Текст книги "She: Part 2"
Автор книги: Annabel Fanning
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
11. It’s My Party
All through dinner I’m distracted. The key, which is tucked securely under my leg once more, turns me into a bundle of erotic desires. When, I wonder. Every time that Logan shifts in his seat next to me, I jump, thinking he’s about to make his exit, but he doesn’t.
Eventually, I whisper to him, “Don’t I get some sort of instructions? You know, an ETA?”
“Instructions for what?” he smiles slyly, acting clueless.
So that’s how he wants to play, is it? I roll my eyes playfully, making him laugh, before saying, “Never mind. But let’s just say that if you don’t fill me in on your little ploy, you’re going to have a lonely time on the roof.”
“No, I don’t think so, baby. You are brains as well as beauty, Gemima, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he chuckles.
Figure what out? And the hotel roof, really? It’s so open. So bold. So something I’m up for! Though I can’t help noting that if I do get to have my way with Logan up there, it’ll be the third time that we’ve had sex outside in the past week. A new fetish, Gem, I question myself, as I continue eating my delicious meal.
Logan relaxes in the chair next to me, engaging the table in conversation, which tells me that whatever he’s got planned it’s not happening anytime soon. I relax too, trusting that I’m as smart as he thinks I am, and that I’ll know when it’s go-time.
About an hour after our decadent dessert is served, the room starts to liven up again. People move to neighbouring tables to talk to their colleagues and friends, on stage the lectern is replaced with a long table, upon which a DJ sets up his equipment, and soon after the first song starts playing and a brave few gravitate towards the front of the room, near our table, where there’s a small vacant space for dancing.
It’s not until most of the people around our table have also gotten up and begun mingling once more, that Logan stands and offers me his hand. That’s not very covert, I think, assuming he’s inviting me to join him on the hotel roof. But I’ve misread his intention.
“Care to dance, Miss. Samuels?” he asks me. His eyes glimmer when he says my surname. We’re two of four people, in this room full of a thousand, who know that that won’t be my surname for that much longer.
“Love to, Mr. Leary,” I grin at him, accepting his hand.
We’re on the dance floor for less than a minute when the current song ends prematurely and an all too familiar tune starts playing instead – Girlfriend by N*Sync. Both glancing up towards the DJ’s table, Logan and I see Buddy standing next to the DJ. He raises up his glass to us in a toast. It’s a gesture that no one else will understand but us, a humorous and thoughtful one at that.
Hotel staff are quick to clear away the first several rows of tables now that everyone’s been fed, which opens up the dancing space much more. Logan and I twirl around to our unofficial song, and the few that follow, as more and more people flock to join us.
When it’s busy and noisy all around us, Logan tells me, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Abruptly butterflies take flight in my tummy. This is it, I think, this is the sign. Excitement and anticipation take ahold of me. I say the first thing that comes into my mind. “Have fun.”
He laughs, kisses me once, and then leaves the dance floor. I leave too, making a beeline for the bar, from where I can watch him walking towards the ballroom doors. As he walks through them, he throws a glance back into the room and then disappears from sight. Yup, that’s an unmistakable invitation. My heart starts to pound as hard as if Logan’s hands were already all over me. I love how hot and riled up he’s able to make me; the suspense of what will happen mere minutes from now is enough to make me wet.
Eager though I may be, I make sure to survey the room, checking that no one is watching me as I also head towards the doors, but when every face I see seems to be engaged with their own affairs, I slip out into the corridor convinced that I’m unseen.
* * *
I’ve watched enough movies to know how to access the roof of a hotel. Mimicking what I’ve seen on the big screen, I take the elevator to the top floor, and then I find the nearby stairwell. Sure enough, just as advertised, there’s one more flight of stairs leading up to a locked door. Fortunately, I’m holding the key to it.
