Текст книги "She: Part 2"
Автор книги: Annabel Fanning
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5. What A Man
“Shit!” Logan shouts.
My eyes dart open; I feel like I’ve only just closed them, but I know that I haven’t because of the amount of light that’s now creeping out from behind my curtains…a little too much light compared to when I usually get up.
I scramble for my phone to look at the time. “Shit!” We’re late. We’re very late!
We dart out of bed; I head for the bathroom, Logan for the kitchen. While I hurriedly wash myself and pull on some clothes, Logan gets the coffee brewing. Then we swap, him in the bathroom, and me pouring the coffee, which will be our only breakfast this morning. We drink it, never minding that it’s piping hot, and then we make out for all of two seconds, before both conceding that we have to go. Before he reaches the kitchen doorway, Logan comes to an abrupt halt and I crash into the back of him.
“What?” I ask.
He points to the kitchen table where I’ve laid out his birthday presents. His face is youthful, excitable, he’s smiling his boyish smile. “Are those for me?”
Damn! Not a great hiding spot, Gem. “Yes.”
He picks each of them up, registering their weight and giving them each a customary little shake to try and coax them into revealing their identities to him. “Can I open them now?”
“No,” I grin. “You can have them on Thursday morning. They’re not your main present, anyway,” I hasten to add. “You’ll see that tomorrow night,” I tell him.
“And I can’t wait,” he beams. He puts the presents down and we leave.
Just before we have to part to go to our separately parked cars, I tell him, “There’s somewhere I’d like to take you tonight, after our meeting. It’s just something silly, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Looking forward to it, Miss. Samuels.” He steps forward to kiss me goodbye. “Until four-thirty, baby.”
As I head to my car, one thought goes through my mind: please, let this day pass quickly.
* * *
It doesn’t. In fact, it’s probably one of the worst days I’ve had at Pierson House since I started. My lack of energy and sustenance means that I feel drained the entire morning, despite my constant supply of coffee, which I manage to spill over a pile of important documents, twice. This has me running back and forth to the copy machine, feeling flustered and completely unprofessional.
When lunchtime finally brings some sweet reprieve, I head for the cafe down the street to order an enormous amount of food, and then it’s back to the grind, for an afternoon of back-to-back client meetings.
First up I deal with my most unpleasant client to date, who seems capable of only saying no to my every idea. And I mean every idea. I’m at my wits end, and needing a time out, I go to make her a cup of tea; chamomile, perhaps in hopes of sedating her. When I return, I find her thumbing through one my sketchbooks, a book that I’m almost certain was hidden away in one of my desk drawers only minutes ago. Having already had quite enough of her shit, not to mention her wholly inappropriate rifling though my drawers, I’m about to say something that could quite easily get me fired, when she looks up at me with a huge smile on her face. I freeze. It’s like she’s a different person.
“J’ai trouvé quelque chose de magnifique,” she beams. I’ve found something magnificent.
At last. My whole body relaxes, releasing my pent up tension. The sketchbook in question is one that I’ve dedicated to my landscape design ideas.
“This…and this…and this,” she points out my own drawings to me, “they’re beautiful!”
“Thank you,” I say, setting her tea down in front of her. “You want a garden in your home?” I make sure I’ve understood her correctly.
“Oui, ce serait parfait!” Yes, that would be perfect!
Uh, really? I smile and nod, the way Amélie would. Anything for a client. “OK, that’s what we’ll do,” I assure her.
After that she’s different, warm, friendly, and chatty. By the time we part company thirty minutes later, I actually quite like her. But no time to dwell, for as one client exits, another enters, and this one is another nightmare with no let-up at all until I show him out an hour later. I stand next to Layla’s reception desk and wave him away with a sigh. Good riddance, you miserable bastard.
As he exits, Layla says, “Just one more before you get to go and play.”
“Excuse me?”
She consults her massive diary, in which everyone’s meetings are listed so that she can keep track of who’s coming and going from the building. “You’re meeting Mr. Leary at four-thirty, non?” she asks, and I nod. “Only one more to go.”
“Right, but, uh, we’re not playing,” I whisper to her. “We’re working, Layla.”
She looks at me the same way that Amélie does, seeing straight through me. I say nothing else, there’s no point.
“Your next client has already arrived, I showed her into meeting room five,” Layla says.
I nod and leave. Just one more before I get to go and play.
* * *
An hour later I leave work too consumed with sending a welcome home text message to my mom to notice a figure leaning against the outside of Pierson House. I almost walk into him, stopping just short, and doing a double take when I see who it is.
Jerry is here. Black eye and all.
My eyes narrow. “You’re not here to kidnap me, are you?” I say sarcastically.
He cracks a smile, coming away from the wall, shaking his head. “You didn’t call me,” he says, and I notice that the mere sound of his voice annoys me.
