Chapter 8

 

- LOGAN -

 

 

I step into the crisp spring air and into the stillness of the night. Allie didn’t leave her front porch light on this evening and I see her car is gone. So I flick on my own light so that she won’t be welcomed home by the darkness when she returns.

She must be at one of those parties tonight, I imagine with a slight grin. I hadn’t pegged her for the kind of girl who had ever even wrapped her fingers around a vibrator, and she sells them?

I step quietly past her door so that I don’t get her latest dogs fired up. The German shepherd and husky seem pretty docile, but that corgi is a spitfire. I’ve never seen so much energy and muscle packed into a tiny frame.

It’s the first night of having a neighbor for me since Annapolis, and I have to admit, I like it. With the windows open to let the cool spring air in, I could hear her friends talking up a storm all evening till the three of them left at about nineteen hundred hours.

Background noise like their chatter soothes me, and till she came along, I was regretting buying this stretch of townhomes so far off the road. I still do, a little.

I turn the key in #3 and flick on the lights. No matter that I don’t like it here. These townhomes will be complete by fall if all continues to go on schedule. And I’ll be free to move on to something else.

Someplace else. But where?

My heart tugs me toward San Diego. But I’m not ready to face the demons of my past. Even now, as the thought passes quickly, my throat burns enough that I’m pulling two antacids from the pill box stashed in my cargo shorts.

No, not San Diego, I decide as I pour some cream paint into a roller tray and load up my brush.

I’ll stay here, where I can at least keep an eye on my family for a while longer. At least till Dad and Mom face reality and settle him into a good memory care facility so that my mother isn’t spending her every waking hour worrying he’ll wander off and forget where the hell he is going.

Or am I using my family as an excuse?

I’m gratefully pulled off this dangerous road of thought when I hear a knock at the door. “Come in,” I shout, knowing it must be Allie. No one else would show up here this late at night.

“Hey. You’re up late,” she notices.

Her hair is down around her shoulders and I think she’s wearing the same outfit that she wore the night we met. I recognize the silk blouse and my fingers can still remember the feel of it against her skin as I held her. She steps inside and her heels click against the floor. Heels on her look as sexy as sin simply because she doesn’t seem the type to wear them usually. So looking at her in heels is like looking at a tree all covered in Christmas lights. Something special. A treat. A feast for the eyes.

And too damn young for me to feast upon, I remind myself.

“So are you,” I respond. “Party tonight?”

She smiles at me, as though we share a special secret, and I’m assuming there are probably only a handful of other guys who know her alter ego as a sex toy salesperson.

“A good one,” she answers, glancing around the room. “I made a ton of sales.” She reaches for one of the rollers on the ground. “Can I help?”

“You’re all dressed up.”

She dips her roller into the pan. “Believe me when I tell you that there is nothing in my wardrobe worth saving.”

I glance her up and down in her outfit and feel quite differently. Sure, it doesn’t look like it came off a mannequin in some exclusive boutique store, but she wears it well.

“Besides, I’ll be careful,” she adds.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Damned if my cock doesn’t twitch at the thought of her in bed.

“Shouldn’t you?” she counters, easing alongside of me and putting her roller to the wall. “I’m too fired up right now to sleep, anyway. These women were particularly chatty tonight.”

I shrug, giving in, but hoping she doesn’t get anything on that blouse. I have a strange sentimentality for it. “So what constitutes a good crowd at one of these parties of yours?” I ask.

“Pretty broad range. But they need expendable income. So they are usually a little older than I am.”

“Married or single?” I find I’m curiously fascinated by this.

“Usually married.”

“And looking for a way to liven things up in the bedroom?”

She shakes her head. “Actually, not really. I think most of them are just looking for a reason to get together with their friends, have a few drinks and a few laughs. I’d bet at least half of the things I sell to them go unused. They just wanted to have a reason to vent.”

She stoops over to get more paint and I can’t help noticing how the black material on her skirt frames some really remarkable curves.