I use it and half expect loud sirens to blare when I open the door. Maybe too many movies, Gem, I tell myself. There’s no sound at all, though there are dim lights scattered all over the rooftop. I shut the heavy door behind me and a moment later a dark figure appears and swoops on me. I’d be frightened if I didn’t instantly recognise the touch of those hands and the feel of those lips. Logan kisses me headily, deeply, and I’m lost in him.
It’s so silent up here that even our quietest sighs and moans sound loud. I shiver against his body, relishing the feeling of his arms encasing me, acting as a barrier to the wind. But they’re not enough of a barrier. Reluctant though I am to stop kissing him, soon my teeth start chattering, and to counter this Logan leads me to a small alcove, out of the reach of the wind. On one of the alcoves walls there is a large vent, which issues a constant stream of warm air right at us.
“Did you build this hotel?” I ask him, assuming that’s why he knows his way around its rooftop.
“Maybe,” he smiles at me in the faint light. That’s as good as a yes, I think. “Glad you joined me, baby,” he says, backing me against the alcove wall opposite the vent, his lips effortlessly finding mine once more.
“You were so nonchalant at dinner, I began to think you might be faking,” I smile into his mouth.
Logan shakes his head, his eyes wanton and full of arousal. “I had to see you alone,” he says seriously.
“It couldn’t wait ’til we got home?” I tease him.
He shakes his head again. “It couldn’t wait another minute.” He takes my hand and places it over his heart. I feel it pounding manically. “This is what you do to me, Gemima. I couldn’t fake this if I tried.”
I melt at his words, which along with the feeling of his heart beating causes a broad smile to spread across my face. Slowly I wrap my arms around his neck, gazing at him through the near darkness. “I love you something fierce, Logan Leary,” I tell him.
“Likewise, future Mrs. Leary,” he breathes.
Half a second later I pounce on him, realising only now how much sexual tension has been building between us all evening. It probably started with me ogling him in the shower. Then our amorous make out session in the dressing room. Not to mention the constant looks of admiration across the ballroom at one another, and my potent emotional reaction to his speech. It’s all been leading to this, and abruptly I agree with Logan – this can’t wait another minute.
We kiss for a too-brief moment before Logan sinks to his knees before me. I’m already panting heavily as I watch him lift up my dress and disappear under it. His head at my sex, he breathes me in, then his hands reach for the sides of my panties and he starts to pull them down.
Oh, jeez, this is going to be fast, I know it already. I’m so turned on, and the one long lick that Logan grazes over my clitoris a moment later turns my carnal longing up to maximum voltage.
“I want to feel you inside of me,” I moan, and in response Logan probes my entrance with his tongue. Ah! “That’s…that’s not want I meant,” I say with an airy laugh. Another moment later, he slides one long bent-on-pleasure finger inside of me and I moan again. “Still not want I meant,” I writhe against him.
Logan starts humming Leslie Gore’s It’s my party, the song that was playing when we left the ballroom. His finger works my inside and his tongue works my outside. He then murmurs the tune out loud, making a few noticeable differences to the lyrics. “It’s my party, I’ll eat you out if I want to…”
I grin at the change of words. Nicely done, Logan. “That’s an old song, baby. You’re showing your age,” I tease him.
He bites me in retaliation and I call out. Holy shit! He’s going to overthrow me soon. Every action of his picks up the pace and instinctively I widen my legs. Oh!
I’m sixty seconds away from an explosive orgasm when everything stops. Logan retreats his presence down below and reappears from under the hem of my dress. As I pant heavily, he gets to his feet, my panties held tightly in his hand.
“How do you want me?” he asks cheekily.
I roll my eyes at him. He so knows the answer to that.
Logan laughs at my reaction, and in the dim light I catch something glistening on his lips – it’s me, my arousal. Fuck, that’s hot! We gaze at each other for a few torturous seconds and the sexual tension between us reaches breaking point. I have to have him. Now!
