(Present)

It’s been a few hours since I picked up the phone and called Logan. I’m still stunned that I did it. But after what happened earlier, I had no choice. And now, I’m sitting in my office, with my best friend Kat, who’s had two shots of tequila already. In the meantime, my shot glass is still full. I’m not sure I want alcohol added to this situation.

It’s dark out and the help center is closed, so we’re the only ones here. I called Kat a few hours earlier and told her what happened. She rushed over and stayed even after the cops left. There’s a patrol car outside waiting to take me home when I’m ready.

I trace the outline of the shot glass before me and look off into the distance. There are a million things to worry about and go over in my head, but the only thing I’m really focused on is the call I made to Logan.

Logan…

I worked tirelessly to put our relationship in the past. There have been times where I literally had to sit on my hands so that I wouldn’t give in and call him. I miss him so much it aches. I miss his voice, I miss the way he tenderly guides me out the door by placing his hand on my lower back, and I miss his all-too-rare laugh.

He has a way of seeing right through me. I could say one thing and he sees behind my words and he’ll call me on it. He’ll push me to be honest, to be myself and not give a damn what anyone else thinks. When he’s dealing with the outside world, he’s stern, cold, and very much on the edge. But when it came to us, there was a vulnerability that only I got to see. We belonged to each other.

Until we didn’t…

“Shay, you made the right decision to call him,” Kat says. She pulls me out of my thoughts. I look over at her. She’s got that classic beauty thing going but she swears that she doesn’t. She’s about to turn fifty but she looks like she’s barely forty. When I tell her that she says being black has its perks. She’s full figured with a fantastic smile and perfectly sculpted eyebrows that tell you what she’s thinking long before her mouth does.

“I’m surprised he picked up the phone,” I admit.

“I’m not. That man would fight wars for you. That’s why I think it’s so sad that you two didn’t work out,” she says carefully.

“Kat…”

“You love Logan. You always have, and you did not cheat on him.”

“I know that, but it doesn’t matter now.”

“Yes it does. He needs to know that you were faithful,” she pushes.

“I’m sure he’s moved on,” I whisper mostly to myself.

“If he moved on, why is he traveling from God-knows-where to come see you?” she counters.

“He’s protective. He’s loyal. He’s…”

“Logan,” she replies.

“Yeah.” I sigh as I down the shot; so much for no alcohol.

“Shay, you two were perfect together. How did it all go so wrong?” she says, deflated.

I don’t answer. I think if I try, I’ll give in and the tears will flow. The same tears I held back for years. Suddenly, Kat is smiling to herself as if she has a juicy secret.

“What is that smile about?” I ask.

“I was just thinking about the first time you saw him. You texted me right away,” she says excitedly. “Shay, do you remember that?”

“Yeah, I remember…”

***

Three years ago…(Shay)

If I didn’t know there was a God, my faith would be ignited by the sexy piece of “Yes!” that just walked into the bagel shop. Only a higher power makes something that fucking perfect. He doesn’t see me, and thank goodness because I don’t want him to get a look at me as I melt. Seriously, what the fuck? He takes the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing to highs never conceived of before.

His hair is dark blond, mid-length, and would feel just right between my fingers. His Roman nose, full lips, and stubble-marked jawline make him hard to turn away from. He’s at least six two, and every inch of his body is tight and toned. He’s wearing a short sleeve navy shirt that brings out his piercing Persian blue eyes. His rock solid six-pack abs show lightly under his shirt.

If he was just hot and sexy, I could deal, but it’s his stride that has me tugging my lower lip between my teeth. He walks with such power and confidence; you can’t help but stop and look. I know it’s wrong but I can’t help it. I take out my cell and secretly take a quick picture of him. I send it to Kat and place this caption on it:

“Is it okay if I have ‘candy’ for breakfast?”

“Oh good God! Follow him out the door!” she texts.

“No! He’s probably got a hundred girls in his backseat right now,” I reply.

“What’s wrong with being number one hundred and one?”

“You should be ashamed missy!” I text.

“Shay, please talk to him. Do it for married women like me who face a lifetime of predictable, blah sex that ends when the commercial is over,” she writes.

“Haha. Go to back to work. And predictable is good.”

“You are way too young to believe that. Promise me you will talk to him.”

“No, I’m sure he’s been claimed and if not it’s because he likes to spread himself around like butter on hot bread,” I text.

“Great, I’m thinking about him and freshly buttered bread. And now I’m horny and hungry. Damn you,” she texts.

