“You ready to go?”

“Go where? I thought you were on a date.” I suddenly have posture and boobs again by the time I reach him.

“I decided to make it an early night. Besides, I felt bad about what Amy said to you earlier. She doesn’t always understand the meaning of tact, and you didn’t deserve to be put on the spot that way. Get in.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Where are we going?”

“To get you an overnight bag from your house. You’re not staying there tonight.”

“Oh, I’m not? Logan, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Look, I’ll make you a deal. If you want my silence, then here’s the way it’s going to be. Any night, regardless of what night of the week it may be, that your father goes to the bar, you will stay at my apartment. The only exception is when you have plans to stay with Sara. No one except for us will know about this, and that includes Sara. She can’t keep her mouth shut, and the last thing I need is my parents finding out, or worse yet, the DA’s office. I have a spare bedroom that will be yours, and you can leave anything you need there so you can come over anytime, even when you can’t get home for your stuff.”

He grabs my hand without taking his eyes from mine, unfolds my fingers gently with his own, and places a key in my outstretched palm. And while I’m stunned to the point of being shocked at what he’s saying, I still note the shiver that runs through my body at his lingering touch on my skin.

“This is yours in case you are unable to get hold of me and need to get into the apartment. Oh, and here.” He hands me a cell phone. “It’s a prepaid phone, and my home and cell numbers are already programmed in. I don’t care who you give the number to, but I want you to use it anytime you need to reach me. No more payphones in the middle of the night. I’ll take care of adding minutes when you need them.”

I’m sure my mouth is gaping as he’s speaking, but this is unreal, and more than that, unacceptable. As if it’s not bad enough I’ve allowed myself to be supported by his parents, now I have Logan managing my life.

I start to protest he is doing too much when he cuts me off. “I’m sure you think this is open to negotiation, but I assure you it’s not. I’ve been considering this since you left today, and I will accept nothing else. If I’m going to risk your safety and my ethical conscience by keeping your secret, you will give me the assurances I want.” He pauses, staring at me for some seconds before continuing. “Do we have a deal?”

What reasonable choice do I have? I fumble and stutter to get the words out. “Yes. Yes … But … but I feel bad that you are doing so much. I can’t…”

“Why don’t you just say ‘thanks’ and leave it at that? Okay?” He smiles a gentle and reassuring smile at my concern.

“Thank you. I mean it, Logan. I really appreciate you doing this.”

“I know you do. Of course, I have a contract you’ll be required to sign.” He raises a brow as he rounds the front of the Jeep to the driver’s door. There, he stops and watches my slack-jawed expression with amusement before letting me off the hook. “Relax. I’m just kidding. Now get in. I’d like to be in and out of your house before he gets home.”

We head toward the Elm Crest Trailer Park and my trailer. The house is dark when we arrive, and my father’s car is missing. I’m embarrassed to let Logan see the inside of our old, dilapidated, ugly trailer, and I try to get him to wait in the car while I run in. He refuses. Awesome. We enter and go straight to my room. I collect a couple pairs of pajamas, the ones that aren’t too ugly and tattered for him to see, and clothes for the next day. He stands by looking around at the wood paneled walls, disgusting dirty carpet, and outdated decor. I can tell he’s not impressed with our decorating sense.

When we finally reach his apartment, it is late. His apartment is a renovated old brownstone in the downtown area of our little burg. When the Harringtons bought this complex five years before, it was in desperate need of renovation. Logan spent an entire summer helping his father fix up the apartment complex every evening after Marcus finished up at the law office. Even Sara and I helped with some of the work we could do. Marcus has a huge woodworking shop at their house and loves doing this type of work. The result: a beautifully restored building that has its original character blended with a contemporary style to create one of the most sought after buildings in town.

His apartment is neat and organized; not anal retentively, but enough so you know it looks this orderly at least 90 percent of the time. The smell is not overly masculine, like cologne, but clean and inviting. His furnishings are tasteful and simple. There are exposed bricks and tall ceilings throughout, and what walls aren’t brick have been kept white. His furniture is contemporary and simple. A sectional sofa in a light-colored linen makes up his living room, with a beige rug sitting in front of the fireplace. He has natural mahogany furniture pieces his father made and black and white photography on the walls. The kitchen is contemporary but blends well with the original brick wall that runs along one side of the room. The spare room looks out over the front of the building and his room over the courtyard in back. Each of the two bedrooms has its own bathroom, and the common area has but a half bath for visiting company.

The spare room, like the rest of the apartment, is decorated simply and tastefully. The bed in the spare room has clean sheets and a green quilt folded on top, but is yet to be made. Logan helps me make the bed and then finishes giving me the tour of his apartment. His bedroom is larger than the spare and has more of his father’s pieces. His bathroom is well organized, and I can’t help but notice the extra toothbrush in the holder. A pang of jealousy hits, and I pathetically wish Amy wasn’t in the picture—as though I could ever compete. I really hope I won’t have any run-ins with the she-bitch.

Logan catches me staring at the toothbrush holder. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of keeping her out of your way.” Whatever the hell that means. Maybe he’s alluding to dumping her… I’m daydreaming. Back to reality.

After showing me around and making sure my spare key works, Logan settles in to relax and watch a movie and asks me to join him. It is late, and I fall asleep halfway through the movie. Logan wakes me when the movie is over and escorts me to my room. He follows me in and sits down on the bed. My heart is pounding—confused at why he followed me.

