"No, yeah. I'm sorry. Did you say something?"
"No, but I splashed you," he said. "Got careless with a spoon. Water ended up on your face. You know how it is."
I looked down at my clothes, but everything was dry, and I would've preferred his hand on my face either way. Logan's t-shirt was obviously wet, but taking the time to check him out meant an extra few seconds to stare at his short shorts, always a perfectly ridiculous choice for someone with his long legs. With a dish towel still in my hand, I resisted the temptation to reach for anything he was wearing, and met his eyes when he decided there was no good reason to keep touching me.
Except that there was often a good reason, and we both knew it.
"You'll need to change," I said.
"Not really. When you leave, I'll just take everything off."
"Logan?"
"Yes?"
"Do you really want to wait for me to leave first?"
His breath caught at that. Visibly so. It confirmed that I wasbehaving terribly—selfish in a way I should abhor—but that was true at Taylor's too, and in Logan’s kitchen, I was willing to bring that particular sin count to an even two.
"No."
It should've been fast then, our kiss and everything that followed. Instead, Logan pulled the towel from my hand and set it aside and pinned me against the refrigerator with his body.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Now you're getting me all wet."
"I guess you need to take everything off, too."
Then we kissed, and every familiar thing about it told my dick to react accordingly. I left in the morning with fewer regrets than I deserved.
For a couple of weeks afterward, we didn't quite ignore what had happened, but we didn't quite talk about it either. August was already creeping up on me, and all I could think about was the trip I had taken the year before. On an unbearably hot Saturday, Logan and I spent the afternoon at the community pool in my complex, and then we stumbled into my apartment, sun-drunk and barely dressed. I grabbed him, unfairly hungry, and he grabbed me back, pleading silently until he gathered the energy for a few words.
"Are you using me to forget him?"
"I don't know," I growled, most of it ending up in Logan's mouth. "I mean, yes, but it won't—I can't forget him. I don't think I want to. But it hurts to keep thinking about him all the time."
"Okay. Yeah, okay." He stopped to kiss me again, his tongue desperately deep inside my mouth. "Can you think about me while I'm here? While we fuck—can you please think about me instead?"
I told him I could. It was the only correct answer.
Tonight, over three months after I made that promise—and after many, many nights with Logan's endless legs wrapped around me—I don't know whether I've kept my word. Probablynot. Probably not even close. It's why I respond to Jamie the way I do.
Everything has changed and I hate it
Nothing has changed, sweetheart.
Those two messages aren't enough to make everything right between Jamie and me. I keep an eye on his games and look for a reason to say something important to him, butawesome winortough lossordoes Lena ever come to see youdon't feel right. I stay busy with teaching and coaching, and Logan and I weave friendship and sex into something almost real. November becomes December, and because his family isn't around, I bring him everywhere with mine.
We bake cookies with nieces and nephews who should be too old for silly traditions, but welcome us with faux eye rolls. We help my mom with last-minute Nativity play preparations at the church. We join everyone for a walk through a neighborhood known for outrageous light displays, and I refuse to acknowledge that the hot apple cider I drink reminds me of a night with somebody else.
It makes sense when my parents encourage me to bring Logan to midnight Mass, and it's even less of a surprise when they tell me to bring him to my sister's house on Christmas Day. I do both, but I break somewhere in between.
Merry Christmas. I still miss you.
There's a chance he's asleep—I won't guess much about his schedule these days—but he responds quickly enough to keep me from imagining anything that hurts.
Merry Christmas. I hope you have a great day with your family.
I set my phone down next to the bathroom sink and step into the shower, frowning at the ways Jamie's words made me feel worse,not better. He should know my family by now. He should tell me to give my mom an extra hug from him or joke about how my dad half-grunts at every present instead of looking as pleased as he is. He should have an inside joke with at least one of my sisters that he brings up just to annoy me before I have to spend the day with them. He should behere, but even if he has to be with his team, my family should at least know who I'm missing.