Selena

 

I got home at ten and felt like a nobody who had been examined and found wanting. I couldn't believe I'd fallen for Logan's charm. I should have known he was an asshole. I'd seen as much when he'd come to my library and gotten all cocky before shamelessly charming his way into Alicia’s panties. I was willing to bet she would have dropped them for him right there if he'd asked.

 

He'd told me that nothing had happened with Alicia. I'd believed him then. Was I right to? Of course, his logic had made sense. He hadn't had the time to get down and dirty with her, even if they did a quickie. I'd personally felt what he was capable of, and Logan would never be satisfied with a quickie.

 

God, maybe he would. What did I really know about him? Only that he was a charmer, he had a string of women after him because of it, and he liked to read. Oh, and he was fantastic in bed.

 

I went to my room and got out of the dress and heels I'd worn. I didn't want to be in them anymore. I didn't ever want to look at them again. I wanted to burn them. Melodramatic? Yes. But I felt used and dirty and angry and...every thought back to what had happened between us left me gasping, aching for more.

 

I shook the thought off and pulled on pajama pants and a tank top. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and phoned Joanne. "Can you come over?"

 

"Are you back from your date already? How was it?"

 

I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Honestly? It was great. And he's a dick."

 

Joanne was quiet for a moment. "I'll be right over."

 

I hung up and filled the kettle and switched it on. I set out two cups. After a moment of thinking I switched off the kettle again before it had boiled, put the two cups away and retrieved two wine glasses instead. God knew I needed a drink and a shoulder to cry on.

 

She arrived ten minutes later and I opened the door. Even in jeans and a blouse she looked put together and professional. She had a bottle of wine with her.

 

"You read my mind," I told her and took it from her, walking to the kitchen.

 

She followed me. "So, great and a dick, huh?"

 

"You have no idea." I poured the wine, handed her a glass and sipped mine. It was dessert wine, sweet and delicious as it slid down my throat. I read the label on the bottle. It was diet conscious wine. Less sugar. More alcohol. Just the way I liked it.

 

Joanne gestured with her head toward my lounge and we walked to the couches. "Where did he take you?" she asked when we sat down and I told her.

 

I explained about him meeting me there instead of picking me up, of how stunning the place was, of Maxine, of the food and then the sex. And then the text. Joanne listened intently, gasping in all the right places.

 

"You don't think that it was just a mistake?" she asked when I was done.

 

"What, the sex?"

 

She chuckled. "No. That's for you to decide, anyway. I meant the message that came through."

 

"Ugh." I rolled my eyes and filled up the wine glass that had run empty.

 

Joanne held her glass out as well even though it wasn't empty yet. "Haven't you ever had a message from a guy that wasn't on par with what you felt for him?"

 

I thought back to my lame ass boyfriends. It had happened once or twice, I had to admit. I didn't feel like giving him some kind of grace, though. "He met me there instead of picking me up. What if he came from someone else's house? And that waitress hated me. Hated. And then that afterward? You have to admit it looks bad."

 

Joanne nodded and looked into her wine glass. "It does...but it could also be a coincidence, you know? He could have had a meeting. And if he's anything as hot as you say he is, I would be glaring, too, if he was with someone else. And the text..."

 

I shook my head. "I don't know. It feels like it's a lot of credit to a guy who really is a pain in the ass."

 

Joanne laughed. I downed my wine, feeling like an idiot. The truth was that the alcohol was making me feel mellow and I was starting to think maybe I'd overreacted a little. Maybe Joanne was right, but that would mean that my reaction when I'd run out on him was completely unnecessary and that made me feel like I looked stupid.

 

"I'm so jealous," Joanne said after a while.

 

"Of what?"

 

"Your life right now."

 

I snorted. "Come on. You have the life everyone would give an arm to have. Chain stores and a house kitted with all the latest and that image."

 

She shook her head. "It's a nice life but where's the adventure, the passion? You just had that in the best way, even if you disagree. And you can write it into your book, too."

 

"My book?" My head felt nice and light, a bit fuzzy, a little like all the events of the evening were wrapped in cotton wool now and they didn't sting so much.

 

"That's what you were doing this for, right? Research for you character." Joanne's eyes were laughing at me. That was what I'd told her, I remembered. I shrugged.

 

"So I thought maybe it could be something. You know?"