I stare at him, bemused. “Was I supposed to?” I ask.
“I told Logan to tell you about my mom…”
An uncomfortable lurch goes through me upon remembering. “Oh, yes. He did,” I tell him. “I’m sorry about that, Jerry. Please give her my best wishes,” I say, stepping to the side to walk past him.
He rolls his eyes. “She’s not sick, Gem.”
“Then why—?” I begin to say, before I stop in my tracks, realising… “Oh my god, please tell me you didn’t fake your mother’s illness to try and get me to talk to you?” I exclaim. Logan’s suspicions were spot on.
Jerry’s silence is as good as a confession.
Urgh! “Jerry, that’s disgusting!” I yell at him.
“I want you back,” he says, stepping towards me.
“No,” I shirk out of his reach.
“Please,” he says softly.
“No. This has to stop. Why can’t you get that into your head? I don’t want to hear from you or see you again. I don’t want you to show up at my work like this. Or my home,” I add pointedly, staring him down.
“I’ve no idea where you live,” he tells me earnestly.
“Good.”
“I’m not a creep like that,” he says. “I’m not a creep like Leary.”
I sigh, and keep walking to my car. I’m not going to listen to him badmouth my boyfriend. He’s a jealous and scorned ex, and I’ve had just about enough of him, but I know that he’s following me, and I know there’s more he wants to say. I reach my car, turn to face him, and tell him as clear as day, “You have to move on.”
“I can’t, Gem. Please,” he starts pleading with me.
“You have to,” I impress. “I really don’t want to have to google restraining orders. Filing one would be way too much paperwork,” I say, opening the door and getting into the drivers seat. I look up at him, hoping very much that it’ll be for the last time. Ever. “Move on,” I tell him again, “or the next time I see you, you’ll have a matching black eye and your balls in a vice.”
Way to be badass, Gem. I slam the door shut, start the ignition, and taking a leaf out of Amélie Clémence’s book, I flip him the bird as I drive away.
* * *
The building site is only a few blocks from my mom’s house. I park in an open lot, across the road from the site opening where I’m meeting Logan. Jerry doesn’t occupy a single one of my thoughts – all I can think about is Logan and why he wanted to meet me here. What has he got planned?
Tall wire fencing surrounds the entire site, with intermittent Leary Constructions banners hung on the them; a popular sight throughout Paris. I vaguely wonder if Logan could get me one. I amuse myself as I walk across the road, toying with the idea of hanging one up in my bedroom as the ultimate fangirl move. He’d love it.
Contained within the five acre site are three enormous concrete towers, each at varying heights, the tallest of which stands nearly thirty storeys, though it’s still unfinished. They’re all unfinished. I shouldn’t start work on this project for at least another couple of months, I think. It makes me question Logan’s motives again – why did he want to meet here?
A bulky, silver pickup truck stands in front of the entrance, and Logan leans against it, his arms crossed. He does the whole leaning back, looking sexy thing very, very well. My heart starts thumping when I see him, my eyes unabashedly scanning him from head to booted toe. He’s dressed in a way that I’ve never seen him before. Granted, a vast majority of the time I’ve been with Logan, he’s been naked, but aside from his birthday suit, I’m used to seeing him in tailored work suits, which easily make me weak at the knees. But today, right now, he’s dressed for his other role; not the smart-looking businessman, but the construction worker.
“Oh my god,” I say, my eyes doing another vertical scan of him. I feel totally flummoxed by the sight of him.
Don’t be so shallow, I chide myself. Fuck it, I think, he is utterly gorgeous!
He’s wearing dark coloured jeans, steel-capped boots, a pale blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up despite the cool day, and a smile that is so delectably smug that, given a minute or two, I could get off on it alone. His orange high-visual vest completes his look and I run my hands all over it when I reach him.
It’s as a proud interior designer that I inform him, “You’re wearing complimentary colours.” Orange and blue, classic combination.
Logan’s smile grows more pronounced, his dimples appearing. “I love it when your beautiful blue eyes look at me like that,” he says, his hands gripping my waist as he leans down to kiss me. He presses his lips against mine for a too-brief moment. “You look like you want to take me home,” he says against my mouth. Jeez, will I ever get over how handsome he is? Will he ever not have this effect on me? I certainly doubt it.
“And you look like you’re on your way to a very sexy costume party,” I grin.
He laughs into my mouth, and then temptation overcoming him, he kisses me again. Longer, deeper, wetter. Grabbing his high-vis vest, I hold him to me, immersing myself in our kiss with a passion equal to his. He is such an incredible kisser; he makes me feel renewed, he is entirely able to rid my mind of the memories of even my worst day at work.
Releasing his vest I instead wrap my arms around his neck, my hands tangling in his hair, as I push my body more firmly against his. His arms tighten around my back, and our kiss continues, deepening in both meaning and satisfaction. When we finally break apart both of us have wide, desire-filled eyes.
