London

On Thursday nights, we still do Quad Squad karaoke after lab, and I still enjoyed it...until Logan and Mitch show up, which they do every week. Then I’m more uncomfortable and feel more judged than I ever have.

The first night, he simply sat there, at what is now “our” regular table, looking at me until I couldn’t stand it anymore. When I went to the bathroom, he followed me.

“This isn’t cool, you let me know.”

My response was simple. “This isn’t cool.”

“Tell me how to make it...cool.”

I walked into the bathroom, and he was waiting outside when I came out.

“Still not cool,” I whispered as I walked by.

Ten minutes later, he was on stage, singing Bruno Mars’ “Count On Me.” For three weeks, he has done the same song. Every time, the entire table looks at me expectantly.

Jamie asked me the first night why I was being so hard on him. I wanted to ask her why she wasn’t being hard on Mitch anymore, but I didn’t, even though I really want to know.

It’s Thursday night again, and just like last week, I can’t bring myself to go, so I left lab with Fletcher, telling them I didn’t feel well again.

Once in the Uber, he asks me the same question he did the week before. “You wanna talk about it?”

I give him the same answer I did the week before, knowing no man wants to go there. “Cramps.”

“Wow, maybe you should see a doctor,” he says with a humorous undertone in his voice.

“I just don’t feel well.”

“Anything to do with Links and the signs?”

“What signs?” I ask.

He looks at me and raises his eyebrows while I wait for an answer.

“Fletcher, what signs?”

He runs his fingers through his waves and sighs. “I truly thought you knew.”

“Fletcher, spill it.”

“The ones posted on the outside of your quad every morning until a week ago when I announced that we now had cameras in the hallway.”

“Stop being vague.”

“Okay, then.” His face tightens. “V Squad.”

“Logan hangs signs on our door that says V Squad!”

He answers more softly, “No, Elle, Logan’s been taking them down.”

“I don’t understand. Who would do that?” And why does Logan even care?

He looks down. “When I talked to your friends, they told me about the, um, party.”

I palm my face and groan. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

“I’m sure it was to spare your feelings. For what it’s worth, I think it’s amazing that a girl like you would wait for the right one.”

“A girl like me?” God, I can only imagine what he must think of “a girl like me.”

“You are stunning, talented, funny, kind, and I’m sure you’ve had dozens of men vying for your attention, and yet, you haven’t given in.”

Pft, yeah right. None stuck around, and the only one I cared about is an ass.

“And, for what it’s worth, I think what he did was very kind and truly sincere.”

“So, what? I should forgive him for what he did?”

“Forgive him so you can stop faking sick every Thursday night and enjoy what is left of the semester. You’ve missed two home games, two weeks of karaoke, and have spent every night in your dorm. Every time I saw you in the dining hall, you were so full of life, Elle. Now you don’t eat with your friends. Forgive him for you.” He pats my hand.

I don’t respond.

He gets out of the Uber and opens the door for me.

“Thanks.”

When I get out, he places his hand on my back and we start toward the door.

“You got a minute?” I hear Logan from behind me.

Fletcher removes his hand and nods to me. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

I turn around and look at Logan. He looks like Logan always does, but instead of the overconfident, cocky jock who seems to own every place he stands, he looks nervous and out of place.

He takes in a deep breath then walks toward me. “Walk with me?” he asks, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

I consider telling him no, but then I think of what Fletcher said.

After a couple minutes of walking in silence, he stops and pulls his hat down. “I can’t fucking do this with you.” His voice is just a notch above a whisper. “I can’t fuck up your Thursdays, but I can’t stay away either. I can’t look up at Dad’s seats, not see you there, and focus. I can’t because, as much as I hate to say it, you are family, London. You are, and you hating me...it’s gotta fucking stop.” He turns his back to me and crouches down covering his hat with his hands.

I remain still, unable to say a word.

He then stands up and turns around. “Tell me what to do.”

I swallow hard and look away.

“Come on, London; tell me what the fuck I can do, because you and I, we...we don’t do this shit. We fuck with each other, we act pissy with each other. I always thought it annoyed the hell out of me until it was gone, until you were gone.”

I shake my head.

“Unacceptable!” he yells.

I turn to walk away, and he grabs me from behind and pulls me back, so my back is against his front. He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on the top of my head.

“All those years we fought, we should have been doing this, London. No one fucking knows you like I do. No one fucking knows me like you do. I know I’m not even close to being that guy. Hell, that guy may be Fletcher, and if it is, I swear I’ll stay the fuck out of it. But you gotta stop avoiding me. Because me without you, something’s missing. Me without you sucks.”

“I forgive you,” I say as my body shakes in a silent sob.

He turns me around, and I swear I see tears building in his eyes. “Forgive me or you’ll stop avoiding me? Because you avoiding me is worse than you hating on me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I whisper, looking down.