Both of us jump to life at the same time. My hands fumble madly to pull up my dress, while Logan’s work double time to unzip and open his tuxedo pants. Our movements are urgent. Desperate. Frenzied. By the time that my dress has risen enough, his erection is freed, its throbbing length making me moan at the mere sight of it. It’s straining to be buried deep inside of me, and I’m so willing to be filled.
In one fluid movement, Logan lifts me and pins me against the wall; my legs are around his waist, my hands tightly gripping his biceps, and a glorious moment later he tilts his hips forward, filling me with haste. We groan into each other’s mouths.
Ah, yes!
He feels so good, so stimulating, so deliciously hard. He pauses for a moment, allowing both of us to revel in the feeling of our union, as our eyes pour into one another’s.
“This is exactly where I want you, Logan,” I breathe into his mouth.
“Remind me never to refuse you again,” he smiles and one second later he slides out of me and thrusts himself back in. We moan and groan and grind against each other, both so turned on that three gratifying minutes later we’re on the brink of orgasm.
I clutch him to me forcefully as I feel myself careening towards my release. I try to keep my voice down, but I can’t help the high pitched cries that escape my lips. “Ah! AH, Logan!”
Logan buries his face into my neck, his lips and tongue on my hot, flushed skin. His hips move with more speed and force. “Holy shit, Gemima!” he calls out, his voice muffled, his body tense.
Oh, yes. Yes!
A few, provoking strokes later, we come as one, my orgasm strengthening his, and his strengthening mine. Euphoria floods my body as we tremble against each other, riding every last, incredible moment of release.
“Oh my god,” I moan, slumping back against the wall.
Logan’s chest rises and falls rapidly. “Baby, that was incredible,” he says breathlessly.
“Agreed,” I sigh. I have to go back to the ballroom, I have to storm the stage, find a microphone, and deluge everyone in sight with details of just how phenomenal Logan really is, I think dramatically. It is an Appreciation Night, after all.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later we walk hand in hand back into the room. It’s louder and rowdier than before, a stark contrast to our quiet rendezvous on the roof. The stage catches my eye but in the time that’s lapsed between my orgasm and now, my desire to publicly congratulate Logan on his sexual prowess has diminished. It would draw attention to our absence…not that we were doing anything we shouldn’t have been doing. We were just getting some fresh air, I repeat my alibi in my mind. That story’s going to fly, right?
I get a chance to test it out much sooner than I anticipated I would when Buddy joins us just inside of the doorway.
“We were getting fresh air,” I blurt out hurriedly, pronouncing it all as one long word.
His mouth is open, about to say something, but after I speak, he closes it and looks at both of us suspiciously.
“Baby, I love you,” Logan laughs, looking at me, “but your poker face is terrible.”
Dammit! “I’ll, uh, get us some drinks,” I say to him, leaving the situation before Buddy can press for details.
As I drop Logan’s hand and walk towards the bar, I hear Buddy telling him, “There’s someone here who wants to see you.”
Two minutes later, with a drink in each hand, I go in search of my delectable fiancé and stop dead in my tracks when I see the person who Buddy led Logan over to. To my complete and utter astonishment, Jerry has made an appearance! I blink several times when I spot him standing in front of Logan and Buddy. Am I seeing this right?
“What in the actual fuck is he doing here?” I say out loud to no one in particular.
“Who, dear?” Mary-Gene asks me, as she, Rupert, Taylor, Karen, and Abigail join me.
“Oh, uh… Uh…” Fuck, what do I say? I don’t want to be the one to tell Taylor what happened; he disrespects his brother enough without knowing about his dustup with Jerry. I certainly don’t want to be the one to add fuel to that fire.
“Who is that short man that Logan’s with? And why does he look like he’s apologising to Logan?” Mary-Gene asks me.
Jerry does look like he’s apologising. So he fucking should, I think for the hundredth time. I can’t believe he’s got the gall to turn up here! Maybe ambushing people is his new thing, I wonder. Surely, he can’t be under the illusion that he is welcome?
