Текст книги "She: Part 2"
Автор книги: Annabel Fanning
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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
“I’m pretty sure I’ve pulled several muscles during our other encounters, all of them worth it,” I grin, making him smile. “And this is not an exception,” I say quietly, taking one step forward and reaching up to brush my lips against Logan’s.
“They feel different,” he notices. “They’re heavier.”
I nod, enjoying that he knows my body so well. “These are my pre-period boobs,” I tell him. “They’ll get even bigger and achier for another day or so,” I share the expected routine, “and then they’ll go back to normal once my period arrives.”
“I see… So you’ve seen this happen before?” he checks.
“Yes,” I laugh. “Every month for the last,” I think back, “sixteen years. Why? Are you worried that they are pregnancy boobs?”
“Not worried,” he says quickly. A little too quickly.
“Baby, have you changed your mind over the last week? Do you want babies now?” I ask, wondering if that’s his reason.
“No, but…” He’s hesitant to tell me something.
“What?” I want to know.
Opening up, he reveals, “It’s probably stupid, but it…it matters to me that you know that it would be OK if you were pregnant; now, or anytime in the future. I never, ever want you to think that you’re alone in that. I know I told you that I don’t want children, but I will be there if we ever get pregnant,” he promises me.
Oh, Logan! I reach up to kiss him once more. “Thank you for telling me,” I whisper against his lips, “but I never doubted that for a second. I know you’ll be with me.” Or with us, as the case would be.
“Good, because I’ve seen women who needed and expected more from the men who fathered their children, I’ve seen their struggles and disappointments, and as soon as the babies were born the men swooped back in and acted like they’d been there the whole time,” he tells me.
“Who?” I ask.
“Karen and Olivia,” he says, which means the men who failed to step up were Taylor and Buddy. “Please don’t tell Buddy I’ve likened him to my brother,” Logan adds with a hint of humour. “He won’t thank me for it.”
I smile up at him. “You’re something special, you know that?”
He grins, “Good special? Or…”
“Yes,” I laugh again, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bed, finally. I fall onto it lazily, and Logan follows me down, crawling over me, showering my breasts with kisses. “It’s nice when a man takes responsibility for his sperm,” I then muse out loud, making Logan erupt into laughter. “Just so you know, though,” I add, “the baby thing really isn’t relevant right now.” I look down at my breasts. “This is all code-red,” I confirm for him.
“I guess I owe you five euros, then,” he says.
“Oh, I think I’m going to let that slide,” I grin, stroking his face. “After all, you did buy me this,” I hold out my hand and gaze at the stunning ring on my finger. “It’s almost as pretty as you are,” I tease.
Logan beams down at me. He takes my hand and holds it beside my face, looking from the ring to my eyes and back again, admiring the likeness. “Your eyes are bluer, and deeper, and more beautiful,” he tells me.
“I find that last one hard to believe,” I say, giving my ring another appreciative glance.
“Trust me. I get to stare into them everyday,” he looks into my eyes. “Mesmerising,” he comments. “Like light reflected on water, they’re enchanting, unmissable, and so ineffably beautiful…that I just can’t look away. Just like the rest of you,” he adds, looking over my naked body with ardour. “In fact,” he kisses his way down my stomach, moving lower until he’s sitting on the bed between my open legs, “I think it’s high-time that I do a Gemima Samuels Appreciation Night.”
I lift my head off of the bed and smile at him, telling him, “Every night is a Gemima Samuels Appreciation Night, baby.”
“But this will be the first official one,” he says alluringly, his dimples pronounced and seducing me entirely.
“Are you going to dance for me?” I cross my fingers theatrically.
“Definitely not,” he laughs, “but I am going to say and do other nice things,” he promises. And as always, he delivers.
It reminds me gratifyingly of last Tuesday when he turned me on with both his words and his touch. In the back of my mind it amazes me that I am able to lie here and allow this love to wash over me; it’s such a new experience in my life to be told the things that Logan tells me and to accept them about myself. In my eight years with Jerry I don’t think he mentioned one single thing that Logan is able to rattle off as effortlessly as though they’re the most obvious things in the world. I take delight in knowing that, to Logan, they are that obvious. Things like – the scent of my long dark hair, the shape of my hips, my playful nature, the curve of my neck, my open heart, the arch of my feet, the workings of my mind, the mounds of my breasts, my quiet sighs when I wake up, the softness of my lips against his, the passion I feel for those I care about, the way my eyes gleam when I look at him, the feeling of my heart pounding when he makes love to me, the shape of my cheeks when I smile, my tendency for babbling (the more inappropriate the comments, the better), the depth with which he feels my love…
“And that’s just to name a few,” he whispers, smiling to himself.
