She: Part 2 (52 page)

Chuckling, Logan says, “Somehow I doubt that.” He leans closer and smiles against my lips.

“They’re really
very
sore,” I mutter, and I can say no more.

Logan kisses me with ardour, our first proper kiss of the day. He slips his tongue into my mouth, and I accept him readily, allowing our kiss to deepen in both passion and meaning. He shifts his body so that he’s straddling me and I wrap my arms around his neck, my hands loose in his hair. We don’t let-up. It’s the longest kiss that we’ve ever shared, but that seems appropriate after the day we’ve had.

“Gemima?” Logan murmurs many intoxicating minutes later.

“Mmm?”

“I love you,” he tells me.

I smile into his mouth. “I love you, too, Logan. More than anyone, more than anything,” I steal his line.

“Good,” he whispers, before kissing me once more. More delicious minutes pass, until

he says, “Gemima?” again.

“Yes?” I grin.

“Do you think that you could be pregnant?” he asks me out of the blue, pushing up on his hands so that our faces are now a foot apart.

Huh
? “Uh…no,” I say slowly. “Why?” I ask back, looking up at him with wide eyes. How long has he been pondering
that
, I wonder, and then I remember him questioning me in the bathroom about how many times I’ve thrown up today. I also realise that it was
after
that enquiry that he became less hostile. Perhaps in an effort to avoid upsetting his potentially pregnant fiancé? Except I’m not pregnant, I’m sure I’m not, and yet despite this certainty, I can’t stop the memory of Amber’s phone call last night — she’d be over the fucking moon!

“Just a hunch,” Logan says. “You threw up yesterday as well as today, remember?”

“A coincidence,” I try to convince him.

“Maybe,” he allows, “but we do have a lot of sex,” he tells me needlessly, making me grin, “and with that comes the chance. Can you take a test?” he asks.

“I’m getting my period in a few days,” I remind him. “If it doesn’t come, then I’ll pee on a stick for you,” I promise. “Alright?”

He starts chuckling. “Alright,” he nods, lowering himself back down to me.

“But I really don’t think I am,” I add, my arms sliding over his shoulders once more. I’d feel different if I were, wouldn’t I?

“Just in case. We can’t have you falling off sofas if you are,” he says earnestly.

It’s my turn to roll my eyes, making him laugh. “I’m not,” I whisper against his lips with confidence. “But if you want to place a bet on it, I’m more than happy to take your money, Leary,” I smile, and he looks intrigued by the prospect of another bet. “How does one hundred million euros sound?” I jest.

Laughing again, Logan informs me, “For one hundred million euros, I’d destroy your pill myself,” he teases me right back.

Hmm
… “Maybe just five euros, then?” I amend.

“A steep drop, Samuels, but infinitely more realistic,” he smiles, getting to his feet, and pulling me to mine too, before we fall onto the sofa once more, this time in a tangled heap.

I hold out my hand and we shake on it. Logan’s hunch verses my hope, because I
really
don’t want to be pregnant, that’s for sure. It’s too soon for us to give up our time to another being. We’re happy being consumed in one another, and that’s exactly how I want it to remain. To prove this point, we lie down again, me draping my body over his, and we continue our make out session, until we’re interrupted for a second time.
Can
’
t we catch a break today
, I think, somewhat manically. The elevator pings, and I sit bolt upright, peering over the back of the sofa.

“Who is that?” I wonder out loud.

“It could only be one person,” Logan says with a grin.

The doors slide open and Buddy strides into the apartment, stopping when he sees me.

“Are you alive?” he asks me possibly the most ludicrous question that I’ve ever been asked, prompting my second eye roll in under three minutes.

“It would appear so,” I point out.

“Does Logan know that?” Buddy asks, looking slightly frantic.

On the sofa, out of Buddy’s sight, Logan gives my waist a squeeze, making me squirm.

“Seriously, Gem, there was a shooting where you live, so you should call Logan because he’s going to freak,” he busies himself with his phone for a moment, quite possibly sending Logan a message.

While he’s distracted, I take this moment to mouth to Logan, “
Wow
, he knows you so well…maybe the two of you should get married?”

He squeezes my waist again and I let out a little squeal.