“Gemima?” Karen steals my attention away. I turn to look at her instead, purposefully avoiding Mary-Gene’s question. “Taylor and I have been brainstorming places to take Abigail tomorrow and I hoped that you might know of somewhere?” she asks.
Things to do for kids, I immediately start diverting my train of thought, before Jerry’s presence turns me bitter. While I think of ideas, I can’t help throwing Logan and company another furtive glance. Jerry has disappeared, Logan and Buddy are making their way over to us.
“The Aquarium,” I blurt out to Karen.
Abby vehemently shakes her head.
“She’s afraid of water,” Taylor says to me, as if I knew this already and only suggested it to be purposefully unhelpful.
“Uh, well, Parc Asterix is closed for the winter…but I’m sure she wouldn’t say no to another day at Disneyland,” I mutter, out of other ideas.
“You might be right about that,” Karen smiles at me. A genuine, warm smile. Jeez, she’s so different from her husband. “If we go again, will you and Logan join us?” she asks.
“Absolutely,” I say without thinking through what I’m agreeing to. Logan and theme parks don’t mix well, I remind myself. I wouldn’t mix well with them either if I’d been stranded upside down on a roller coaster for four hours.
Taylor looks wickedly gleeful about what I’ve just said, and before I can tell Karen no, Taylor says loudly to Logan, “Gemima has just arranged for us all to go to Disneyland tomorrow. Is that OK with you?” he asks his brother. Fucking prick!
Buddy ignores Taylor entirely, a skill that I should really learn, and instead crouches down and engages Abigail in a conversation about her sparkly shoes. She is entirely captivated by him.
Sorry, I mouth to Logan.
Logan looks confused. “Why are you sorry?” he says to me. “I don’t mind taking Abby there,” he responds to his brother, and there is such coldness in his voice that I immediately note that I never want to hear him speak to me like that. The brothers glare at one another. Damn, you could cut the tension between them with a knife. Taylor’s clearly out to irritate and Logan’s not giving him an inch. “You’re going too, right?” he asks me, his eyes becoming softer when they settle on me instead of his brother.
“Of course,” I nod.
“Will you hold my hand on the roller coaster?” he says with a hint of amusement.
“You’ll go on one?” I ask, surprised.
“Sure,” he shrugs.
I beam at him. If anything will show Taylor just how pathetic his attempt at sabotage is, that will – especially considering that it was Logan’s nightmarish experience on one that started his Wayward Years, and now here Logan is willingly accepting Taylor’s invitation-cum-challenge without breaking a sweat.
I take a few hurried steps towards Logan, giving him a quick squeeze and saying for only him to hear, “If you get on a roller coaster, I’ll hold whatever you like.”
Logan laughs at my innuendo. “That’ll make for an interesting mid-ride photograph.”
I nod again and wink at him in response.
“Logey,” Mary-Gene intercepts him, “who was that man you two were talking to just now?” she asks.
After giving me a knowing look, he tactfully walks with her and Rupert a few paces away from Taylor, so that he won’t overhear the whole story; Logan doesn’t want him to find out either. Not here, not now.
My mom emerges from a crowd of people and joins them, eavesdropping, and a few seconds later her face lights up. Oh, no! Mom, don’t say it, please, don’t say it! “You punched Jerry last week?” she shrieks happily.
Fuck!
My eyes fly to Taylor. Everything about him tenses; his body becomes rigid, his eyes flash with anger, and if the vibes coming off of him were visible, they’d be like barbed-wire headed straight in Logan’s direction. “You punched someone recently?” he asks his big brother, his disgust evident.
“Jerry,” my mom tells him with a broad smile on her face. She’s totally clueless to the war she’s starting. “He’s Gemima’s despicable ex-boyfriend.”
Piping up, I say the first defensive thing that comes into my head, “Jerry deserved it,” but I instantly regret it. Taylor turns to scowl at me like I’m the most insensitive person that he’s ever laid eyes on. That’s the last thing that a victim wants to hear, I realise too late. I buckle with guilt under his gaze. I really shouldn’t have said that.