All the while his hands are on my body, stroking, massaging, caressing me. It’s like falling asleep to the most incredible lullaby. It’s hypnotic and all-consuming and when his hands end their full body caress and settle at my sex, I marvel at feeling how deliciously turned on his appreciation has made me.
I’m wet, very wet, and all too eager to engage in round three for the night. Logan strokes me, the palm of his hand gliding over my clitoris, and my sleepy daze is infused with feelings of pleasure.
My hips naturally start moving against him, creating a rhythm which ignites satisfaction to course through my body. My nipples are stiff and so sensitive as if Logan’s mouth was over them, and my skin feels prickly and alive, somehow instigated by his prevalent, potent touch, and yet despite feeling him all over me, he stays where he is, between my legs at the base of the bed, and his hand picks up the pace, provoking me harder and faster.
Jeez, it’s times like this that I’d be willing to bet on my life that Logan is able to read my mind. Or if not my mind, he can certainly read my body. Perfectly! As I crave to feel him caress me from the inside once more, he slips two sleek fingers into me, and I arch off of the bed, moaning softly.
Oh, yes!
“Baby,” I whisper in encouragement. His fingers don’t stop at their usual destination, coaxing my sweet spot, but instead they continue in further…further… My mind comically wonders where he’s going, until I realise, “You read that article, didn’t you?” I smile, my eyes closed to better savour the feeling of him, my hands scrunching the duvet tightly. Ah!
“I may have skimmed it while I was sitting in the waiting room this evening,” he admits, and I can hear in his voice that he’s smiling too.
He strokes me deeply, his fingers circling inside, and I feel a familiar building sensation arise within me. I knew we’d done this before, I think gratifyingly. It evokes that delicious something more feeling, the type that results in an orgasm that is both memorable and entirely devouring. Again he speeds up, in time with my quick breathing, pushing me closer and closer to my release.
Yes, ah, yes! He feels amazing!
“I…I like…appreciation…nights,” I pant, before a loud moan escapes me. I like them a lot.
“Oh, baby, I like them too,” Logan says, his breathing nearly as rapid as mine. He’s so enjoying this, though perhaps not as much as I enjoy receiving it.
A moment later, his whole hand cups me. His fingers continue their internal windup, but his palm lays flat against my body, so that my clitoris is being provoked as well. Sensual pleasure explodes within me, and I know that I’m beyond the point of no return. I buck on the bed, riding his hand and whimpering airily, until I’m pushed higher than Logan’s ever pushed me before.
Oh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, yes!
“Logan!” I scream. A wave of pure sexual pleasure strikes me, and I drown in it as I come spectacularly, my body trembling through my glorious orgasm. I whimper and shake for a long time, riding every last bit of it. “Holy fucking wow,” I mutter, feeling out of breath and irrevocably seen-to. That never gets dull, I think, internally celebrating.
I finally open my eyes and lean up to gaze at Logan. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of me, and the sight of them covered in my arousal makes me feel like I could come again. Somehow he is able to marry intimacy with eroticism in total harmony. And he does it oh, so sexily.
Abruptly, I sit bolt up right, needing to be closer to him, but in doing so I notice a wet patch of something on my hip that halts my movements. Realising what it is, I smile at the sight of Logan’s come.
“Were you multitasking?” I ask him.
“Very successfully,” he nods, making my eyes dart wide in amusement and surprise. So, that’s what his other hand was busy doing. Seeing my expression, he adds, “I’d like to dispel the myth that men are unable to do two things at once.”
“Oh, Logan,” I giggle, taking ahold of his arms and pulling him over me as I lie back down. My whole body relaxes, feeling wholly satisfied. “That was mind-blowing,” I whisper into his mouth once he’s draped over me.
He smiles and nods, before reaching over to pull the duvet double, covering us where we lie. Then he presses his lips to mine and murmurs, “And the night is only young.”
