16
| NICOLE |
It’s been over two weeks now since the attack and I’m still staying at Logan’s.
I’m beginning to think I might be living there. Sort of. It’s all very unclear.
Logan insists his lack of clarity on when exactly we’re planning on me moving back to my apartment is all because I suffered an extensive brain trauma. And after giving me this medical diagnosis of his, he immediately finds a way to distract me and change the subject.
The man is positively incorrigible. And so very, very adorable.
He doesn’t distract me with sex per se—he’s pretty adamant about me needing more time to recover before we can argue about that topic. It’s been more…creatively comprehensive foreplay, if you will.
Like I need any more reasons to want to stay longer.
The orgasm-on-demand amenities at Casa De Logan are of course, great, but I’ve honestly loved every single minute of my time here. From the board game nights to the afternoons spent simply hanging out in the back yard, it’s all been wonderful.
I know it can’t last, but I’m cherishing each moment as it comes.
Today, we’re grilling outside with Logan’s parents. I’ve been looking forward to it all week. It’s my first backyard barbecue ever, sad as that sounds. And seriously, I’m so excited I might need a tiny mood stabilizer.
“Hi grandma!” Hannah rushes over to give Carol a hug. “Look! Look! Nicole is living with us now! Isn’t that awesome?”
Oh my god. “It’s just temporary,” I tell her quickly. “We’re not ‘living together.’”
“Logan already explained everything, dear.”
I shoot a surprised glance over at Logan.
He shrugs. “I’m convinced my mother has some kind of super invasive surveillance on my life. I’ve thought so since I was a kid.”
“Gee, I wonder what that’s like,” I deadpan.
“Rhetorical humor is lost on me,” he informs me, tickling my ribs mercilessly for a second for attempting to liken his actions to his mother’s. “Anyway, Mom knows everything. So, I don’t bother trying to keep things from her anymore.”
Carol nods matter-of-factly. “This is true. And we’re in absolute agreement that you shouldn’t go back to your apartment. Those bugs Logan described sound absolutely dreadful.”
I raise an eyebrow at Logan.
Who’s gone missing into the other room.
“Luckily,” I say, not at all comfortable ‘Santa Claus lying’ to his parents. “The fumigation should be done soon.” I don’t want her to think my home is a biohazard zone.
“I heard it’s going to take longer,” he calls out, still eavesdropping out of sight.
As Carol sets the picnic place settings outside, she weighs in, “Best not to rush these things. You can’t be too careful with insect infestations.”
“Oh yay!” cheers Hannah from the lawn where she’s throwing horseshoes with Phil. “Does that mean Nicole can stay with us longer? I love having her here. She’s so much fun!”
Gah, that little girl knows just how to melt my heart.
“Hold up,” says Logan, materializing out of nowhere. “Are you saying Nicole is more fun than your old man?”
Hannah ponders this question seriously for a bit. “Okay, maybe not more fun,” she says diplomatically. “But she is more funny. Especially when she’s driving you crazy.”
“She does do that often,” agrees Logan.
“Only because your father starts it,” I counter.
“I know!” says Hannah, cracking up. “It’s so much fun to watch. It’s like watching grandma and grandpa pretend to fight.”
Carol pats Phil lovingly on the shoulder. “Oh, we’re not pretending, dear. Your grandfather drives me bonkers.”
“But you still kiss and make up after,” Hannah reasons. “That’s what makes it more like pretend fighting. Just like what Dad and Nicole do.”
I don’t know that she fully understands what she just implied, but I’m fairly certain all the adults are thinking the same thing.
Phil tosses a very interested gaze over at Logan, who is hyper-focused on the grill at the moment.
Meanwhile, I’m avoiding Carol’s eyes altogether. I have a feeling Logan might be right about her being partially psychic.
As a therapist, this intrigues me. As a woman in an undefined live-in relationship with her son, I’m quaking in my sneakers.