“No one deserves to be physically assaulted,” he leers at me.
“Easy, Taylor,” Logan says with a hint of condescension. “Don’t take everything so damn personally.”
“Why was Jerry apologising to you, Logan?” Mary-Gene asks.
“That’s just the kind of warped power-play Logan is into, mom,” Taylor tells her.
My mom narrows her eyes at Taylor. It’s starting to dawn on her that he’s not as gentlemanly as his big brother.
“I was just about to explain that,” Logan says evenly, his levelheadedness impressing me. Perturbed though my mother’s unintentional outburst may have made him, he remains his cool, calm self. I realise that his not wanting Taylor to find was not about protecting himself, but rather saving everyone the drama of another Taylor Tantrum. “You can listen to my explanation, or you can fuck off,” he tells Taylor clearly, “I really don’t care which.”
“I think I’ll stay right here,” Taylor says, reminding me of a stroppy teenager.
“Whatever,” Logan shakes his head at his brother and turns his back on him. He reengages his mother, father, and my mom with his story about Jerry once more while walking a few more steps away from Taylor’s seething rage.
To my right, Buddy, Abigail, and Karen are laughing about something unknown to me, either unaware or purposefully ignoring the animosity that’s risen over the last few minutes, leaving Taylor and I standing together in the middle of everyone, a terse silence between us.
“So…” Taylor says, striking up an unwanted conversation, “what do you do for work?”
“I’m an interior designer,” I tell him curtly.
“Oh…” he nods, clearly holding something back, and I know he wants me to ask him what, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. He’s fired up and looking to pick a fight, I know he is. Eventually, he continues anyway, saying, “I thought maybe Logan kept you, you know?”
I instantly feel like I’ve been slapped around the face. There’s an insult I’ve never been dealt before, I think. Gemima Samuels: Gold Digger. “Like a harem of one?” I ask.
“Exactly,” he laughs callously. “I saw the pair of you sneaking off earlier. Does he often summon you like that?”
I ignore the second slap in the face, and instead I say, “Your brother doesn’t need to buy love, Taylor.”
“Doesn’t he?” he laughs again, indicating the room around us.
“Logan didn’t organise this event, it was the PBA,” I say, as if I know them personally. Then repeating Logan’s earlier sentiment, and selling it well, I tell him, “You’re not worth knowing if you’re not a part of the PBA.”
“I don’t know what that stands for, Gemma.”
Gemma? OK, now he’s really starting to shit me! “Hmm,” I grin sourly, “it’s Gemima, not Gemma.” He knows that already.
“It’s Gemima this month,” he says, quite openly considering our close proximity to the rest of his family.
He’s goading me, I know he is, it couldn’t be anymore obvious and yet I can’t rise above it. My resolve has crumbled. “Pardon me?”
“It’s Gemima this month. Next month, who knows who he’ll have,” he says cruelly.
Urgh! He has no idea how awkward his current words will make every family function in the future. He has no idea that he’s talking to his future sister-in-law. My heart is pounding in my chest and heat prickles underneath my skin. Staring at him I think I might actually have found someone that I like less than Jerry! I didn’t think that was ever going to be possible, and yet… “You really know fuck all about your brother, don’t you?” I say quietly.
“Excuse me?” he asks, as though I’ve insulted him.
Anger rises within me. I loosen the reins on my American Mouth. “I said you know fuck all about your brother.”
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, Gemma. That’s probably why he likes you,” he says euphemistically.
Slap number three, I count, feeling dumbstruck. I stand, gaping at him, entirely speechless. I fail to register that the family members around us have all gone utterly quiet.
Wow! Just…wow! The gold digger jab I can let slide, but that? That’s offensive and demeaning and I won’t be spoken to like that! He may have used a mild alternative, but there is no mistaking his vulgar meaning. “You think Logan has a problem with indecency? Yet you utter that to me? That crude, disgusting comment?” I shake his words off instantly. I will not be made to feel worthless by the likes of him. “You’re a hypocrite as well as an asshole, Taylor,” I tell him, my hands practically shaking from the amount of adrenalin coursing through me.
