Waiting for the One

by L. A. Fiore

He climbs on and hands me his helmet. There’s something awfully sexy about a man on a bike. Sexier still with my thighs cradling his ass. The bike roars to life, my arms finding their way around his hard, flat stomach. I never want to get off this bike, ever. It feels nice, the salty mist brushing over my skin as we drive along the bay. Maybe I should get a motorcycle, but I suspect I won’t like the ride nearly as much solo.

  We reach my house far too soon. Climbing off, I hand my helmet to Logan, who stores it. He follows me to the door; my stomach is in knots and my lips are still tingling from his kiss. I turn to him, the pad of his thumb rubs along my lower lip.

  “Good night.”

  And before I can stay a word, he’s strolling back to his bike.

  Yup, I would definitely call it a good night.

  The following morning I wake up with so much pent-up energy, no doubt a side effect of Logan’s staggering kiss, that I decide to take a run. I love running these days, quite the opposite of my feelings toward the activity when I was younger, which was that it should only be done when being chased. I took laziness to a whole other level as a child. My usual route is along the bay, three miles down and three miles back. As much as my body loves the run, my mind is on Logan, more specifically on his behavior.

  I remember the first day I saw him. It was a Thursday night, and fairly late, when the door to Tucker’s opened and in he walked. He was a bit less shaggy then, but as soon as I looked into those green eyes, something in me shifted. I can admit it to myself that I have, from the very beginning, been attracted to him. His arrival stirred interest in the town for a few days, mostly because he was a new face, but there wasn’t the rapt interest of the ladies like with Jake’s arrival six months earlier. As sad as it is to say, I know the lack of female interest in Logan is due solely to the fact that you can’t see his face. As far as anyone knows, he’s covering up some hideous deformity under all the facial hair, but I don’t care. There is something about his quiet presence that really gets to me and so it came as a bit of a shock, and a little hurtful, that he chose to keep quiet around me and only me.

  Last night he broke that silence.

  Technically he still isn’t speaking to me, that brief exchange last night hardly constitutes conversation, but now he’s kissing me senseless—a change I can wholeheartedly get behind—but why?

  I suppose I could continue down the path we’re on and allow the man to blow my head off with kisses despite the fact that we really don’t know each other, but that seems a bit dysfunctional. Which means that I am going to have to suck it up and initiate the conversation that’s the kiss of death in the guy/girl dynamic. I resign myself to the mature course of action. Logan and I are going to have to talk about our feelings.

  When I return home from my run, there he is sitting on my front stoop as if I’ve conjured him with my thoughts.

  “Logan, hi.”

  His head lifts, and the sight of him sets off lovely little fireworks under my skin.

  “Hello, Saffron.”

  “So what brings you here?”

  He stands up, and my head tilts back. “Continuing our game is growing too difficult for me.”

  “Game? You mean me trying to break your silence? Pretty sure I won that game.”

  He isn’t touching me, but he’s so close I can feel the heat from his body and can smell the spicy scent that is uniquely Logan. My mouth starts to water. If I take just one step, I’ll be pressed up against him. Will his arms come around me? Will he pull me up against the length of him like he did at Harrington Commons? I’d sell my soul to Satan to make it so.

  When his finger touches my jaw, I almost swoon as lust burns through me. “I am willing to declare you the winner.”

  And then he’s kissing me, that wonderful hot mouth capturing mine. My hands reach for him and his powerful arms draw me closer. His breathing is as erratic as my own when we end the kiss, and my heart slams into my ribs at the lust burning hot in his dark green eyes. He takes a few deep breaths before stepping back.

  “I should go,” he whispers.

  “Why?”

  He doesn’t answer, but then he doesn’t have to because I know what will happen if he stays. So instead of stepping away, I step closer. “Come inside, Logan.”

  Desire, pure and simple, flashes across his face. “Are you sure?”

  “Very.”

