Tailspin (Better Than You) (23 page)

              Turning the corner onto Logan’s floor, I stop suddenly. She’s there, just down the hall, leaning against her door jam and talking to some guy. Naturally, I size him up, from the messy brown hair on his head to the boat shoes on his feet. He’s tall, but not very wide, tanned and wearing a Guy Harvey shirt that’s pushed up to his elbows. I look at her next, clad in a pair of jeans shorts and an off the shoulder T-shirt. Her brown hair is up in a messy bun, some of it falling out to surround her face. She looks beautiful, relaxed and comfortable talking to this other guy. Jealousy, as lethal as acid, pools in my stomach.

              The thing is- I don’t want to interrupt. This is her world, her new start, and here I am, a piece of her past blasting in like I own the place. I should have called. I should have given her fair warning that I was coming. Maybe she would have convinced me not to come, told me she was too busy with schoolwork while Guy Harvey dude sweet talks her outside her dorm.

              But I can’t look away. Like a creeper, I half hide behind the wall and watch as Logan laughs, uncrosses her arms and tucks a hair behind her ear. Guy Harvey dude is gesturing with his hands, telling a story that she obviously finds funny. How many times have I made her laugh like that? I know the answer, and it makes me want to punch someone. What am I doing here?

              Logan’s talking now. I can hear the sweetness of her voice, unfiltered and bright. She sounds so different over the phone. She gestures behind her with her thumb, and Guy Harvey dude nods. Logan turns and opens her door, and then they disappear behind it.

              The right thing to do in this situation would be to walk away, drive back home and pretend nothing happened. If all she wants is to be my friend, than so be it. At least she’s in my life. But it doesn’t make sense. Why would she drive all the way to Miami to see me, after so long? Why would she tell me that she wants to be with me, and then invite this guy into her room?

              Before I know it, I’m half jogging to her room, pounding on the door so loudly that it echoes in the empty, cement hall. Logan opens it and when she sees me, her eyes widen. She looks behind her, and then back at me. “Nathan? What are you doing here?”

              I lift my shoulders. “Surprise?”

              “Um,” she says, glancing back again.

              “Is this a bad time?” I’m being an asshole, I know it, but I can’t help it. I move around her and walk into the room. Guy Harvey dude stands from sitting on the edge of her bed and looks at me, then at Logan.

              Instead of decking him like I want to, so badly it burns, I stick my hand out and say, “I’m Nathan.”

              He hesitates, and then grips my hand. “Cody. Nice to meet you.”

              “We have a few classes together,” Logan interjects, and Cody looks at her like he’s seeing an alien.

              “We’re friends,” he adds, sounding annoyed that she belittled their acquaintance to just classmates. The air is thick with tension, our words wading through a pool of mud. “I’ll go,” Cody says while walking towards the door, exchanging a look with Logan on the way out.

              The door clicks shut. Cody’s footsteps echo through the hall and then the sound of a door opening and closing. So he lives in this dorm, too.

              “We’re just friends,” Logan says, her hands balled by her sides. She’s trying to keep them from shaking.

              I can do one of two things; continue to be an asshole, and pretend like the whole situation doesn’t mean a thing to me, or act like a jealous asshole and get mad. I opt for option number one. Shrugging my shoulders, I stick my hands in my pockets. “That’s cool.”

              She eyes me carefully. “You’re not mad?”

              “Why would I be? You’re just friends and we’re just friends.”

              “Friends. Right.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest “Why’d you drive all the way over here?”

              “I had some free time. Didn’t feel like working at the bar.” It’s a lie. I had to beg Chief for the day off. He only agreed because I offered to do detail work for some craft fair his wife is doing.

              “Free time,” she repeats skeptically.

              “Yeah. Weird, right? So,” I say, trying to change the subject. “What were you doing before I got here?” She gives me a look. “Before
Cody
got here,” I add.

              With her chin, she gestures at the desk in the corner of the room. “Homework.”

