Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“I think I get it,” she says softly.
I’m thinking of Rachael, of Anna, of everything.
“If I ever had another kid,” I say gruffly, “I’d need to be sure the woman felt the same as me.”
But maybe that was the problem with Rachael, I realize.
She did feel the same as me.
She felt nothing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lucy
We sit across the street from my apartment building, the atmosphere in the car feeling thick despite the cracked windows.
It’s Logan, the heat emanating from his powerful body, the subdued rage, and passion that threatens any moment to erupt.
I remember what he said about kids, about needing the woman to feel the same as him.
What the heck does that mean, exactly? How does he feel?
None of it matters. The fact that he feels comfortable enough discussing this with me proves I’ve been well and truly placed in the friend zone. I’ve never been here before. Or, if I have, I’ve never seen it as a problem.
But with Logan, it’s the last place I want to be.
What am I going to do, though? Tell him to stop sharing things with me.
Any contact is better than none at all.
He looks over at my apartment, giving me a side-on view of his strong jaw and the tension in his pulsing temples. I wonder again if he regrets oversharing and if that’s the source of all this tightness.
He’s done a good job evading my questions whenever I reference his playboy lifestyle.
It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe it’s simple privacy, nothing more, but not what I wish.
Nothing to do with me, specifically.
Would you like to come up for a drink? I imagine myself saying, the way people do in movies. And real life too, I’m sure. Jane would have no problem saying something like that.
Logan doesn’t seem in any rush to make me leave. I wonder if he’s just being nice, but I’m sort of starting to be able to read him…I think.
A little.
But there’s always the danger I’m projecting what I wish he was feeling, what I pray in my wildest and most untrue dreams will come true.
I think about the weeks and months before I met him, but I knew who he was, how I’d imagine my hands squeezing onto his strong arms, his intense eyes fixing me in place.
It’s always so much sweeter in real life.
“Will you need a copy of my high school diploma?”
“I imagine so,” he says.
“Hmm, okay. I can get it now…if you want?”
I’m getting closer to asking the question I want to ask. I’ve given him a hint, letting him know Jane is out, but at the same time, part of me regrets saying that.
It leaves the possibility open that he’ll want to do something….
Which is what I want. But real life matters too. What am I going to be able to do for this man, realistically?
And if he does things to me…how the heck am I going to know how to act?
Good job, none of that’s going to happen.
“You can submit it with the rest of the forms,” he says, and I feel like a door has just been closed.
“Okay.” I reach for the door. “I’ll see you around then.”
“See you around.”
I look at him as his cold-tone voice slams into me, freezing away any of the warmth from our conversation. All that stuff, about Anna and his past and my parents and discussing children… was just idle chit-chat to him, with no special meaning, no importance attached.
Just another conversation with another girl, and he doesn’t give a damn.
He’s a playboy, right down to his core.
I’m walking across the street, my bag clutched tightly, trying to steady my breathing.
Shamefully, I’m sure I feel more tears rising in my eyes, but these aren’t for his daughter, not for what was taken from him. These tears are for me, springing up from pity, from longing for a never-going-to-happen dream.
Back in the apartment, I get a text from Logan.
I’ll be at the community center tomorrow if you’re around. We can handle the forms then.
Tomorrow is Saturday, and I’ve got the day off work.
I’ve got a few errands to run, but that’s all.
I want to tell him no. He can’t just keep messing with my head like this, making me feel one thing then the other.
But then I think about seeing him again, and my body screams at me to make it happen.
My soul blazes for it. My heart yearns for it.
My future demands it.
Sure. What time?
What time works for you?
We agree on two PM, then I walk into my bedroom and lie down, replaying the evening in my head. I remember when Logan casually reached into his pocket and laid the bills on the table, shaking his head matter-of-factly when I asked if he wanted me to help him pay.
I remember the pain in his voice, talking about his daughter.