I place my cell in my pocket and shake my head to myself. The good mood, brought on by Mr. Yes!, is ultimately ruined by some dick in a trucker’s hat. Oh well, I gotta get to work anyway.

***

There is a long list of things in this world that are difficult to do: graduating from an Ivy League school with top honors, climbing Mount Everest, and doing your own taxes. But I promise you nothing is more difficult on this earth than pressing “Delete” on the picture I took of Mr. Yes! I know I have to because I would hate for someone to take a picture of me and pass it around.

Shay, now would be a good time to be a grown-up.

Okay, okay, fine. I drink him in one more time, and yes, I am sure I will be seeing him again when I’m under the covers tonight, right before I fall asleep. But for right now, I press delete and go inside the precinct. I am normally at the help center, where we counsel battered women, but one of my clients asked me to come by and be there as she reports her loser boyfriend for hitting her.

I enter the active police station and am guided into a small office where Martha is filling out the paperwork. I’m nervous that she’s having second thoughts, so when I enter, I’m pleasantly surprised to see a reassuring smile on her face. I ask her if she needs anything and Martha assures me that she’s okay.

“Hi, are you Ms. Reed?” an officer asks as I step out of Martha’s room and close the door behind me. He’s not as hot as Mr. Yes!, but still really cute.

“Yes, you can call me Shay,” I reply, extending my hand.

“Shay, I’m Jack Sims. I’m from SWAT, and my buddy and I’ve been watching Martha for a while, and it’s good to know she’s finally coming forward. We wanted to know how you were able to get her to come forward,” he says.

“Well, I—”

“Hang on a sec,” he says as he walks over to another officer, whose back is turned away from me. I turn away to make a quick call and when I turn back towards Jack, he’s not alone. He has brought the officer over to me.

Mr. Yes!

Damn…

I have been breathing for twenty-four years and yet somehow that skill has been sucked out of my head. My legs feel like rubber and there’s a flutter in my stomach. I was wrong in the bagel shop; he’s even better looking close up.

“Hi, I’m Shay Reed,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. He takes my hand and shakes it. His hand is large, powerful, and holds on to me firmly. I feel a quickening between my legs. I’m wet.

What?!

How the hell did that happen from one handshake?

But then again, look at those hands…

“I’m Logan Hunter,” he says in deep, rich voice that sends yet another ripple between my thighs.

 C’mon, woman! Get ahold of yourself.

“Are you two okay?” Jack asks as he watches us closely. We are still holding hands. Logan’s looking deeply into my eyes and I am melting into the floor. When he finally takes his hand from mine, a little part of me is actually grieving the loss of contact.

“I’ve met Ms. Reed before,” Logan says.

“You can call me Shay,” I reply.

“I met her earlier when she was unwisely confronting a guy who could have very well knocked her out,” he says.

“Oh, really? When was this?” Jack asks.

“It was earlier,” I reply in haste, “and I was doing the right thing. That guy was an asshole,” I counter, looking at Logan.

“It’s New York City. If you stop every time someone is being an asshole, you’ll never get to work,” he scolds.

“You think I should have just stayed quiet? What kind of person are you?” I demand.

“I’m the kind that knows how to pick my battles,” he says.

“Obviously you don’t because you wouldn’t be picking this one,” I inform him.

“That guy could have gone after you,” he insists.

“No way, he was all talk.”

“He got up and was headed your way.”

“Then why didn’t he come for me?” I demand. He’s about to say something but then thinks better of it. “Don’t be shy now, speak your mind,” I push.

“Look lady, you really need to rethink how you talk to guys like that. This morning could have gone a different way, and I promise you, it wouldn’t have gone in your favor,” he says, glaring at me.

“I was standing up for someone. Maybe you should try it instead of just standing by and letting that jerk talk trash about a woman he didn’t even know,” I accuse.

“You can’t rage against everyone that says something you don’t like. And yeah that guy was a complete dick but taking him on was stupid.”

“I knew what I was doing,” I insist as I stare him down.

“You were antagonizing him, and he could have knocked you out.”

“Then I’d be on my own to deal with it and I would.”

“Wait, you think I would have just let him hit you?” he says, clearly insulted.

“Oh, so you would have come in to save me? Is that why you’re so mad, because I didn’t need to be rescued? So what’s your deal? Do you just appear out of nowhere to rescue ‘helpless’ women? Wait; don’t tell me, you have a horse?”

He replies crudely, “Yeah, I do. Wanna ride?”