Chapter 5

Andrew

 

 Aside from the fact that I’m now soaking wet, I think I might have injured my ankle. Here I am warning Logan to be careful because of the rain, and I’m the one who falls down. Go figure. I just hope that I didn’t screw myself from taking part in the marathon… I bet I know how well that would go over with Wyatt Young.

“Here, give me your hand,” Logan says to me as I’m lying by the curb, half in the wet grass and the other on hard pavement.

My white, nylon shorts are now muddied and have grass stains on one side. I’m extremely grateful as I say, “Thank you, Logan.”  

While walking to the tunnel, my mind suddenly shifts from my accident and begins to notice how good Logan smells and how warm his touch feels. I’m focusing especially on his shoulders and how ripped his muscles feel under my hand.

I’ve forgotten how good it feels to have human contact… a simple warm and gentle embrace. My parents certainly weren’t the touchy, feely types. It must be that WASP blood running through our veins where everything was done strictly and by the book, without any flexibility. Child rearing to them meant no coddling of the offspring, no tenderness or warmth… just stern discipline.

Children were to be seen, but not heard. Their goals were my goals and I had my entire life planned out for me from the time I was an infant, all the way through adulthood.

Not that giving goals to children is a bad thing, because I probably wouldn’t be where I am today without that guidance. However, why does it have to be either/or? Can’t you instill strong values into your children and show them warmth and love?

It’s no surprise that I married Maria. During the little time that we spent in marriage counseling, I quickly came to the realization that I married my mother… another cold hearted, dissatisfied and unbending woman.

I’m a walking cliché.

I know there are many warm and loving women out there. I just happened to choose one who was the opposite of those things.

Logan helps me to prop up against the wall and then steps away. “Are you going to be okay for now?” he asks.

I quickly feel a sadness envelop me now that our bodies are no longer in contact. For that brief minute or two I felt a connection to another person and it had a calming effect over me.

I look on as Logan begins to take off his shirt and ring it out. He has a killer body… smooth, defined and muscular, with an eight pack for a stomach.

He puts the t-shirt in his back pocket and looks at me. “Do you think you’re going to be able to walk on it?”

That’s when I move slightly away from the wall and hold up one hand against the cold brick… putting some pressure on the left ankle that is hurt. “I don’t think it’s too bad actually. It might be slightly sprained, if that.”

I’m having a difficult time taking my eyes off of Logan’s body. He’s now shaking his head and running his fingers through his sandy colored wavy locks… then he slicks it back behind his ears. Now he looks even more handsome with all of his face showing. He’s strikingly reminiscent of a fitness magazine cover model.

I have to admit that I’m slightly jealous of how comfortable Logan is with showing off his body. I would do the same if I looked as proportioned as he does. He has a body that any guy would envy having.

I’ve never been super pleased with my own body and that might have something to do with the fact that I was at my current height when I was all of fifteen years old. Back then I was so gangly and leggy, and became hung up about looking at my naked self.

I used to get teased all the time about my height and consequently grew to hate the fact that I towered over everyone. My parents used to tell me that one day I’d be thankful I’m this tall. But that’s never happened.

Logan is now leaning with his back against the wall across from me. The rain has died down a bit and all is quiet except for the light pitter patter of raindrops still falling into the surrounding puddles.

Logan’s tone is friendly and relaxed when he asks, “What charity will your firm be sponsoring for the marathon?”

For several seconds, I have a complete brain fart. I guess I’ve been so caught up in the moment… staring at Logan… that I have to stop and think about it.

Finally, I answer. “Umm.” I look up to the tunnel ceiling. “I think it’s the New York Foundation… foundation for the Arts. I think. Sorry,” I quickly apologize to Logan, I suppose because it feels awkward for some odd reason or other, not knowing the answer right away.

The truth is that my mind is somewhere else and I can’t seem to focus on anything other than how conflicted I feel, being alone with Logan. It’s completely different than how I felt with our interaction with him in the courtroom. There, I was confident and clear minded, whereas now all I can seem to focus on is the fact that we’re alone and how I felt when our bodies made contact.

I haven’t yet figured out why I’m so drawn to Logan… is it an emotional connection? Physical? Or both? I want to simultaneously run to him, yet run away from him at the same time.

Now trying to get out of my head and back into the conversation, I ask, “How about the DA’s office? What organization are you running for?”

“Breast Cancer Research Foundation,” Logan quickly answers. Then he pauses before continuing. “If it was up to me though, I would have chosen The Robin Hood Foundation.” He trails off. “But it wasn’t my call… so.”