“You said it. You said it a lot.” He sighs.

“Well, then I’m sorry for that,” I tell him, looking up.

His hands are still on my hips, and I put my hands over his, trying to make myself push them away. “Logan.”

His nostrils flare as his jaw muscles twitch. He leans in, and I can see it. I can see what he’s about to do. I have dreamt of it for years, so many years. It’s better than in my dreams, so much better.

“You can’t do that and be my friend.”

“Why?” he whispers.

“Because, Logan, I’m gonna be a really good kisser, and you’re gonna want more,” I whisper back.

He reaches up and turns his white hat backward. That move does something, something incredible to my insides.

“I’m not afraid,” he says, pushing his forehead against mine.

The heat of his skin against my cold skin warms me to a point that I know I should move away, but I don’t.

“I’m terrified,” I admit as he brushes his nose against mine, causing my breath to hitch.

“I am, too,” he says, his sweet hot breath invading my senses as heat burns inside me.

“I’m gonna want more,” I whisper as he rubs his cheek against mine.

“I’ve got more to give.” His breaths are more shallow.

“Logan?” My question comes out a moan.

“London,” he whispers in my ear, and I feel my nipples tighten.

“I already do want more,” I whisper as he rubs his lips up and down the shell of my ear. Then he lifts his hand from my waist and cups the side of my face that is not against his.

“Fuck, you smell good. I can’t wait to taste you.”

And...I step back. More like jump. I jump back.

His eyes are huge. “What did I do?”

I clear my throat, and my voice squeaks when I ask, “What exactly did you mean by taste me?”

A smirk forms in the left corner of his lips, and those dimples start to suck me in.

“Put them away.” Again, my voice sounds like a pre-pubescent boy as I drive my fingers into one of them.

“What?” he asks, turning his hat around and smirking.

“Devil dimples.”

He laughs as he pulls his hat down, covering his eyes.

“I need to go,” I tell him, turning my back on him again.

He grips my hip and sighs. “Come have dinner with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I don’t even recognize my own voice right now.

“Okay, then a drink?”

I turn and look at him skeptically.

“Haven’t checked on Keeka in a couple weeks. You should come with me.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, just takes my hand and pulls me behind him.

“Logan, you’re doing it again,” I groan, walking faster to get beside him.

“Doing...?”

“Lording. You are not listening to me.” I try to sound like I’m annoyed, but I’m not.

“So, tell me you don’t want to go.” He walks to the tunnel and starts up the steps.

“What are we doing?” I hide my stupid smile as he turns around.

“We’re gonna check on Keeka, and then we can do whatever you want.”

“No, I mean that—the almost kiss.”

“Was meant to be a real one, but you’re...”

“I’m what?” I ask him defensively.

“I’m at your mercy. You got me all fucked up, so whatever you want.” We reach the top of the steps, and he turns to face me, putting his hands on my hips. “It all started right here.”

I can’t hide my smile, but I try. Then I ask the question, knowing exactly what it was that started here. “What started right here?”

“Right here was the first place I looked at a girl and wanted to kiss her and not just fuck her.”

I point to myself, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, you.”

“So do it,” I dare.

“You gonna stop me this time?”

When I nod, he sighs, turns around, still holding my hand, and walks to his truck.

He opens the door, and I climb in. Then he reaches over me and buckles me. “You all set?”

I nod.

He shuts the door, and I watch him walk around the front of his truck, open the door, and climb in.

“So, what is it we’re doing?” he asks as he starts the truck and throws it in drive.

“Going to see Keeka?”

I watch his chest rises and falls as he chuckles silently.

After he turns onto the road from the parking lot, he asks again, “Tell me what you want.”

“What do you want?”

“To not fight with you like that again.” He looks over after he stops.

“So, you did all that because you didn’t want to fight with me?”

“If I wasn’t clear, I’d do anything to not fight with you.”

“But, why?”

He glances over at me then pulls his hat down lower. “Things are better with you.” He looks over at me like he’s waiting for me to say something, so I do.

“Same...most of the time.”

He nods and smiles.

“But that’s not really what I meant.”

“Okay, well, I don’t know, London. It’s all...different.”

As I shift uncomfortably, he reaches over the console and takes my hand.

“Is it because it’s cuddle season?”

He laughs. “No. Like I said, it’s because things are better with you. It’s because getting fucked up and fucking suddenly isn’t that appealing. It’s because, like I said, it’s better when I’m with you.”

“Things don’t just change that quickly,” I whisper my suspicions.

He stops at a light and looks at me. “Gotta be your friend, London. You don’t want me because I’m...” He shrugs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. I’ve fucked around a lot. I’m no rock star. I’m just, you know.”

“You’re Logan Links,” I huff. “You’re...” I stop myself just before saying perfect.

“Not gonna play professional ball like my dad. Not gonna be on stage like you and your family.”