  In one smooth move, he lifts me into his arms and carries me into the house. The door has barely closed behind us before we’re all over each other. His mouth is on my neck as my hands grab at his shirt to lift it over his head. The second I see the beauty of his chest, my mouth is on him, my tongue licking that golden skin. He yanks my sports bra up seconds before his mouth closes over my breast and I moan since it’s been too long. I fumble with the snap and zipper of his jeans and then he’s tugging my shorts and panties down my legs before he lifts me into his arms and presses me back against the wall. He touches me and finds me so ready before he shifts his hips and in one magnificent move, he’s buried deep inside of me.

  “Oh God.”

  We freeze, both of us, because we didn’t use protection. He’s about to pull out, but I tighten my legs around him. It’s all the encouragement he needs and he starts to move. I frame his face with my hands and kiss him like I’ll die if I don’t have my mouth on his. As I feel the start of the orgasm, his fingers move between our bodies to stroke me in just the right spot. I fall over the edge, my body splintering apart from the pleasure. His hips don’t stop and he keeps up the relentless pace until he follows after me. My head falls on his shoulder and his arms tighten around me. I wait for the awkward after, the moment that we realize we barely know each other and just had mind-blowing sex up against the wall.

  So when I lift my head, I’m prepared for disappointment, but instead I see a smile that is sexy as hell. “I need more,” he purrs.

  Chills shoot down my body even as a naughty smile curves my lips. “Bedroom’s down the hall.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “You slept with him?” This bewildered question comes from Gwen as she, Josh, and I sit around her living room during our ladies’ night. Snatching the pillow off the sofa, I cover my face with it to muffle my response.

  “I know, I know.” I try to feel repentant, I truly do, but I can’t. All day, night, and into the very early morning, Logan and I enjoyed each other, and for someone who hasn’t had a sexual encounter since the Bush administration, I feel no guilt. Just thinking about that body, the sexy Celtic knot tattoo that wraps his left bicep, his abs, his chest, his shoulders . . . I had my mouth on every delicious, muscular inch of him. It’s a good thing I have the pillow to my face to block out my moan.

  “He doesn’t even speak to you,” Josh says.

  I lift my head. “We’re speaking now.”

  This causes a bark of laughter from Josh. “I bet.”

  “No, seriously. He came to tell me he couldn’t play our game anymore and I will note that he did agree to declare me the winner, since I was, after all.” It’s an important fact, me winning, that shouldn’t be excluded in the telling of the tale.

  Gwen’s lips twitch. “Well, I suppose that’s something.”

  Josh reaches for his glass of wine. “So have you exchanged words beyond yes, please, don’t stop, faster?”

  I throw the pillow I’m holding at his head, and his catlike reflexes keep the wine from spilling on the floor.

  “There wasn’t really an opportunity for a heart-to-heart.”

  “But you said he didn’t leave until this morning, so what did you two do . . .” Gwen stops midthought as a smile curves her lips. “All night and this morning? The stamina. You are a naughty girl, Saffron.”

  “Yes, but a very satisfied one.”

  Josh chuckles. “So how did you leave it?”

  I just glare at Josh. What is he? An investigative reporter for the Boston Globe? I’m not really mad at Josh. No, I don’t want to answer his question—I still don’t know quite
how I feel with the way things were left. When I awoke, I found a small bouquet of flowers he had cut from my garden resting on his pillow, but no Logan. As romantic as it was, I can’t determine if the gesture is just that, romantic, or if it’s Logan’s way of laying down some unspoken ground rules. As in—this is only sex, so don’t get attached. Does he generally love a woman blind before disappearing without a trace? He probably has hundreds of broken hearts out there, hence the disguise of the beard. It’s a thoroughly depressing thought.

  “So?”

  “It’s new, Josh, for both of us.”

  He clearly doesn’t like that answer, but he leaves it alone. “We’ve exhausted that topic. So what’s next?”

  I am only partly paying attention to my friends. My thoughts are still on Logan and the uncertainty I feel at seeing him again.