Curious, I ask, “What does the Robin Hood Foundation do?”

“They’re a food distribution organization that helps the poor… from food banks, to HIV/AIDS organizations, to youth groups. It’s an organization that’s dear to my heart because a good friend of mine from grade school’s father contracted AIDS and the family ended up losing everything. This organization provided food and emotional support to my friend and his family when they needed it most.”

“Did the father survive?” I ask.

“Nope.” Logan turns his head to look out at the rain and reflect. “It was before they came up with treatments. After witnessing all of that firsthand, I had a better idea of the direction I wanted to take my life.”

He continues. “There are so many people who are in need these days. Manhattan… actually all of the boroughs… have become so insanely expensive for the average person, there’s more people than ever who need these services, unfortunately.”

I nod. It’s heartwarming for me to see a person so dedicated to helping others. Logan has a good heart and it’s rare that I come across people like him in my office or doing the type of lawyering that I do.

Everyone that I know only seems to think about helping themselves… to get ahead monetarily. They get excited by stupid things like the new iPhone coming out, or the latest donut shop that’s all the rage.

Listening to Logan talk, I realize how insulated my own life has been. Growing up with country clubs and private schools, I never came in contact with anything messy out in the world.

It was the perfect Stepford Wives life. Except, we all know what’s lurking just beneath that perfectly unblemished exterior. Life happens to all of us and in the end we’re all human.

Even my current career was basically handed to me on a silver platter by my father, thanks to his money and connections.

I tell Logan, “That’s very kind of you to show that level of compassion.”

He returns my gaze with a look that’s part curious and part dismissive. If I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn he had rolled his eyes.

I can’t blame Logan for feeling the way he does about what I do for a living. I think in my own mind, I’ve always somehow tried to rationalize it. I’m not really that person, or, I’m just doing my job. Someone has to do it. 

Who knows, maybe it’s the reason I’m drawn to Logan in the first place. He’s the opposite of what and who I usually surround myself with and it’s refreshing to find someone with a passion in their life that’s not related to solely to financial gain.

“It’s the reason I do what I do,” Logan finally says. Then he continues. “I try and volunteer as much as possible for that organization.”

I’d like to tell Logan that I’m not the person he thinks I am. But I think I’d be lying to him as well as myself if I did. I cannot justify what I do. As much as I think or try to convince Logan I’m not that person, it would sound phony. It would sound and come off as being inauthentic.

The real question though is why do I even care what Logan thinks about me?

I don’t know the answer to that myself. The only thing I do know is that I feel something when I’m around him. I felt a connection to him, an instantaneous attraction, the very first time I saw him in the courtroom.

And I’d like to have a friend like Logan, instead of the stuffy, uptight people I work with. He seems more real than anyone I know and even if he doesn’t believe it, I do have great respect for him.

Logan is staring out the U-shaped opening of the tunnel. A couple of school aged kids holding umbrellas pass through the tunnel. They’re both staring at their phones.

Logan look over at me and asks, “How is it feeling now? Any better?”

I tell Logan, “I think it’s better, but just to be sure, maybe you should come here and hold me up.” Once the words leave my mouth, I feel a rush of anticipation within me. I can’t wait to feel the warmth of Logan’s body next to mine. Or how I can smell his scent… stare at his unblemished skin.  

Logan approaches me. “Let’s see if you’re able to walk.” He motions for me to take my arm and place it around his neck and shoulder. His touch sends shock waves throughout my body. I can feel goose bumps on my arms and I don’t want him to let go.

I begin to put pressure on the left leg and notice that the discomfort that I was feeling earlier has greatly diminished. I look into his eyes and smile. “Are we friends now, Logan?”

He looks a bit startled, but calmly says. “Sure, Andrew. Yes, we’re friends.”

Then without warning I find myself I leaning down and kissing him on the lips.

I’m suddenly exhilarated by the soft tenderness of his mouth. How curvy and supple his full lips feel pressed up against my own. I feel the warmth emanating from his soft skin and savor in his masculine scent. I become lost in the sensation… until.

What the fuck am I doing kissing a man?

I’ve never done anything like this before.

Those few seconds of realization cause me to push away from him and bolt out of the tunnel and begin running. Where to, I have no plan, but I continue on anyway in my confusion.

Maybe it will help clear my mind… the mind that has become so mixed up that I no longer have any idea what I’m doing or where my life is going.

Wait...

Is my dick hard?

What the fuck is going on? I can’t believe the confusing effect this man has on me!