* * *
There are good moods, there are great moods, and then there’s the mood that I wake up in on Wednesday morning. Totally fucking euphoric! I stub my toe as I get out of bed, I slip in the shower, pulling a muscle in my back, I somehow manage to spray deodorant in my eye after drying off, and yet nothing can dampen my disposition. It’s like I’ve taken something herbal. In fact, the one time I did take something herbal, I didn’t feel nearly as good as I do now.
I linger in the dressing room, looking through the many dresses that I have hanging in here, before choosing something summery in keeping with my current mindset. It’s not until I step outside onto the roof terrace, where Logan is enjoying his morning coffee, that I realise how incredibly optimistic this choice is so early in the year. It’s far too cold to wear it as it is, so on returning to the dressing room, I pair it with tights and a blazer. Much better.
By the time I’m done adding to my outfit, Logan is back inside, standing at the kitchen island looking at the plate of muffins.
“I forgot about those,” I say, walking towards him.
“I found them under the sofa,” he chuckles.
I detour to the dining table, where I pick up some spare, scribbled-on paper from last night, and a pen. I then stand on the opposite side of the island from Logan and sheepishly slide the pen and paper across to him.
“I need your help,” I grin.
“Oh?”
“I’m going to replace the muffin that I stole at work, and I want to write a little note, but I can’t write it in case someone recognises my handwriting…”
“Uh-huh,” Logan chuckles, picking up the pen. “Just one standard apology this morning?” he asks and I nod.
“Anything you’re willing to give, I’ll take,” I say gratefully.
“In that case…” Logan theatrically uses his free hand to hide what he’s writing. When he’s done he looks up at me, appearing highly amused.
Sliding the paper back across to me, I look down and read:
I’m a guilty little thief. I’m the one who stole your muffin. This one’s for you to keep. No, I ain’t bluffin’.
I’m struck dumb. He’s got another hidden talent? I don’t know whether to laugh or to applaud, to call him a jester or a genius. “That’s…that’s really fucking good,” I blurt out.
It’s Logan who bursts into laughter. “It’s terrible!”
“No,” I shake my head. “Seriously, Logan, with your rhyming skills and my talent in choreography, we could be famous,” I get carried away by the (unlikely) possibilities. I walk around to his side of the kitchen island. “Can I have this?” It’ll definitely put a smile on whoever’s muffin I stole.
Standing by his side, I wrap an arm around his back, and still laughing, Logan nods. We then stand for a long moment, grinning at each, before something suddenly sparks between us and Logan rapidly leans down and kisses me as I grab the front of his shirt. Wanting to be even closer, he picks me up and backs me against the closest flat surface, the fridge, kissing me fervently, deeply, eagerly.
“Last night,” he murmurs, “Gemima, there are no words,” he breathes. We remained erotically entwined together in our duvet-cocoon for a gratifyingly long time.
I smile into his mouth. “Agreed,” I breathe, kissing him once more. I hear my tights rip as I wrap my legs around Logan’s waist, the fridge is freezing against my back, I really have to sneeze, and yet I’ve never been happier.
* * *
Pierson House’s kitchenette is my first port of call when I arrive at work. I hover over the kettle, pretending to be making myself some tea, whilst really waiting for the other women to clear out. When they have, I whip out the muffin, place it in the fridge where I found the other one, and balance Logan’s little poem-cum-apology on top of it. Then I causally walk to my desk and begin my day’s work, my conscience at peace.
* * *
When I’ve finalised all my deadline-sensitive jobs for the morning, I spend the rest of my time before lunch putting together two different design boards for Mrs. Clark. Wondering which of her personalities I’m going to get today, I hit the send button on my email with trepidation, and only have to wait for five minutes before her responding email rejects them both. No notes on what she does or doesn’t like, just flat out no. I groan and slump back in my chair. The ability to read minds would really come in useful in this job, I think. Like Mel Gibson in What Women Want, I start pondering. However even with that magical ability I doubt I’d be able to satisfy this particular client.
I start wondering what Amélie would do in this sort of situation. Should I ask her? Would that show an openness and willingness to learn from the more experienced, or would it make me appear to be giving up easily? I decide on the former. Between last weeks meeting with Mrs. Clark and this weeks meeting I’ve complied at least twelve different boards, well above my average. Amélie isn’t going to think less of me for being unable to appease one difficult client. I hope.
I gather everything that I’ve done for this project so far, and I’m all set to go to her office when she walks past me towards the reception doors.