Buddy looks up at me and tells me, “I know you’ve only seen his fluffy side—”

“His
what
?” I laugh.

“You’ve never seen him lose his shit, is what I’m trying to say,” Buddy continues.

I have now
, I think.

“He’s going to go fucking crazy,” Buddy informs me.

Yup
,
he sure did
.

“It’s all good, Bud,” Logan says, sitting up as well and finally revealing himself to his best friend.

Buddy stares at him, perplexed. “What the fuck are you doing in Paris?”

“I heard about the shooting,” Logan explains.

“Wouldn’t a phone call have sufficed?” Buddy scoffs.

Logan and I exchange a comical look.

“You’d think,” I giggle.

“We, uh, had some issues with communication today,” Logan puts it delicately. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

Buddy looks at him as though that’s completely obvious. “I’m here to make sure your woman is OK, aren’t I? With you out of town, isn’t that a best friend’s duty?”

“Oh my god,” I look at both of them, grinning broadly, “you two are freakin’ adorable,” I can’t help coo.

Ignoring my sort-of compliment, Buddy continues, “I heard about the shooting on the radio, and once they named the location, I figured I should get on top of it.”

“I appreciate that, man. Thank you,” Logan says sincerely.

“Yes, that’s lovely of you,” I agree. “You’re only,” I check the time on Logan’s phone, “eleven hours too late, but it’s still very sweet of you,” I grin.

“Better late than never, Gem,” Buddy tells me.

“Shit, is it already past seven?” Logan asks, taking his phone from me to check the time for himself. “I’m supposed to be picking my parents up from the airport. Does that fall under a best friend’s duty too?” he asks Buddy with a dimply smile, testing his luck.

“Nice try, Loges, but I’m running late myself. I’m supposed to be picking Noah up and Olivia will have my balls on a skewer for being late. So…good to see that you’re alive,” he says to me. “I’d come over to shake hands and shit, but you’re probably both naked from the waist down, so I’m just going to leave.” He turns and pushes the button for the elevator. “Oh, FYI, Loges, that thing that you were waiting to hear back about…about the you-know-what?”

“Yeah,” Logan says, his voice suddenly eager and urgent as Buddy steps into the elevator.

“You got the green light,” Buddy tells him.

“
Yes
!” Logan exclaims happily. “Thank you, Bud,” he says to his best friend again, who waves as the doors shut and he disappears.

“Him acting as a kind of pseudo-Logan is really very sweet,” I blurt out. “What green light?” I then ask.

“Oh, nothing big,” Logan says sarcastically, “it’s
just
the green light for our wedding location,” he reveals. “Your dream location, I think,” he adds.

“Where?” I enquire hurriedly.

“It’s still a secret,” he says, “but only for a little while longer.”

* * *

With nothing but an apple for his dinner, and a long kiss goodbye from me, Logan leaves for the airport, assuring me that he’ll be home in a couple of hours.

Feeling ravenous, I then reheat one of Mercy’s meals, and throwing my previous plans for the evening out of the window, I settle at the dining table, simultaneously eating and continuing with the sketches that Amélie requested I do. Long after my plate is empty I stay here, drawing design after design, some to Amélie’s specifications and some out of my own inspiration. It’s cathartic for me to draw like this. Any leftover stress, frustration, or tension seems to leave my body as I put pencil to paper. And while throughout my life I’ve found that drawing
anything
has this calming effect on me, the fact that tonight I’m drawing something that I’m so passionate about, adds an element of fun and excitement to the experience.

Without effort and without even meaning to, I complete my assignment for Amélie, looking over the six designs she asked me for and marvelling in how resplendent it would be to walk through the real life versions of them. I then put my drawings into my bag to give Amélie in the morning, and have a piping hot shower, washing away the mental and emotional dirt of the day, before sliding into bed and snuggling under the soft covers.

Despite the early hour, I anticipate sleep to take me immediately given how exhausted I am, but it does not. I lay awake for a long while, with nothing in particular to blame for it. I have sudden bursts of activity, during which I triple check the alarm clock on my phone, or send Amber a message telling her not to worry if she happens to catch sight of the news, but nothing sends me off to sleep. Soon enough, I hear the familiar ping of the elevator as it delivers Logan back to the apartment.