 

Joanne nodded and didn't tell me 'I told you so.' "Write what you need to write, but give the guy another shot, okay?" She glanced at her watch. "It's late. I need to get home. I'm going to suffer tomorrow with this wine and I have a meeting at eight."

 

"On a weekend?"

 

She got up and stretched. "Business never stops. Be a writer instead of going corporate. You'll retain your soul."

 

I got up and hugged her. "Thanks for listening."

 

"Oh, honey, if your stories sound like that? Any time." She smiled at me and left.

 

When I closed the door behind her I turned and leaned my back against it. My vision swam just a little and my head spun from the wine. I'd had way too much to drink, and I was starting to think maybe I'd been a bit harsh about the whole thing, like Joanne had said. Still, I wasn't going to grovel. I wasn't the groveling type. Instead I sat down in front of my laptop and opened it, finding my manuscript in the Cloud where I'd saved it at the library and opened it up.

 

I read the parts I'd rewritten. Not bad. I wanted to incorporate more of Logan into my book. I wanted his character to be bigger. I didn't think about the implication that my desire to do so meant I wanted it in real life. I was angry with him. He was a two-faced son of a bitch who had used me and abused me and I was lucky to have gotten out before he had the power to really hurt me.

 

I told myself over and over again that I meant it, too.

 

My fingers were slow on the keys because of the wine - I was slurring as I typed - but the story itself flowed well. Alcohol lowers inhibition, which, by definition, means the truth comes out. In the world of a writer that was a life without writer's block.

 

I'd written about five pages when I stopped and leaned back. I had to look up what I'd written before the rewrites. The manuscript had been printed for the book club and I used it to compare the first draft to my changes.

 

When I'd gone to the bedroom to find it and couldn't, I realized Logan still had it. I'd left it in the restaurant. The idea had been to take it after sex. Dammit. I would have to see him again to get it back, and I knew what was going to happen if I did - more attraction. Now that we'd slept together I wanted to know more of him. I wanted to give him more of me.

 

Of course, that was the wine talking. The wine and Joanne's advice that I wasn't going to take. When I woke up in the morning, sober again, I would know what I really thought and felt and I wouldn't be easily influenced.

 

I saved my work, switched off the laptop and climbed into bed. When I closed my eyes, my head spun and I tried visualize everything in the room in my mind's eye to stop the spinning.

 

It didn't work but I didn't lie awake for long enough for it to annoy me.

 

When I woke up, light fell through a crack in the curtain. The moment I opened my eyes it pierced into my temples. I sat up, clutching my head. I'd been an idiot for drinking that much. A whole bottle of wine equaled a whole bottle of headache. And I had work today. Wasn't that just fantastic.

 

I looked at the clock on my nightstand and swore. I had to be at work in ten minutes. Shit.

 

I got into the shower and tried to clean up as fast as I could. I was aware of the fact that anything Logan had left behind was running down the drain now. I got out of the shower, tried to comb my hair even though my hangover headache hurt like a bitch and pulled on jeans and a t-shirt with sneakers. No socks.

 

I grabbed my phone. One new message. It was from Logan. He wanted me to meet him and there was an address, too. That wasn't happening, obviously. I wasn't going to go meet him after what he'd done.

 

I ran out the apartment and caught a cab to the library. I was three minutes late - record time - but Alicia always came much, much later. What she didn't know wouldn't kill her.

 

I unlocked the door, started the computer and collapsed on the desk, feeling like death warmed up.

 

The day at the library was slow, which left way too much time for me to think. I tried to write but the screen light hurt my head even more. There were only two people checking in books and I wasn't in the mood to shelve the ones that had been returned the day before.

 

I kept glancing at the clock. Logan asked me to meet him at four, which was when I was done with my shift. The time crept closer and closer still, and I was getting frustrated because I had to make a decision. Was I going to go? Or not?

 

I had to get that manuscript back. I needed it. I didn't want it in the hands of someone I couldn't trust. I didn't want to see Logan. I wasn't sure what had happened between us anymore - the combination of advice from a friend, alcohol and the real event had blurred everything in my mind until I wasn't sure where I stood. Maybe seeing him would help me. Maybe it would set things straight for me and set my mind at ease so I didn't have to worry.

 

Yes, that was it. I would see that he was still an asshole, which would prove my actions were right. And I would get my manuscript back. That was it; that was what I was going to do.