’re headed as he pulls away from the curb. I know he’ll take me back to his flat, because that’s exactly where I want him to go. Usually, I’m a Chatty Cathy with him, but right now, I’m too on edge. I keep glancing over out of the corner of my eye, taking in his profile in repose as he deftly navigates the city streets. His hands on the steering wheel are all big and veined. Not too much, you know, like the scary blokes who resemble the Hulk, but enough to make my belly tighten with desire.
His shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his forearms tanned and toned. I really stare at him, long enough that he glances over, and I don’t even bother looking away to try to feign coolness.
There’re no teasing remarks from him. No, he must feel what I feel, because he turns back to the road and reaches his hand out toward me, gripping my thigh and squeezing gently. It’s like he’s saying, Me too, Candace.
And well, it’s probably meant to be a nice little touch, a way for him to show affection, but I haven’t been alone with him in days and my body seems to have a mind of its own. Instead of sitting there nicely, my legs split apart, just an inch.
He notices.
I can see him swallow in my peripheral vision, so I do it again, another little bit so that cool air rushes up between my thighs from his car’s A/C.
I’m still wearing my District uniform, but I’ve taken off the apron. My black skirt makes it so easy for him to slide his hand in and up, not all the way, just enough to tease me into spreading my thighs more.
We come to a red light, and he hits the brakes harder than normal. I turn my head to stare at him, and he’s looking down, between my legs. I reach for the hem of my skirt, watching him the whole time as I start to slide it up…up…up.
I know his windows are heavily tinted; I know because they look just like the windows on Pat’s SUV, and those were done to help shield Logan from prying eyes. Right now, the tint helps shield me. He doesn’t disappoint. His hand follows my skirt as it trails higher, and then he grips my left thigh and tugs so I’m split apart even more on his front seat. I’m wearing silky pink panties, and he must like them because he stares so long the light turns green and a car lays on the horn behind us.
I laugh as he groans and turns his attention back to the road, his hand staying on me.
His fingers dig into my skin when he tightens his grip. City streets whip by us and I know we’re getting closer to his building, but for some reason, I don’t want that. I want to stay here—suspended on this seat with his hand between my legs.
His fingers skate higher, and I grip the edge of my seat, waiting…wanting…hoping. Then the edge of his finger skims my panties, and a lightning bolt of excitement ricochets through me. I must make a little sound because Logan jerks his head toward me, like he can’t help but take me in like this. Then his eyes are back on the road and his hand continues, over the silk, over my skin, brushing, rubbing, teasing.
My eyes flutter closed when he tugs the material aside.
I feel deviant doing something like this. I know it’s bad and improper and loads of other naughty words, but once his fingers touch me and he feels how ready I am for him, I’m no longer responsible for acting decent.
I blink my eyes open when his SUV whips to the left and then down a slope, into a dark car park. We’re back at his building, and my heart starts to hammer in my chest when he takes his hand off me, pulls into his parking spot, and kills the engine.
His seatbelt clicks, then he leans over and undoes mine too. It goes slack across my chest and he’s tugging me up and off the seat. I half-expect he’ll carry me out of the car and up to his flat, but instead, he props me on his lap and leans in to kiss me—hard.
He’s more impatient than I’ve ever seen him, as if that ride home absolutely killed him. He grips the side of my head and his fingers twine through my hair, our mouths staying in sync, tongues licking as we consume each other.
It’s hot and heavy and necessary. It feels absolutely vital that he reach down and gather my skirt up again so it sits high on my waist. Then I reach down for his trousers and start to unzip. I’m fumbling because there’s not much space on his front seat, but he helps me, and together, we unsheathe him.
“Condom, condom. Bloody condom,” I say, looking around his front seat.
“Fuck. I didn’t replace the one we used the other day.”
I could kill him in cold blood right there. How dare he do this to us? We’re rig
ht here and we can’t wait, not even long enough to make it up to his flat.
“Please tell me you’re clean. Yes? You’ve been checked?”
He nods. “Last month.”
Oh thank god.
“I’m on the pill and I’m clean as a whistle.” I want to stop talking about this, but it seems important that he know. “I don’t…um…I’ve never gone without.”
It sounds like a lie. I mean what girl sits on a guy’s lap, grinding down on him, and says she’s usually oh so careful even though she’s not being that way now? But his gaze catches mine, and he sees the vulnerability there. It doesn’t make sense. All the careful decisions I’ve made in the past, all the rows I’ve had with boyfriends when they’ve wanted to go without a condom, and now, here—poof—I’m ready and willing to give it a go with Logan. Have I totally lost it?
Maybe.
Maybe I have, because he’s kissing me again, and it’s like we’re telling each other the same thing. I trust you. I trust your intentions. And more importantly, I can’t wait either.
He’s so hard underneath me and I’m rocking back and forth, teasing him and using him to rub against my sensitive skin. He lets me continue for another few seconds and then with a rough grip on my waist, he stills my hips and reaches down to align us.
I go up on my knees to give him better access and then we click into place, heartbreakingly perfect.
I sink down on him slowly. Like last time, it’s painful for the first bit, and then my body eases around him, accommodating his size until I can’t take any more.
He stays there for a moment, buried deep inside me, and he takes my mouth again for a deep kiss. We start to rock together gently, moving our hips in sync, and then he picks up the pace, thrusting in and out of me so that I start to careen toward my release.
Then abruptly, he stops, and I protest, angry.
My fingers dig into his forearms and I squeeze my thighs around him, but he has other plans in mind, and I’m forced to listen when he speaks.
“Get in the back.”
“What?”
Oh hell. He doesn’t answer. He starts to shove me back there, and I have to climb over the console in the middle of the two front seats. I trip and fall into the back, but he’s right after me, contorting his huge frame and making me laugh as he gets stuck for a moment.