  I bought a new car, an old VW bug that will probably not last out the year, but it only cost me five hundred bucks. Even if it lasts only a few months, it’ll be worth the investment.

  Added bonus, I get to punch my friends every time I show up in it.

  After dinner with Frank on Wednesday, we retire to his room where he pulls out his chess set. He has been trying to teach me the art of chess for as long as I can remember. I’m a terrible student. Strategic thinking is not my forte.

  As he does every time he takes it out, he places the pieces on the board with love, even taking a few moments to hold a few as if lost in thought.

  “Do you believe it’s possible that an object can hold a piece of someone’s soul?”

  To say I’m surprised by the question is an understatement. Clearly he’s remembering someone, probably the same someone he never discusses. I won’t pry, but I do wish he’d unload his burden because he has been my rock and I’d like to be that for him.

  “If the object was significant in someone’s life, yes, I believe it can hold a piece of their energy. Will you consider sharing with me whoever it is you’re thinking about?”

  “It isn’t that I don’t want to share, it’s just reliving it is too difficult. But I want you to promise me something.”

  In his direct gaze, I see the intense young man he must have been. “Be happy. In your life, be happy, and if you aren’t, make the changes that will allow for it. If you learn nothing else from me, learn that life is short. In a blink of an eye it can be over. Find your happiness, and then hold on to it with both hands. Will you do that for me?”

  My heart aches knowing that his advice is based on personal experience. “I promise, Frank.”

  Nodding his head, he places the piece he’s holding on the board. “Good. Now, do you remember what I told you about the Sicilian Defense?”

  Knowing Frank as well as I do, I know the subject of his past is over. And as much as I’d like to push the topic, I respect him too much to do that. So following his lead, I switch gears to chess and answer his question. “Only that the Sicilian Defense has nothing to do with pizza.”

  Logan is in hiding. I try not to take it personally during the first few days after our sleepover. I just assume the man is busy. He does have a life, a secret life that no one seems to know anything about, like what he does for a living, where he came from. Key things like that. However, when it grows closer to a week with still no sighting, not even at Tucker’s, which catches Tommy’s notice, Logan’s disappearing act definitely feels personal.

  I don’t regret our night together—hell, I’ll probably never forget it—but there isn’t going to be any repeat performance. I am mad, but more at myself than him. For Logan to be so callous and obvious about his intentions, or lack thereof, means that the man I thought he was—the man that I wanted to sleep with—really doesn’t exist. It’s never pleasant to realize that you’ve been played.

  Lesson learned, but now that I have truly exhausted every available man in Harrington, I find myself back at square one.

  Firing up my laptop, I check my profile; there are two requests to meet pending. What’s the worst that can happen? I respond to both men, shut down my laptop, and get ready for work.

  “That is so not true. That would never happen,” I tell Tommy.

  “Saffron, you don’t see it because you are in denial, but I am telling you that an Alien will defeat a Predator every time.”

  “That is such bull, Tommy. Predators are complex beings that are born to hunt and Aliens are just extremely large cockroaches.”

  “I’m afraid we will have to agree to disagree.”

  Yanking the band from my wrist, I pull back my hair. This is an argument Tommy and I have often. The man is clearly mental, and deluded, but making him see reason is above my pay grade.

  “I’m with Saffron, no contest.” Doug Smithers is a lobsterman who stays pretty much to himself, but Tommy and I have discovered that he too has a love for a good science-fiction movie.

  “Ha!” I point to Doug and grin. “Common sense from someone.”

  Tommy rolls his eyes at us. “Moving on. Who would win in a battle between Luke Skywalker and Dumbledore?”

  Doug and I both groan, but Doug also says what I am thinking: “Not a fair question. They would never fight one another.”

  “Pretend they would,” Tommy counters.

  In the process of making a face behind Tommy’s back, I see the door open. In steps a beautiful woman. With long pale-blond hair and big blue eyes, she’s wearing Prada and Jimmy Choos and her bag is a Dolce & Gabbana. I may not be able to afford the latest fashions, but I sure as hell know what they are.

