Up In Flames(11)
Author: Nicole Williams

Logan smiled. “Who needs college when I’ve got everything I need right here? The ranch. Baseball.” He motioned at the now empty field before tapping the tip of my nose. “And you.”

It was a sweet thing to say, but it made my stomach squirm. Guidance counselors, family, or pop culture had seriously dropped the ball when it came to explaining to Logan we weren’t living in the nineteenth century. People didn’t get married and settle into home life at eighteen any more. People graduated high school, went to college, did a bunch of crazy stuff along the way, worked in their career field, and then, maybe then, did they decide to get married.

Logan wasn’t one of those people. And I wasn’t going to be one of those people if I stayed with him.

“What time do you have to head into work tonight?” he asked, dropping his arms from my waist. Logan wasn’t PDA self-conscious; he just didn’t let himself touch me the way most teenage boys touch their girlfriends.

After experiencing what touching could be like, I wanted to be touched.

“Dad asked me to pop in around five,” I answered, remembering why I was working tonight on what was supposed to be my weekend off. Logan had told Dad we didn’t have plans so I could work if he needed me. No thought to clear it by me first. I felt a spark of anger flame.

“You want to hang out at my place until you have to go in?” he said, turning his baseball cap around. “I miss you, Elle. Here I thought we’d have tons of time to spend together this summer, and I don’t think I’ve spent one uninterrupted hour with you yet.”

I wasn’t in the mood to be around Logan right now. Not just because of what I’d done with Cole, but because of Cole’s and my fight and the prospect of never seeing him again. I wanted to cry, or sulk, or hit something until I’d eliminated even a tenth of the ache throbbing through me.

What I didn’t want to do was be around my boyfriend who hadn’t been the one I’d been making out with last night.

“Come on,” Logan said, tucking my hand inside of his. “I’ll make you a cup of tea and we can watch a movie or something. You look like you need a little time to relax.” Logan’s other hand lifted to my face, tracing over the creases lining it. He knew something was wrong, but I knew my trusting, optimist boyfriend didn’t suspect anything remotely close to the truth. When his thumbs skimmed over the dark hollows under my eyes, he added, “You must have missed me as much as I missed you this past week.”

Logan’s blue eyes softened in concern. He was worried.

Another wheelbarrow full of guilt added to my mountain of it.

Tugging on my hand, Logan led me around to the driver’s side of my Jeep. “Come on. You look like you need some Logan therapy as much as I need some Elle therapy.”

I needed therapy, that was obvious, but I wasn’t sure if it was Logan Matthews kind. I gave an internal sigh before hopping into the Jeep and following him towards his place.

The Matthews’ house was only a few miles out of town, so the drive didn’t last long. It didn’t seem possible I could feel even more guilty than I already did following Logan in his old truck, but when I pulled up in front of the house I’d been to at least a hundred times before, I discovered there was no limit on the guilt meter.

“Mom left a couple chicken salad sandwiches in the fridge,” Logan said as we walked through the front door of his family’s old farmhouse.

Logan’s mom had spent the better part of her married life restoring it, and twenty-five years of hard work showed. The Matthews’ place was as much my home as my own. I’d spent as many waking hours here as I had at mine.

“You want one?” Logan pulled a Saran wrapped plate of sandwiches from the fridge and placed it on the counter.

“No, thanks,” I said, hovering in the doorway. I half expected the house to know what I’d done last night and who I’d been doing it with. I was almost holding my breath, waiting for it to reject me.

“Where are your dad and mom?” I asked. Usually one of them was always here, which made private time with my boyfriend hard to achieve. I guessed this had been part of their plan.

“Mom’s setting up for the big church potluck tomorrow and Dad’s getting a head start tagging the calves,” Logan said, focused on piling a mound of chips around his sandwich. I swear Logan ate enough food to keep four men in working order. “Why don’t you put a movie in? Girl’s choice.” He threw me a quick wink before heaping another handful of chips on his plate.

I studied Logan for a few moments, something I hadn’t done in a long time. He was handsome in that classical, Kennedy kind of way. He was a bit taller, but not as built. His eyes were lighter in color and, when they gleamed, it wasn’t with knowing or spine-tingling expectation. Logan’s hair was blond, golden specifically. The irony was not lost on me. It was a good couple inches shorter, and his skin was a few shades paler than . . .

Cole.

I was comparing Logan to Cole. In his own house while he offered to make me some lunch. And Logan was losing this comparison.

It wasn’t fair.

Pushing aside all thoughts of Cole, I made myself smile.

“You’re going to regret that,” I said, trying to sound playful. I wasn’t quite up to that task.

Logan chuckled as he cracked open a soda. “Just please, I’m begging you, not ‘The Notebook,’” he said. “I’ll poke my eyes out for sure this time if I have to watch that girl get it on with two guys and complain about how terrible her life is.” He drew his index finger across his neck.

