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.