              A piece of hair falls in front of her face. I’m expecting her to move it, but she doesn’t. It hangs there, caressing the skin just below her chin. I stand and walk towards her, slowly approaching until we’re so close that I can tell she’s not breathing. Her arms have dropped, now hanging loosely by her side. I reach out and brush the strand of hair away, push it behind her ear and let my finger linger on the side of her neck.

              “I’d offer to help with your homework, but I’m no good at that stuff.”

              She finally lets out a breath, warmth running over my chest where her lips are almost touching. Forgetting about Cody and my jealousy, and focusing on the way her skin feels underneath my fingers, I shift my hand to the back of her head, tangle my fingers into her messy bun and pull so that her lips are just a few inches away from mine. “I’m good at other stuff, though.”

              “Like what?” she asks, her lips barely moving.

              As an answer, I push my mouth against hers, slip my arm around her waist and push the rest of her body flush against mine. Everywhere our bodies touch is electric, sizzling. Her arms wrap around my neck and my tongue wraps around hers and then I can’t even think straight. I knew that if I ever had another chance with Logan, I wanted to take it slow, savor every inch of her. But this is frantic, our teeth colliding and our feet tripping as we shuffle to the bed.

             We land on the hard, skinny mattress in a tangle of arms and legs, her underneath and me on top, each movement punctuated by our heavy breathing. Logan’s hands follow the line of my spine, my hips and then my abs, her fingers tracing each individual muscle. They tense in response, everything clenching and pulling and throbbing.

And that pull of blood, that need to bury myself inside of her that surges through my body, makes me put on the breaks. It’s a splash of cold water, because Logan and I are nowhere near ready for this. Part of me is man enough to admit that while the other part of me is screaming in frustration.

Pulling my mouth away from hers is like extracting a tooth; painful and unwanted. Her eyes stay closed for a while after I pull away, her lips still pressed into that perfect pout. When she realizes I’m not coming back, her eyes pop open, glazed over from passion and lust.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, concern and confusion furrowing her brow.

“Nothing, I just- I need a minute.” I push off the bed and slide to the ground, kneeling in front of Logan with my forehead on her knees.
Breathe. Control yourself
.

Her fingers brush through my hair, delicate, tempting. “Come back up here,” she says, her voice sultry and soft.

I lift my head and look into her eyes, this position so fitting for our relationship. I’m not the rescuer, the prince charming, the white knight; merely a slave at the feet of her mercy. She watches me for a minute before sitting back. “Are you thirsty?” she asks.

Before I can answer, she stands and walks over to a mini fridge, pulls a water bottle out and throws it to me. “Thank you.” The cold water fills my mouth, slides down my throat and pools in my stomach, extinguishing the slowly building fire inside.

Logan leans against the counter and watches me chug the water, a smirk on her face. “What now?” she asks when I finish the water and toss the empty bottle into a nearby trash can.

“Show me around campus?”

“Yeah, sure.”

It’s not that I’m interested in seeing the various schooling buildings, but staying in this room with a bed, however sorry it is, is way too much.

~~

              An hour later we’re sitting at a picnic table in an open, grassy area, the sun bright and hot and exposing. I’m straddling the bench seat and Logan’s looking straight ahead, stuck in a world far away from here. It gives me the chance to study her face, to notice what’s changed and what’s the same. The scar on her temple is still there. There’s another on her cheek that I never noticed before. Maybe it’s new, but probably not. There weren’t times like this before, where I could sit and stare at her and catalogue every inch of her face.

              “I can feel you staring,” she says suddenly without glancing my way.

              I avert my eyes to a cluster of people sitting in the grass. “Sorry.” It’s a group of five people- three girls and two guys- some with books, some without, and one guy with a guitar. While the others talk, he strums the strings, not playing but experimenting, each mix of notes floating through the air.

              “It’s nice here,” I say, still watching the guy.

              In my peripheral, I see her nod and lick her lips. “It’s peaceful.”

              “Are you sure you want to move back to Miami?”

              She finally looks at me, her gaze unwavering. “I’m sure.”