“Uh, Mrs. Clémence? May I speak to you about something?” I call after her.
“After lunch,” she says to me over her shoulder, continuing on her way, disappearing through the double doors. Damn.
She must be on her way to an early lunch, I think, but I’m wrong. A few moments later she reappears with Madeleine Lily in tow. My inner fangirl starts flapping her arms. Be cool, Gem!
Amélie’s eyes dart to meet mine and she gives an infinitesimal shake of her head – her way of telling me not to make a fuss. No loud declarations of: Lily, I’m so thrilled that you’re coming to Pierson House and I can’t wait to work with you! Amélie doesn’t want anyone to know, I remind myself, which means that everyone else in the room has to be believe that Lily is a client and not a potential new colleague. Discretion, Gemima. It’s not my strongest ability, not by far, but I manage to keep my excitement at bay as they pass me on their way to Amélie’s office.
Busying myself, I then make a start on the project that I’ll be working on this afternoon, reading through the design brief and jotting down a few initial thoughts and ideas as I do so. Knowing that Logan will be here soon, I don’t progress onto the next phase. Instead I tidy up my desk, positioning everything in its perfect place with its perfect angles to everything else, because I’m normal like that.
I stare at my desk calendar – it’s Wednesday. I knew that, sure, but what I failed to realise is that today is exactly four weeks since Logan’s and my first lunch date! I count it out at least three times to make sure I’m right, and I am. Somewhat bemused by the realisation, I grab my handbag and seem to naturally migrate to the back of the building where the large courtyard is.
I push the doors open and stand in the doorframe, peering out. Four weeks ago I brought Logan out here, where Amélie shouted at me for being late, I apologised, Logan stepped in to take the heat off of me, and Amélie relaxed entirely. That had been my intention, to use his business prowess to get me out of trouble, but I didn’t realise at the time of suggesting it, that his intention was to watch me have my portrait taken. And while I did, we gazed at one another, both of us getting acquainted with our bubble, which now seems so foundational to our relationship. The feeling is so ingrained in me that it’s easy to forget life before it.
Was it really only four weeks, I muse once more. It’s just inconceivable! It feels more like a year than a month. So much has changed and grown and blossomed, publicly as well as privately. I’m sure my public persona already has, and will continue to change because I’m with Logan. But that outwards stuff is not what enchants me as I stand here, thinking over the last twenty-eight halcyon days of my life. What I really care about, what really matters to me, is not how I’m perceived nor what others say, but how I’ve changed inside.
Although leaving Jerry, moving into a new house, and getting a new job were several steps in the right direction, I was still in something of a daze in life when I met Logan. He’ll probably say that it was me who inspired him, and I say it’s him who inspired me, and who knows who’s right? All I know is that meeting him, and feeling the new emotions and sensations that he evoked in me made me want to engage more with my own life. His evident passion and zest for living made me want to live like that too, and I’d be lying if I said anything other than that it was him who brought me to life, who made me blossom, who showed me what real love is.
Gratitude courses through my veins as I stand here, smiling to myself. Disbelief parades around my mind asking me questions that I have no answer to. How did this happen so fast? Why did this happen to me at all? I ignore them. When something in life is this wonderful, I don’t think I should destroy it by trying to figure out the how’s and why’s. When something in life is this wonderful, I’m convinced that the right course of action is to simply bask in the feelings of it, and right now I feel like the luckiest person alive.
“Are you reminiscing?” a familiar voice asks behind me, causing my smile to grow.
I turn and look at Logan, standing a few metres from me, here to pick me up. I nod and hold out a hand to him, and in a few short strides he’s with me, and peers out into the courtyard too.
“It’s four weeks today since our lunch date,” I tell him, though I suspect that he’s already remembered.
Confirming this, he grins, and says, “That was the first time I’ve ever conceded to sweet-talking a business associate. I usually leave that to Buddy.” I watch his breathtaking face as he stares outside, his dimples prominent. Then looking at me, he says meaningfully, “Four weeks and one hell of a ride.”
“Yes,” I laugh.
“Shall we go and celebrate it?” he asks me. “I’m only allowed you for two hours,” he adds with a smile, “and I want to make the most of it.”