“Think about it,” she continues. “I provide an atmosphere where women actually get to talk to each other about men and sex in a completely unique way. You can’t even imagine the stories I hear.” She laughs suddenly. “Believe me, I walk out of those parties wondering what the hell I’ve been missing.”

A laugh escapes me and I glance her way to see a blush creeping up her neck. Obviously, she hadn’t intended to let that thought slip out. “Things a little slow in that arena?”

Raising her eyebrows, she looks at me, cocking her head slightly and looking delectable enough to eat. “Logan, I live in freaking Newton’s Creek. Of course things are a little slow in that arena.”

I frown slightly, suddenly worried she might head back to Bergin’s. My protective side flares up. “Well, promise you’ll be a little more careful about picking up men in bars. There’s no way you should have followed me up to my room.”

She sputters, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. I could have been an axe murderer.”

Her laughter somehow makes half the blood in my brain drift toward my groin.

“That’s exactly what Kim said.”

“Yeah, well, Kim’s right,” I advise her. “As I was on the receiving end of it, I wasn’t going to complain that night, believe me. But now that I know you better, if you’re going to try that on a man again, promise you’ll talk to me first.”

She turns her face toward mine and her eyelids are heavy, seductive. “I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Oh, shit. That’s not how I meant it. “So I can talk you out of it,” I clarify.

Biting her bottom lip, she turns her face toward the wall again. “I made that much of an ass of myself, did I?”

“What do you mean?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.” She puts her roller back in the pan. “I better get to sleep.”

I grasp her hand as she starts to step away. “Wait. I have a feeling I said something wrong, and I’d really like to know what.”

“You said nothing wrong. You were being honest. I acted like an idiot that night, and it was certainly enough to be a permanent turn-off for any guy. I really understand. And I appreciate this big brother attitude you’ve got toward me, but it’s somehow insulting after we kissed like we did.” Her sigh is tight, as though her throat is clenched.

“Hold on. The fact that I’m pulling a big brother attitude has nothing to do with the way you bolted on me that night. And it has everything to do with the fact that you’re 24. That’s just way too young for me.”

She scrunches up her face and looks at me. “You said you’re 32, right?”

“Right.”

Staring at me, her big eyes look baffled. “Okay. Yeah. Eight years difference. That’s too much for you?”

“People are like cars. You drive them too hard, too fast, they get a lot of wear-and-tear. I’ve depreciated a lot more than my 32-year-old counterparts, Allie.”

I hear her scoff, like she thinks I’m not being serious. “I’m jaded, Allie,” I add, trying for simpler terms.

She still looks at me like I’m insane, but I refuse to give her details. If I tell her about my 24-year-old ex-girlfriend in Annapolis, I’d have to tell her how she’d freak out every time I woke up screaming in the night, or asked me to please not mention the fact that I was seeing a shrink to any of her friends. Then Allie would likely say that Vanessa was a bitch, and I honestly don’t feel that way. It was just more than she could handle.

Hell, it was more than I could handle, too. I didn’t like the night terrors and the cold sweats and the shrink visits any more than she did.

Even though I’m a lot better now, the women I’ve dated recently have been a little older, and less starry-eyed and idealistic than the 24-year-old standing next to me. That suits me well.

Yet, I’ll admit, not one of them makes my heart pound like Allie is doing right now.

“Okay,” she finally says quietly. “That’s probably for the best anyway, seeing as you live next door and you’re giving me the townhome for free. I might start thinking I need to pay you back in some way.” She cracks an adorable smile.

I’m not sure if it was intentional, but her words have me thinking of several ways I’d love her to pay me back, and they’d probably have me sleeping a lot more soundly at night than I am right now. I force a laugh. “Right. No strings attached on the townhome.”

I almost think I hear her mutter “damn” under her breath. But with her rattling the paint tin to load up her roller again, I’m not sure if I imagined it.