Now I purposefully keep myself awake, gazing at the ceiling in the darkness, trying to decipher his movements through what I hear, though I struggle to hear a thing. Perhaps he’s settled behind his desk, intent of doing some work before coming to bed? Or maybe he’s jumped into the pool — his own version of stress relief.

My impatience gets the better of me quicker than I ought to allow it. I want to see him, I want to hold him and kiss him once more tonight, I want to fall asleep in his arms. I reach out to turn on the bedside lamp and then I whip the covers off of me, my bare skin instantly shivering in the cold air. I get up, take one step, and then jump in fright when I realise that Logan is sitting on the end of the bed, still fully clothed, staring at me in reverence.

“
Jeez
, Logan,” I exclaim, my heart rate abruptly spiking. “I was coming to find you,” I then tell him, taking a deep, calming breath before sinking back onto the mattress and crawling over to him.

He smiles at my words. “I was watching you sleep, baby,” he says quietly, and whether he means it to or not, the simple gesture of watching me speaks volumes. His words are telling of just how shook up the events of today have made him. He was scared, really scared, and it’s as though he’s now captivated by the simplest of things. Like watching me breathe.

I put a comforting hand over his and reach forward to lightly kiss his lips. With ardour, he takes his other hand and glides it over my cheek until his fingers are immersed in my hair, and then he holds me to him as he kisses me deeply and with an air of urgency. It’s yet another telling sign of how afraid the thought of losing me has made him. He’s back in that vulnerable, emotional state that I saw a few hours ago.

After several long, intoxicating moments, he breathes, “Are we still OK?”

“Yes,” I grin into his mouth.

“Good.”

His hand strokes my cheek once more, and in the corner of my eye I can see something written on the back of it. Taking his hand in my own, I stare at the number inked in permanent marker on Logan’s skin, recognising it at once. It’s my mobile number.

“I don’t know yours either,” Logan admits, “but I ought to. Today is proof that we can’t afford
not
to know each other’s numbers,” he says.

“Agreed,” I nod.

“We need to always be able to contact each other,” he adds.

“How do you feel about homing pigeons?” I ask lightly.

He cracks a smile. “I, uh, think I’ll stick with this,” he stares at my number. “It’s staying here until I’ve committed it to memory. I’d like you to do the same,” he then requests earnestly, “because I can’t ever have another day like today, Gemima. I honestly don’t think that I can take feeling that scared again,” he tells me candidly, confirming my thoughts. I move closer to him, letting him hold me, starving off his fears, and the cold that I feel. He whispers into my hair, “I’ve been to hell and back in my youth, but I know now that that wouldn’t come close to losing you.”

My heart aches uncomfortably hearing him talk like that; I don’t want his mind plagued with such thoughts, I don’t want him living in that space of fear, yet I don’t know what to say. My parents’ story sits at the forefront of my mind, until I suddenly realise that
we
are not them. Our future
won’t
repeat their history, and I
have
to let what happened to them go. It’s burdening my own thoughts, and dampening my usual optimistic, hopeful outlook on love.
Yes
, I think,
letting it go is the right thing
.

I look up at Logan. “You can talk about losing me in fifty years time,” I murmur against his lips, “but not before then. The meantime is our chance to live, to be happy, to enjoy every moment that we have together.”

His face lights up. “I like that plan,” he smiles, before his lips effortlessly part my own. He kisses me for a long moment, all of his fear and tension dissipating, leaving nothing but the passion and the eagerness that I’m used to from him. “You’re very wise for someone so young,” he teases me, grinning into my mouth.

I try to stop my eyes from rolling, but I cannot, they roll, making Logan chuckle.

“I
love
being in love with you, Gemima.”

I take his words in, letting them seep into every pore of my being. “Baby, I love being in love with you too,” I tell him, and it’s the most truthful thing that I’ve ever said.

“And you’re right, I should concentrate on the good, and let this day go,” Logan says, standing up and pulling me up too. He walks to his side of the bed and pulls back the duvet for me to crawl under once more.

A few minutes later, the entirety of his outfit on the floor, Logan joins me, lying half on me, half beside me under the covers. I relish the feeling of his silken skin on mine, I relish the sensation of one of his hands in my hair and one of them caressing my body as we kiss one another.