“Hello, baby,” Logan finally greets me.
“Hi,” I giggle, before giving him another quick peck. “Good day?” I ask.
He nods. “But it can always get better,” he says, his words containing hidden meaning. “You?”
“Totally shit,” I tell him. “Infinitely better now, however.”
“Good,” he smiles. “Thank you for coming to this business meeting,” he then says formally, straightening up.
My mind starts racing immediately. Are we working, after all? I didn’t even bring the project file with me! Logan steps me a few paces backwards so that he can turn around and open his truck door. He pulls out two hardhats. Shit!
“I, uh—” I’m about to confess my lack of preparation when he cuts me off.
“Do you see that building?” he asks, pointing to the tallest of the three within the site.
“Do you?” I question him back. “There’s not much point in me sizing up a space that doesn’t yet exist,” I say truthfully.
“There’s not,” he agrees, with a smile. “That’s not why you’re here.”
Oh! I relax and grin back at him. Now we’re getting somewhere. “Why, then?” I enquire slowly.
Openly, brazenly, and oh, so sexily, Logan reveals, “I want to do you on the top floor.”
My eyes widen, and his smile broadens. Then, reluctantly, I look away from his stunning face back to the building, eyeing it all the way to the top. There are no exterior walls. No windows. My stomach does a flip, butterflies take flight, and that gloriously familiar longing for him courses through my whole body.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” I ask, though we both already know that regardless of his answer, I’m onboard with the idea. I’m onboard two hundred percent.
Logan takes one of the hardhats and places it on my head. “Just keep this on… You may need it.” His eyes gleam with enthusiasm, he’s brimming with playfulness.
Matching him, I straighten it up, grinning, “Oh, la la!”
“There are just a few people we have to bypass first,” he then unexpectedly announces, taking my hand, and leading me through the entrance into the first construction site that I’ve ever stepped foot on.
It’s all much tidier than I presumed it would be, which is comforting for a neat-freak like me. We walk together in the direction of blaring music, which is issuing from a white site-hut. Bryan Adams, I recognise the tune. Nice choice.
Inside the hut, four men and a woman are huddled around a desk, looking over a large design plan which is spread out on top of it.
“The whole crazy team,” Logan tells me, announcing our arrival to his employees, who all look up upon hearing their boss’s voice.
It surmises they’re just wrapping up a head-of-departments meeting, which means that right now I’m faced with Leary Constructions’ elite. Guillaume, who stands at least six foot five and has a perfect handlebar moustache, is an engineer. Benjamin, who’s short, stocky, and very muscular, is chief-builder, and I vaguely remember Jerry working with him. Antoine, whose bespectacled face and bow tied shirt convinces me that he’s an architect – way to stereotype, Gem, I chide myself – until I’m told that that’s exactly what he is. Michel, Logan’s second in command and very good friend, whose spiky platinum-coloured hair stands out strikingly against his dark skin, is filling in for their absent human resources colleague. And Grace, a dark-blonde, salt of the earth type of woman, who true to Logan’s word, is at least seven months pregnant and so large in her belly that her high-vis vest struggles to shut.
I shake hands with each of them, though Grace is by far the most formal.
“Grace DiCenzo,” she says, holding out her hand. “Tête de la gestion des projets.” The head of project management. She’s the overseer of all elements of the build, and given how huge this site is, I don’t envy her.
“Gemima,” I say for the fifth time, smiling at her. “It’s wonderful to meet all of you,” I then say to the group at large, automatically taking a step closer to Logan. I wrap my arm around his back, and immediately realise that Michel is the only one who knows that we’re a couple, because his eyes are the only ones that don’t widen at my show of affection.
“Gemima is my girlfriend,” Logan is quick to reveal with an air of smugness, before beaming down at me.
“Quoi?” Grace says. What? She sounds so shocked that Logan, I and everyone else start laughing.
“Is that unheard of?” I giggle, playfully pinching Logan’s waist.
“Yes!” they tell me in unison.
“You could have met her last week,” Logan says to Guillaume and Antoine, “if you ever bothered to show up to those topping off parties.”
Ah-ha, so they were meant to be there last Thursday night, I note. I wonder if the animosity between Logan and Jerry would have been any different if they were.
“That’s why he got into a fight with Jerry Cassidy,” Michel mutters, his thoughts similar to mine, and his intention being to fill in all the holes in the industry gossip.
However, when almost everyone looks bemused, Logan admits, “He’s Gemima’s ex.”
“Unfortunately,” I add.
Teasing of Logan commences less than one second later and continues for five minutes straight. They’ve never known him to have a girlfriend, nor to be the type to throw a punch in a woman’s honour, but it seems that both of these new, illuminating sides to him are very appealing.