             
What if you can’t handle it?
I want to ask, but the way she’s looking at me,
challenging
me to ask, keeps my mouth shut. She looks away again, leaving my eyes to stare at the scar on her temple. I hope she can handle it.

              Even though I haven’t been here long, I stand and dig my phone out of my pocket, pretend to check the time. “I should get going,” I say.

              Logan nods her head and stands. “I’ll walk you back.”

              When we enter her dorm building, we pass a room with couches and TV’s. A bunch of people are in there hanging out, and one of them calls Logan’s name. She looks in and waves and I notice Cody sitting on the back of one of the couches, watching as she walks by. I realize then that it isn’t jealousy towards Cody I’m feeling, but jealousy for not being a part of this new life. Anger that my role will always be cast in the past. I don’t know how we can move forward that way. I don’t understand why she’s running back to the place that ruined her.

              Logan signs me out with security and then turns to face me. “Do you want me to walk you to your car?”

              I glance at the room full of people and shake my head. “That’s alright. I’m not too far.”

              She steps closer, lowers her head so that she fits right underneath my chin and places her forehead against my chest. Then her arms slide around my waist and I let out a breath of relief. “Thanks for coming,” she whispers.

              “I’ll see you soon, then?”

              She nods against my chest. “Soon.”

              I kiss the top of her head and, somewhat reluctantly, pull away. She offers me a small smile before I slip out of the door and head to my car, with no reason to leave other than I don’t belong here.

31

December 3, 2010

              “One more box, I swear,” Logan says with a laugh. I think she said one more box six boxes ago.

              “She’s not lying this time,” Melissa adds as she walks past, a box in her arms.

              It doesn’t really matter how many boxes there are; I could do this all day if it meant being near Logan, having her move back home, but a small part of me, insistent and wary, reminds me that this place is part of her past. Miami is a wild city.

              Shaking my head, I bring my attention back to following Logan down the hall to her room. It’s bright in here, with one of the walls painted a cheery yellow and her bed covered in a stark white comforter, just another reminder of how different she is. How much better she is. I’m sure she can handle Miami now.

              “Everything okay?” she asks, head tilted to the side, hair falling down around her shoulders. Putting the box down, I take a step closer to her and do exactly what I’ve always done in my dreams. I finger her hair, let it fall between the spaces and get tangled up in my hand. Her eyes flutter closed, her whole body shifting to face me. I take another step, bend my head and run my nose along the underside of her jaw, breathing in her scent. Wild flowers. With my other hand, I trail a finger up her arm, over her shoulder, down her neck, watching as little bumps appear in the wake of my touch. I stop at the top of her shirt, my finger resting just above her bra.

              “You smell like flowers,” I whisper into her skin, letting my tongue brush against her with my words.

              Her hands come up, grab onto my elbows and squeeze. “Shampoo,” she says, bending her head even further to allow me the most access. I run my lips across the soft spot underneath her ear, lightly bite her earlobe. She sucks in a rushed breath, digs her nails into my arms. I’ve got one hand wrapped around her neck and one hand planted on her hip, holding her securely within my arms. It’s never felt so good, holding someone like this. So right.

              With slow, careful steps, I begin to back us towards the bed, alternating between grazing my lips down her neck and breathing into her ear. She’s breathing so hard that I can feel her chest rising and falling against me. It’s strong, sure, so unlike when she was in the hospital and barely holding on.

Finally the bed is behind us, and I lower her slowly, placing one hand behind her for support. I watch as her dark hair splays against the white backdrop, and then her shoulders, her back, her legs. I lay myself on top of her, pressing our bodies together; chest to chest, thigh to thigh, all the while holding her eyes with mine.

“Nathan,” she says, and it’s desperate, a cry; not to be saved but to be loved. I can see it in the way her eyes search mine, have always searched mine. It was so easy to interchange the two; saving and loving, but I know now that one does not have to go with the other. I didn’t save her,
couldn’t
save her, but I have always loved her. Always.