“My father was an accountant, my mother worked as a substitute teacher until she met Brody.”

“Yeah, but your London Fields.” He looks at me. “You’re fucking perfect, and I’m, well, what is the opposite of perfect?”

I squeeze his hand. “Where is all your confidence?”

“In a bottle, between the sheets, on the field, at the gym.”

I look down as I take in what he said, all honest and full of self-doubt.

He squeezes my hand. “Looking at you the way you used to look at me.”

Reality strikes again, and I realize that I can’t carry that burden for him.

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you love about yourself?”

He laughs and looks at me. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s actually a very good question.”

“Well, what do you love about yourself?”

My pause makes me question everything.

“Not an easy question to answer, huh?” he asks.

“Not without feeling like you’re bragging, and not when you say it in front of someone else who may not see that in you.”

“I get it.”

If I’m going to get him to open up, then I have to, as well. “I love that I love. I love that I don’t want to hurt someone or do something that could hurt myself. I love some superficial things about me, too.”

He pulls up in front of the bar we went to the first night and throws his truck in park before turning toward me. “Like your tight little bod, these lips and eyes, and that fucking hair?” He reaches over and grips the ends of my hair, rubbing them between his fingers. Then he leans in as he licks his lips. “Give me something sweet, London.”

I lean back, inwardly cursing myself. “I’m not sure I’m ready, Logan.”

“Gotcha.” He nods and gets out, standing with his back to the truck. He takes his hat off and rubs his hand over his head before putting it back on and pulling it down low.

When he walks around the truck and opens the door, I look down and scowl.

“You coming?”

“I’m not sure I’m ready,” I repeat.

He nods. “So, you mean to go inside here or you mean to”—he pauses—“do whatever this is?”

I nod.

“Both?”

I nod again.

He reaches over me and unbuckles my seatbelt. Then he turns me so both legs hang over the side of the seat. He grips my knees and pulls them apart, standing between them, his face inches from mine.

“Tell me why, when we get close, you look at me like you know exactly what you’re ready for.”

“I can’t just have sex with you,” I whisper.

“And I can’t stop thinking about having it with you.” He turns his hat again and leans his head against mine.

Skin to skin, breath to breath, I close my eyes.

“Tell me this doesn’t feel fucking good,” he whispers close to my ear. “Tell me you don’t want to stay this way. Tell me you don’t want more.”

“Of course I do,” I breathe out. “But what if it ends horribly?”

“We make a promise that it doesn’t?”

“Was that a question?”

“London, I’m down for whatever with you. You just gotta tell me how far I can go. I’m not gonna push you.”

“Then, what happens when”—I sigh when his lips run up my ear again—“when I’m not enough?”

“What happens when I’m not?” He pulls at my ear with his teeth, and a current runs up my spine.

“What happens when I’m not blonde enough or these aren’t...?” I press my chest against him, and now he groans. I try to scold myself for doing that when the pressure of him against them makes me whimper.

He releases my ear from his teeth and moans, rubbing his face against mine. “Can’t wait to have them.” He takes my hand and runs it up his abs. “What happens when this stops feeling so...hard?”

I sink my fingertips into his skin just enough to ease my curiosity.

“London,” he growls, and I can’t help pushing my hand up farther. When my fingers skate across his hard man nipples, I pinch them, and he chuckles. “What happens when I do that back to you?”

I immediately stop and sit back.

His eyes are boiling oceans of blue. I swear steam is resonating from them, just like I’m sure the liquid heat that has pooled inside me is going to combust if he so much as pushes against me...there.

“I’ve never seen you look more fucking gorgeous than right now.”

Danger, danger, danger, screams in my head. It screams in his eyes, and I know I have to stop this, this, whatever it is, so I stick my tongue out at him.

He leans in, teeth bared, looking at it like he’s going to bite it.

When I lean back farther, he closes his eyes and sighs before stepping back. “Let’s go.”

“What happens when people see us?”

He cocks his head to the side and looks at me curiously.

“What happens when they put two and two together, Logan? What happens when they find out who I am, and then you’ll be gone, and—”

“Where am I going, London?”

I shrug. “One month till graduation.”

He lets out a deep breath, looks down, turns his hat, and then the steamy blue oceans are gone. “Haven’t thought about it, really.”

“Well, maybe you should. I mean, what if the NFL comes calling?”

“They have, and I told them no. I told you that I wasn’t playing—”

“You told them no?” I gasp.

I see the crease in the corner of his eyes as he gives one nod.

“What does that mean?”

“Is that part of the appeal? You want that?”

“No! I mean, if that’s what you want, then of course you should do that. But—”

“Told them no. Already told you I did.” He opens the back door, grabs a hat, shuts the door, and stuffs the hat on my head. “Now, let’s go.”

“Are you mad?” I ask, hopping out and shutting the door behind me.

He shakes his head and opens the door to the bar. “After you.”