He knew. I was going to puke.

No, wait. He was grinning now, stacking the leaning tower of potato chips. He didn’t know anything; the movie reference was just a dagger-driving-into-my-heart coincidence.

“No. Definitely not ‘The Notebook,’” I said as I headed into the living room. I loved the movie, or I had loved the movie, but I’d been on the same page with Logan. I could never feel sorry for poor little rich Allie, having to choose between two gorgeous men who worshipped her. Some people’s lives must really suck.

My opinions on Allie Hamilton the two-timer had changed in twenty-four hours’ time. She had a tough time deciding between her first love and her fiancee; I had a tough time deciding between my boyfriend and a guy I’d known all of a week.

Not that I had a decision to make anyways. I’d probably never see Cole again, unless in passing. I didn’t have a Noah Calhoun waiting for me if I broke it off with the man I was supposed to spend my life with.

I almost had to slap my cheeks to stop that train of thought.

Instead of plopping down on the couch in front of the TV, I headed up the stairs towards Logan’s room. He had a small TV and movie collection in his room, and since his parents didn’t let us hang out in there together when they were home, I walked right into his room and crashed down on his bed.

Logan’s room was a lot like him: comfortable, warm, and a tad boring. He still had the same sports ball wallpaper border he’d gotten in grade school running along the ceiling, the same twin sized bed, and the same trophy shelves hanging above his dresser, though the number of trophies had grown over the years. Other than the few pictures of Logan and me at our senior year dances and his pair of work boots, I could have been walking into the eight year old Logan’s room.

Change wasn’t encouraged here in the Matthews family.

I was starting to suffocate again.

“Hey.” Logan stood in the doorway, his overflowing plate in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. He looked uncomfortable.

He looked even more uncomfortable when I patted the space on the bed beside me.

I had to be with the only teenage guy in existence who didn’t jump at the opportunity to crawl into bed with his girlfriend.

“I’m tired and wanted to put my feet up,” I said, scooting over as Logan took a few tentative steps inside. “I might even pass out for a while before work, so I wanted to be comfortable. Do you mind?”

I could see from his face that he did, but he kept walking towards me. I didn’t get any satisfaction out of making Logan uncomfortable, but the guy wanted to marry me tomorrow and was uncomfortable lying next to me on his bed. Fully clothed, watching a movie, and maybe, maybe, a little hand holding.

“No, it’s fine. Dad and Mom aren’t going to be home until later anyways.” He set his plate down on his nightstand before taking a seat on the edge of his bed. If he sat anymore on that edge, he was going to fall off. “It will be our little secret.”

Little secret. Dirty little secrets. I couldn’t seem to not think about Cole for longer than two minutes.

Scooting back, Logan leaned into the headboard and tried to get comfortable. He still wasn’t quite there, but he got points for trying.

“I made some tea for you.” He held out the steaming mug where I saw a familiar tag swinging from a string.

Every day before this one, I’d taken the tea and drank it down like a champ.

Every day until this one.

“Logan,” I said, propping up on my elbows. “I don’t like tea. In fact, I hate it even. And if I could pick the kind I hated the most, it would be earl grey.”

I watched Logan’s face go through a few stages, from confusion to contemplation, before it ended on hurt. I could tell because he wouldn’t look at me—that was always the dead giveaway that I’d hurt him.

“I’m sorry,” I said as he set the mug down on his nightstand, looking dejected. “I could have said that in a nicer way.”

“It’s okay,” Logan said, leaning his head back and staring at his ceiling where the glow in the dark stars we’d stuck up there in third grade still were.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

His gaze drifted down to mine. “I’m not upset because you just told me you don’t like tea,” he said. “I’m upset because you haven’t told me until now. Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t like it years ago?”

Because I was in need of some serious psychiatric help.

“Why didn’t you ask?” I replied.

Logan’s eyebrows came together. “I . . .well . . . I guess I just . . .” His eyes drifted from the cup of tea to me a few times before his face relaxed. “I’m sorry, Elle. I guess I just assumed you liked it.”

I softened right away. “I didn’t exactly give you any reason not to assume I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Really.” I placed my hand over his. “It’s all right. It might have taken us a couple years to figure it out, but now you know I. Don’t. Like. Tea.”

“Got it,” he said, smiling as he tapped his temple. “What do you like then?”

I had to remind myself he was only asking about beverages.

“Coffee,” I said, feeling weight fall off my shoulders. “With a little bit of milk and one raw sugar.”

Logan nodded as he studied our entwined hands. He turned mine over, seeming to inspect every line and freckle, until he lifted it to his mouth. He pressed a gentle kiss into the backside of my hand, letting his mouth linger there for a bit longer than normal. So long, my heartbeat started to pick up.