  I am still admiring the cut of her coat when her lunch date steps up beside her. All the air leaves my lungs when my gaze collides with Logan’s. I don’t realize my hand has curled around the neck of a bottle of Cabernet until Tommy comes up beside me and covers my hand with his own.

  “No bloodshed, Saffron,” he whispers. Tommy knows about Logan, so he understands a bit how this move of Logan’s is affecting me.

  Logan actually has the nerve to smile before walking his lady friend to a table.

  “Maybe that’s his sister?” Tommy says weakly.

  “I don’t know much about biology, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s close to impossible for those two to be related.”

  Tommy’s arm comes around my shoulders. “You want to take a break?”

  I’m really surprised by how strongly seeing Logan with another woman is affecting me. I barely know the man, so what’s up with the stabbing pain centered in my chest? “I do, but I won’t. I might as well get it over with.”

  When I start around the bar, Tommy stops me. “I’ll wait on them.”

  I see the worry on his face, but I don’t miss his anger. “I appreciate that, but I’m good.”

  He looks skeptical, but he doesn’t say anything further. I check on a few other tables on my way to Logan and his lover, because I don’t want to look too eager to be their server, but before long I am standing before them.

  She has on a lovely fragrance. It’s the kind that sort of only hints, so you want to get closer to get a better whiff. The visual of me burying my face in her neck makes me snort, which is met by a raised eyebrow from the lady and a small, endearing grin from Logan. Stop, he isn’t endearing; he’s a bastard of the first order.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Saffron, how are you?” Logan asks and he sounds genuinely interested. How am I? Small talk, right.

  I rest my hip on the table and give my back to Logan as I look down at his date. “Would you think it odd for a man to come to a small town and proceed to not speak to you for six months?”

  Her perfect lips form a grin. “Everyone or just me specifically?”

  “You, specifically.”

  Her eyes light with humor. “Yes, that is odd.”

  “Odder still for that man to then take you to bed and blow your mind with sex for almost twenty-four hours before ditching you and then staying off the radar for a week?”

  The humor has left her gaze now, but she answers anyway. “Indeed.” />
  “So what would you think when that same man shows up at your place of employment with a beautiful woman and attempts to engage you in small talk?”

  Her eyes leave mine for Logan’s, but I don’t miss the emotion in her gaze. She’s mad.

  “Exactly.” I turn and give Logan my full attention. “So how am I, Logan?” I pull out the chair next to him and sit down. “I could pretend to be a cool, sophisticated woman and lie to you and say I’m fabulous, but that just isn’t me. What I am is hurt and more than a little pissed, so the idea of making small talk with you is repugnant to me, unless that talk is centered on what I’d like to do to you. For example, I’d love to reach for that dull butter knife and stick it in your eye, giving it a hard turn just for good measure. The idea of strapping you to a man-size lobster trap and throwing you into the ocean holds a great deal of appeal, as does the thought of running your ass over with my car, repeatedly. I could sit here all day making small talk about that, or you could just shut up and order some goddamn lunch.”

  He isn’t hiding his anger now. “Are you finished?”

  “Oh yes, Logan, we are definitely finished. I’ll send Tommy over to take your order.”

  I start to rise, but he stops me by grabbing my arm. He’s gentle, but he applies enough force to keep me from moving.

  “You’ll hear me out, especially since you’ve already aired most of our dirty laundry to half of Harrington.”

  He has a point. At lunch hour, Tucker’s is packed. I’m not about to agree with him, but I do sit down and attempt to give him my best belligerent glare.

  “The morning I left I had an early flight to New York and I tried to wake you, but you sleep like a dead person. When I got to the airport, I realized I didn’t have your phone number, so I called Tucker’s for it. The young woman I spoke with gave me your cell number.”

  It could be a web of lies, but I know deep down that it isn’t. My never-charged cell phone is a bone of contention with my friends. If he called my cell phone, I wouldn’t have gotten the message.