I’d like nothing better than to take that adrenalin and slap him stupid. This evening was supposed to be about appreciating Logan, not defending him, and certainly not about defending myself. How did everything go so terribly wrong? Logan told me that he wasn’t going to let Taylor dampen the mood, and yet I’ve fallen head first into Taylor’s ploy to do just that. Shit, Gem! I remind myself on the spot that I’m not entirely to blame though. Sure, I let Taylor goad me, but he’s the cruel one, he’s the delusional one and his next words prove it beyond all doubt.
“My brother has the personality of an addict. You’re just his latest fix,” he says to me, and it’s clear that he truly believes that his words are the truth.
The silence in our immediate vicinity quickly becomes deafening. Everyone – Logan, Karen, Buddy, Mary-Gene, Rupert, my mom, and even Abigail – is staring at Taylor and I.
“What the fuck did you say to her?” Logan demands to know from his brother. His eyes are dark and dangerous and his voice is cold as ice.
“Taylor…” Karen breathes, her face pale and horrified, “why on earth would you say that?”
“I said you have the personality of an addict,” Taylor says, ignoring his wife, and instead looking Logan straight in the eye, goading him as well, unfazed my Logan’s threatening demeanour.
Logan shakes his head. “What did you say before that, Taylor?” he wants to know. He’s pissed, really pissed! Shit, I think again. If anything is going to cement their acrimonious relationship for Logan, it’ll be Taylor insinuating that I’m a slut.
My mother, who by the look of fury on her face might be more of a threat to Taylor’s personal safety than Logan is, also picked up on the insult. “I believe the fucker as good as called my daughter a tramp,” she says, seething.
“Yes, I believe he did,” Logan agrees, never taking his eyes off of his younger brother. There are many emotions clear to me in Logan’s eyes. He’s angry, of course, but he’s also disappointed and irrevocably decided about the fate of their relationship.
Dammit! This was not supposed to happen! I know Taylor’s a supersonic, cataclysmic asshole, but I can’t help feeling angry with me. I know better than to let someone like him get under my skin, I should’ve walked away, I should’ve let him implode on his own rage rather than putting up my own target.
The nine of us are immersed in this tense standoff in the very centre of the otherwise lively and happy partygoers.
“I, uh, I’m going to take Abigail to the dance floor,” Buddy says, holding her hand and walking away, removing her from the boiling tension that’s about to explode.
“Apologise to Gemima right now,” Logan orders.
“No,” Taylor shakes his head. Then looking at me once more, he says, “I’m trying to help you, before you get hurt.”
“Bullshit,” I snarl, losing my patience. “You are the hurtful one, Taylor, not Logan. You are the one who holds your entire family locked in the past.”
“Now I think it’s you who knows fuck all,” Taylor says. He couldn’t look at me with more contempt even if he tried.
“Watch. Your. Mouth,” Logan hisses at him.
I take a defiant step closer to Taylor. “I know everything,” I tell him with immense satisfaction. Was he hoping to alarm me by telling me about his past with Logan? Was he hoping that I would be shocked and disgusted and break Logan’s heart by ending our relationship right here in this room?
“Apologise, Taylor,” Logan tells him again.
“No, I don’t think I will,” Taylor shakes his head. He steps up to Logan, looking him straight in the eye. “Are you going to make me?” he taunts him, daring him to make a scene in the middle of this important night.
“Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” Mary-Gene shouts at Taylor, making all of us jump.
“I will deal with him,” Logan says to our parents. “Get the fuck outside,” Logan tells him, pushing him hard on the back towards the double doors of the ballroom.