I quickly re-route the discussion to the food Phil placed on the table earlier. “These dishes you all brought look amazing.” That a lot of them appear to be meat-free makes me all gooey inside.
Carol beams. “They’re all vegetarian. I’ve been trying out recipes all week.”
“She has,” says Phil. “And when all those turned out really badly, we had our special events chef whip up some things for us to bring this morning.”
Carol blushes and gives her husband a killing look. “Narc.”
Lordy, these two. “You really didn’t have to go to any trouble just for me.”
“Nonsense.” Carol gives my hand a motherly squeeze. “It’s good for us to try new things and eat healthier. Logan’s been trying to get us to cut out red meat for years.”
“I still don’t know how he does that,” I say. “Steaks and burgers are way too good for me to give up forever.”
“Wait, so you’re not a vegetarian?” asks Phil, confused.
“Nicole’s only a vegetarian six days a week,” clarifies Logan. “On Sundays, all bets are off. I’m not even exaggerating; the woman is like a carnivorous dinosaur. Hell, she’ll bite your hand off if you try and take her meat away from her.”
“Or if you talk stink about her football team,” adds Hannah, giggling.
“Got the teeth marks to prove it,” says Logan, eyes silently daring me to contradict him.
I can’t believe they’re ganging up on me like this. The first incident Hannah saw was just a joke, and the second, Logan is presenting totally out of context. Not that I can possibly put it into context for his parents. Seeing as how I’d bitten him on his rump and all.
“Logan dear, why don’t you try this six-day thing?” suggests Carol brightly. “That way, on Sundays, when we grill over at our house, I won’t have to make one sad little pasty turkey burger to get shamed on the grill by all the others.”
“OMG,” laughs Hannah. “Nicole makes fun of Dad’s burgers, too.”
Again, out of context. I didn’t make fun of them, I simply mentioned them while Hannah was reading Bunnicula, the tale of the vampire rabbit who sucks vegetables pale. Sheesh.
“Hey Dad,” inquires Hannah curiously. “If you start eating red meat again, does that mean we can start eating fast food burgers?”
Uh oh.
Logan gives me a see-what-you-started look, which then transforms into a grin much too quickly for my comfort.
I brace myself for whatever he has in store.
“Tell you what, Nicole,” he offers genially. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll let you grill me a steak on Sundays from now on if you let me do your laundry at the same time.”
I gasp, scandalized that he could even suggest such a thing.
“Nicole here believes whole-heartedly in sports superstitions,” he fills his parents in, chuckling at my attempt to vaporize him on the spot with my eyes. “She thinks if she does her laundry on Sundays, her precious 49ers will lose.”
“Why test fate? Every time I’ve done laundry on NFL Sundays, they’ve lost,” I defend, before smacking him on the shoulder. “Stop trying to make me look crazy in front of your parents.”
“Wasn’t trying to,” he says, before smiling evilly. “If I really wanted to do that, I’d have told them how you buy extra underwear every fall to make sure you have enough clean pairs available since you also don’t do laundry on NFL Mondays and NFL Thursdays whenever San Fran has a winning streak…rare as that may be.”
I can see his parents are trying not to laugh.
And I start surveying the utensils to see which one will do the most non-vital damage if I throw it at Logan.
“I think that kind of fan devotion is to be commended,” says a straight-faced Carol, ever the gracious one.
“It really is,” agrees Phil with a reassuring smile. “In fact, I’d probably have done something like that when I was your age.”
I give Logan a smug ‘so there’ look.
“Really, grandpa?”
“Sure,” he says. “You know, if my team stunk as badly as the 49ers.”
My jaw drops.
“Nicole dear, you really should change your allegiance to the Broncos,” says Carol with a grave nod like she’s sad to be the bearer of bad news. “That way, you could take Logan up on his deal. Win-win.”
Unbelievable.
The resulting ‘so-there’ look from Logan is infinitely smugger than mine.
Good god, questionable sports taste aside, I’m really, really starting to love this family.