14. She
Location confusion plagues me. I’ve no idea where Logan has brought me. We’re standing in a pristine ballroom, where on the other side of the room one solitary table is positioned near the doors that must lead out to the rest of the hotel. I’m certain we’re in a hotel, given the huge commercial kitchen we were lead through to get in here. Logan took only unknown backstreets and then parked at the back of the building, all part of his plan to keep the surprise as long as possible. I thought perhaps it might be Six Zero Three, Logan’s hotel which he brought me to a couple of weeks ago, however Six Zero Three is a boutique hotel, and granted, I didn’t have enough time to explore everything the way I wanted to – I was too consumed with getting Logan naked, if I recall correctly – but I’m certain that it is too small to house such a sizeable space as this.
I stare nonplussed at Logan. “This isn’t Six Zero Three, is it?” I say.
“No, but good guess,” he smiles, taking my hand and leading me across the room to our luncheon table. It looks to be set for around a dozen people, considerably more than just Logan’s parents and us, and appears entirely bizarre sitting alone in such a large room.
“Um, it’s also not the same ballroom that we were in on Saturday night,” I note, taking in the very different decor.
“Nope.”
“It’s definitely a hotel, though. One that you own? Or Buddy, maybe?” I wonder.
“Neither of us,” Logan reveals.
Think, Gemima, think. Logan told me yesterday that if I knew the location it could make things amorous between us, so clearly we’re standing somewhere of importance, but I just can’t work out where.
Logan watches my brain working overtime, trying to solve the riddle, with a broad smile on his face. He leads me straight past the table to the ballroom doors, coming to a stop just short of them. Then he unexpectedly leans down to kiss my lips, his pale-green eyes gleaming.
“Stay here,” he whispers against my lips.
My eyes dart wide in surprise, making him laugh. Where the hell is he going? Not far it seems.
He walks back out into the room, stopping near the lefthand side wall, half way down the length of the room.
“There were tables all the way up and down this wall,” he tells me. “Drinks, nibbles, that sort of thing.”
He then walks away from the wall into the very centre of the room, saying as he goes, “There were lots of blue lights everywhere, and snowflake-things.”
I stare at him perplexed. Snowflake-things?
“I was standing right here,” he stops in his tracks, facing me. He couldn’t look any sexier in that suit of his if he tried, I muse. Long legs, broad chest, hands in pockets, cool stance. Though I might just be noticing his physicality because I still don’t know what he’s talking about. His next words confuse me even more. “And you were standing exactly where you are, right now,” he continues.
“I’ve been here before?” I ask, my shock evident in my voice. I look all around me, but see nothing of familiarity. “Logan, where are we?” I finally ask him.
“We’re in a memory,” he beams at me. “I was standing right here,” he says again, but this time he adds, “the very first time that I saw you, the very instant that I fell for you.”
My mouth hits the floor, my heart pounds in my chest, and tears pool in my eyes. The winter AABD party…it was in this room!
“This is…this is where it happened?” I ask, my voice barely audible.
“If by it you mean love at first sight, then, yes,” Logan laughs jovially.
“Logan,” I whimper, my bottom lip trembling. Seriously, Gem, get that lip under control. But I cannot. This moment is too meaningful to keep all these good feelings inside, and crying is the second best way that I can express myself. The best way would hardly be appropriate given our public setting.
Tears start streaming down my face, as Logan tells me, “I’ve invited the people we care about the most to join us – my parents, your mom, Amber, Buddy, Karen, Abby – they’re all coming, but they’re not supposed to get here from another ten minutes or so.” Evidently expecting my tears of joy, he adds, “I thought you might want a little time to enjoy the sentiment, just the two of us.”
That’s the politest way possible to say: a little time to pull yourself together. Who am I kidding? My bottom lip doesn’t stand a chance against him!
“You think you know me so well,” I cry in mock outrage, making him laugh once more. He does know me so well. I stare at him in amazement and feel certain that he can hear my hammering heart from across the room.
Wow, I think. I’m not only blown away by him organising this, here, but also by the obvious fact that Logan’s memories of that party are not tainted with anger or sadness that I was unavailable to him. What he told me on Thursday night is true, and in bringing me back here he’s confirming that that night and the two years that followed weren’t arduous, but were filled with a knowingness that one day we would be together.
It’s the perfect place to celebrate our engagement, because despite how unaware and asleep I was at the time, it was that night in this room that changed the course of my life forever, and which has eventually lead to this full-circle moment.