He goes readily. I hand the drinks that I’m still holding to my mom, before Karen and I follow them out into the corridor, leaving Logan’s parents and my mom in our wake. As we leave them, neither Mary-Gene nor Rupert protests against Logan dealing with his younger brother, which tells me instantly that they trust him implicitly. They know that Logan won’t do to Taylor what he did nineteen years ago, they know the kind of man he is today, even if Taylor does not.
As soon as the four of us are alone in the long corridor, Taylor starts laughing. “Are you going to hit me, Logan?”
Tension fills my body. I study Logan carefully. The same energy that was running through him before he punched Jerry is evident to me once more, though now it’s tenfold. He’s tempted, I know he is, but right now he’s still in command of himself.
“I’d love to, Tay,” he admits, “but I won’t give you the satisfaction of thinking you’re right about me.”
“Oh, but I am right about you.” He just keeps pushing.
“I’d expect you to saying nothing less about me,” Logan allows. “But what I didn’t expect, and what is wholly unacceptable, is how you spoke to my fiancé.”
Predictably, Taylor’s eyes widen.
“That’s right, my latest fix as you called her, and I are getting married. Not that you’ll be there,” he adds coldly. That’s one less guest to think about. Shaking his head, Logan then speaks out loud the decision I knew he’d come to, “Now you and I – we are done, Taylor. You are not my brother, you are not my family. I disown you completely, but if I ever, ever hear you speak to a woman like that again, and not just her,” he says, referring to me, “but any woman, then I will make what happened nineteen years ago look like child’s play, and I won’t waste one minute feeling guilty about it,” Logan spells it out very clearly. “I truly believe that beating the shit out of you would be kinder than the words that you just said.” He stares at his younger brother in a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You think she’s my whore, Taylor, really?” he says, his voice getting louder and angrier with each syllable. “You think it’s acceptable to speak to a woman like that? For fuck’s sake you have a daughter,” Logan shouts, smacking him squarely on the chest. “I don’t ever have to see you again, but Abigail? That poor girl is stuck with you!”
It’s clear from the expression on Taylor’s face that Logan’s hit a nerve. “Leave my daughter out of this, Logan.”
“No, I don’t think so. She deserves so much more than a man like you to be her role model—”
Abruptly, Taylor lunges at Logan, throwing a wild punch. My breath catches in my chest, my heart beating over time. Logan just manages to avoid it, bending low and tackling Taylor around the stomach, pushing him forcefully into the wall of the corridor. Please, don’t hit him, I beg Logan in my mind. I know, despite his own words, that he will feel guilty, not for hurting Taylor, but for letting himself down; he doesn’t want to be that kind of man anymore, and this, right now, is his ultimate test. They struggle against each other for a brief moment, before Logan pins him securely, and I at last breathe a sigh of relief.
He shouts at Taylor, “You had better get the fuck over yourself and lose your pathetic attempt at anger—”
“Attempt at anger?” Taylor shouts back. “You don’t think that I’m really angry?” He tries to push Logan off of him, but Logan’s too strong. Mentally, physically, and emotionally, Taylor is the weaker of the two.
“You don’t have the balls to be angry, you’re too much of a coward,” Logan yells at him, his hands tightly gripping Taylor’s wrists so that he can’t throw them again. “I was angry, I went to war with myself, but you?” he shakes his head. “No, you’re not angry, Taylor, what you are is much, much worse than what I ever was.”
“I’m the coward?” Taylor exclaims, with so much disbelief that he almost laughs. “You were twice my size when you beat me to a bloody mess!”
“Yes, I know! We all know! So if your intention was to shock Gemima with your sad little story, then it’s not going to work,” he informs him.
“How can you be so callous? So lacking in compassion about what you did to me?”
“Because it was nineteen fucking years ago!” Logan bellows, getting out any last deep-seated frustrations. His noise level is starting to get alarming. I turn to close the doors to the ballroom, blocking the view for those few who are standing around, conversing near the entrance; they don’t need to see the man of the night like this. As I do so, Logan continues, “I did a cruel thing. Once. You’ve been doing cruel things for years.”