As is his custom, he watches me until I’m so nervous I start stammering. “Logan … thank you again for…”

“I didn’t come in here because I wanted you to keep thanking me, Rowan.” He pauses. “I know telling me about your past was really hard for you to do, but I’m glad you did. I just want you to be honest with me… I need you to be honest with me. We’ve known each other for a really long time, and I care about you. I just want to make sure you know that. You know if you need anything, you can come to me.”

“I know.” My voice is soft as my eyes flit away from him.

“I’m going to bed. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Okay.”

As Logan stands to leave, we say good night, and I am finally alone; although, I’m not sure I really want to be. I lie there, thinking about the past twenty-four hours and how many things have changed, and I can’t help but wonder what else is in store for me.

Chapter 4

It is unnerving knowing Rowan is sleeping in the next room. I should have left her there and gone back over to my parents’ to keep Rufus company. But I let him out and gave him his medication just before picking Rowan up, and my parents are going to be home early the next morning to help with the church rummage sale. He’ll be fine until then. Besides, I want to be here. I want to be with her. Hell, truth be told, I want her in my bed like last night. What am I saying? Rowan is not my girlfriend. She never has been and never will be. She is my sister’s best friend and nothing more. She is only seventeen, after all. She’s barely more than a child. Please. Who am I kidding?

When I was seventeen, I knew plenty of seventeen-year-old girls that were hardly naïve and innocent. What made me think she was? I wasn’t a virgin at her age. What makes me think she would be? But that thought is infuriating and brings on a sudden and intense wave of juvenile anger. The thought of some stupid kid touching her and fucking her is almost intolerable. Is it anger or jealousy I’m feeling? If I am being honest, I’d have to admit it’s jealousy. Jealous of whom? Don’t I have to be jealous of someone in order to be jealous? What the hell is wrong with me?

I have a beautiful girlfriend who can’t seem to get enough of me. But I’m just so damn bored with her. She can be flaky, but she’s easy, no pun intended—though the pun is just as accurate as my meaning. She lets me focus on my studies, on my future, and quite frankly, she makes it easy to set her aside when I need to. There’s nothing much to her really. But everyone seems to think she’s great for me. She was furious when I ended our evening early. She almost always spends the night with me on Saturdays, but I had other things on my mind and was looking forward to seeing Rowan again. Had I actually chosen to spend time with Rowan over Amy? I obviously needed to speak with Rowan about our arrangement, but still, I was happy to see Amy go. I just need to stop letting myself get so close to Rowan. That’s all.

I can’t sleep. This is going to be a hell of a long night if I’m going to spend it thinking about Rowan instead of sleeping. I’m just so restless. When I finally start slipping away, it is long after I first lie down. I dream of Rowan. It’s the type of dream where you can’t remember exactly what happened, just the feeling. It was intimate and intense. I remember looking at her and her huge, beautiful eyes looking imploringly back at me. Our eyes were locked, but I don’t know why. And when I wake suddenly, it is with a loud admonishment ringing through my mind. Get a grip! Now I’m waking myself up dreaming of her. Wait… I heard something. As I come out of my dream world and the fog of my mind lifts, I remember hearing a noise that woke me. And then I hear it again. I get up and slowly move through my bedroom to the hall that adjoins the bedrooms to the living room. And as I enter the living room, I can see the sink light in the kitchen is on. Did I leave that on? I try to remember, but I can’t.

Then I hear a voice. “Shit! What the hell… How effing tall is he?”

“Effing?” What the hell does that mean? It is Rowan’s voice I hear, and she’s obviously frustrated by something. I enter the kitchen to see her trying futilely to reach a glass on a high shelf in the cupboard. I ask if I can help her, startling her and causing her to jump. Again she is in pajama pants and a tank top—a different pair from the night before. The pants are baggy on her and the tank top tight. She is wearing her military, geek, chic reading glasses I’ve seen only a few times before. She is so small and delicate and truly fuckable, reading glasses and all. Or perhaps I’m just feeling the effects of my dream. I can’t help but let my eyes slowly take in her entire body.

Her breasts are small but perfect and round, her nipples hard and tight beneath the white tank top. What I wouldn’t give for those nipples to be in my mouth at this moment. The baggy pants leave much to the imagination, but I know her legs are lean and her bottom round and firm. I imagine running my hand down her flat stomach and under that waist band and below, touching her, fingering her clit, and then entering her tight warmth, making her come. I can’t help but wonder what she would sound like coming for me. I’m instantly hard with arousal for her, and I thank God for my own baggy flannel pants. Though if she cared to glance, I’m sure she would know what I was thinking.

She startles me from my fantasy by speaking. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

My breath hitches in my throat as I’m brought back reluctantly to reality. “No. I mean yes, but it’s okay. Is the bed comfortable?” Please say no. Just give me any reason to get you in my bed.

“Yes, it’s fine. Thank you. I just… I’m sorry I woke you. I just can’t reach the glasses.”

I amble over to where she is standing, and from behind her, I reach around and above her for a glass. Any closer and my cock would be up her damn shirt. It’s on a rather tall shelf in an awkward corner, and I have my poor spatial planning to thank for this little temptation. She uses the glass to get a drink of water while I continue to watch her. She seems uncomfortable with my eyes on her, but I have no intention of looking away. Finally finished unintentionally tormenting me, she excuses herself. And I watch her walk away, catching the fabric of the pants brush against the strong and round cheeks of her firm bottom.