“Oh, Logan,” I murmur again.
I walk over to him; he stands still, watching me approach. As I walk, I marvel that he waited for me for two years without anything to encourage him other than the surety that the sight of me somehow provided for him. I must’ve looked damn good the night, I muse. And albeit he stayed at a distance, he still stayed, and that’s the only reason that I am able to stride into his open arms, cup his smiling face in my hands, and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.
Stealing his line from this morning, I whisper against his lips, “There are no words to describe you sometimes.” Though that fact in itself says enough about him. His graciousness overwhelms me. He’s more thoughtful, more romantic, and more loveable than I believed a person could be. As I gaze up at him, I still don’t quite believe he’s real, and perhaps I never will. Perhaps that’s just Logan’s charm, and I’ll just have to suck it up, I think sarcastically.
Logan smiles at me, looking at me as though I’m the one who brought him here and gave him this beautiful surprise. How backwards he’s got it, and abruptly I need him to know that.
“Every good thing that has happened, that is happening, and that will happen between us is all because of you, Logan.” I wrap my arms around his neck, trying to get even closer to him. “You’re the greatest love that I’ve ever known, and the best man, the best person,” I amend, “that I’ve ever met. You’re an inspiration to me, and I want to spend the rest of my life making sure that you know just how grateful I am that you waited all that time,” I tell him. I press my lips to his for a long, memorable moment, while I move one of my hands onto his chest and revel in feeling his thundering heartbeat. I utter, “We wouldn’t have any of this if it weren’t for you, so thank you, baby,” I breathe against his lips.
Logan’s face breaks into a breathtaking smile. He’s touched by my honest words. Good. “You’re welcome, Gemima. Besides, waiting for you was easy. I just applied the same practise that I do in business,” he tells me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Oh? I can’t keep from laughing at his unexpected words. “Which is?”
“I never settle,” he says simply. “How could I ever settle for anything less when you were, and still are, the pinnacle of everything that I’ve ever wanted?”
His words enliven me; every ounce of my being is happy right now. “You do deserve the best,” I say, slyly.
“And I have her,” he nods surely. “You’re my best friend, and I can’t wait to flirt with you, play with you, date you, and make love to you for the rest of my life. I can’t wait to say I do.”
Cue the bottom lip tremble. “I can’t wait, either,” I say, my voice suddenly quietly. I really, really can’t. “What about July fourteenth?” I ask him out of the blue.
That’s Bastille Day here in France, a national holiday, and there are always amazing celebrations taking place all over Paris. It’ll be like the whole city is celebrating with us.
Logan beams at me. “I think July fourteenth can’t come soon enough.” He’s brimming with youthful, boyish enthusiasm as he adds, “How do you feel about Versailles?”
Uh…what? I gaze at him incredulously, my heart beating overtime once more.
“That’s the green light that Buddy gave me the other night,” he finally reveals. “We can get married in the gardens of Versailles.”
My mind goes blank. “Are you…are you serious?” I ask, in barely more than a whisper.
“Completely,” Logan laughs, enjoying my speechless reaction.
He wraps his arms around my waist and peers down at me, waiting for me to say something but I can’t; I can’t attain a firm grasp on what’s just been decided because it’s simply too surreal, too magical. I’m struck dumb. He told me that he thought he’d found my dream location, but the truth is that Versailles is so far beyond my dream wedding location that I’ve never once given it a thought.
Besides… “I thought you had to be royalty to do things there. And not just construction industry royalty,” I blurt out, my shock-induced babbling commencing.
Logan shakes his head, laughing once more. “We’re allowed,” he confirms. “But your clear lack of enthusiasm—”
“No,” I shake my head, not wanting him to mistake my disbelief for resistance.
“Uh…no?” he asks in surprise, and I suddenly realise that he was only teasing me a moment ago, and now he thinks that I’m not interested!
My eyes grow wide; my excitement has rendered me too damn flustered. Be clear, Gem, for fuck’s sake, Versailles is on the line here!
“I mean yes,” I shout loudly. “Yes, Logan, yes!”
I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around his neck again as I kiss him eagerly, headily. We’ve got seven minutes of prime make out time before our friends and family arrive, and aside from kissing Logan, the only thing that I am currently able do is echo his sentiment – July fourteenth can’t come soon enough.
He smiles into my mouth, and whispers, “It’s a date.”