The sparring back and forth is pure comedy to watch. Logan’s their boss, sure, but they all interact with one another as though they’re on an even keel. They seem more like friends than colleagues, and if, over time, I could build these sorts of working relationships at Pierson House, then off-days like today would surely become a lot more tolerable. I’d have someone to vent with, and laugh with, and talk to about problem clients.
“So, have you brought Gemima here to show off your big playground?” Grace toys with Logan.
“I’m the interior designer for the project,” I announce. “Logan just wants to give me a quick tour,” I say. And do me on the top floor, I don’t say.
“Which company are you with?” Michel asks me.
“The Pierson Group,” I tell him proudly. Oh, it’s so nice to finally be at a company that I’m proud to be a part of, instead of embarrassed by.
“I expect we’ll see the bosslady on Saturday night,” he says, referring to Amélie and Logan’s upcoming party.
“I wish I could go,” Grace sighs.
“Why don’t you?” Benjamin and Guillaume ask together.
She gives them a humorously scathing look. “Watch this,” she instructs. She takes a very big, deep breath in and her hig-vis vest bursts open over her large belly, making us all chuckle. “Now imagine me in a ball gown…Yeah, I don’t think so,” she shakes her head.
“I’m still going to mention you in my speech,” Logan assures her.
“You have to give a speech?” I ask in surprise, and he nods petulantly, clearly unhappy about it.
“I’ve been trying not to think about it,” he tells me, which is probably why he hasn’t mentioned it before. Out of sight, out of mind. “I haven’t even started it yet. Have you started yours?” he asks Michel, who will be speaking too.
“Already finished.”
Everyone makes an urgh sound, and Logan quickly explains it, by laughing, “Michel is a constant overachiever. He makes the rest of us look terrible. I don’t even know where to start mine.”
“At the beginning,” Guillaume says unhelpfully.
“Once upon a time,” Michel suggests.
Logan groans, and from the look in his eyes, I can tell that he’s genuinely dreading it. I find his hand and give it a squeeze.
“I’ll write it for you,” I grin at him. If there’s one thing to fear more than writing and reciting a speech, it’s doing those things in conjunction with my American Mouth.
Logan grasps that notion exceptionally fast. “I’ll take my chances, baby,” he laughs.Hearing Logan utter the word baby, reignites the teasing. Round two, I think, and I prop myself on the edge of a desk, watching their repartee with glee.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, once his colleagues have cleared out for the day, Logan locks up the site-hut, and we start walking to the other side of the vast building site, coming across no one on our journey.
It’s eerily deserted, I think, looking around the huge spaces that all too soon, I will be in charge of decorating. But then again, work on construction sites starts early and ends early. I remember that aspect of Jerry’s work – he was always home before me, and elected to spend his afternoons lying on the sofa. Lazy bastard. I put up with that for eight fucking years, I remind myself with a shudder. Why, why, why, I wonder angrily. Maybe I was in a self-depleting phase?
Tentatively, I reveal to Logan that Jerry was waiting for me outside of work. “And you were right, he did lie about his mom. He only told you that because he thought it would make me call him, and when I didn’t, he thought rocking up at my work would be appropriate,” I say sardonically.
Logan’s whole body tenses next to me as we keep on walking. “Why did he want to talk to you?” he asks.
“He wants me back,” I sigh. “I told him, again, that that’s never going to happen. Then I got slight dramatic and told him that if he ever ambushes me again, I’ll take out a restraining order.”
To my immense relief, Logan grins at me. “I’ve never known you to be dramatic when flustered,” he says sarcastically.
I revel in knowing that he’s taking this so lightly. Or at least, I think he is until he speaks again.
“What is the likelihood of him becoming a danger to you?” he says seriously.
“About five percent,” I say, confidently. “Annoying and intolerable, yes, but he’s not the type of man to turn into a crazy stalker.”
Logan considers my words. “OK,” he finally nods, trusting my analysis. “You did the right thing in mentioning a restraining order, baby. I’ll call him again tomorrow, and reiterate your sentiments.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving him permission to play the protective boyfriend.
Let’s hammer that sentiment home, I think, as we turn a sharp corner and Logan leads me to a mesh-cage elevator.
He pulls open the sliding door and I step inside. It’s snug, able to fit four men at most. After joining me inside, shutting and fastening the door, Logan then takes a key out of his pocket. He inserts it into an ignition at the same time as pushing a startup button.
As I stand in the corner, watching him, I can’t keep from quietly giggling to myself.
“What’s the joke?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “Just watching you multitask…I like it when you touch the button and the ignition together,” I say, euphemistically.
Smiling to himself, Logan pulls a huge lever and we jolt as the mechanism comes to life, raising us from the ground. It’s the beginning of a slow ascent.
“Is that what you have planned for the top floor?” I ask.
Joining me in the corner, Logan says, “I haven’t got anything planned, but it’s going to take us awhile to get there, so I’m open to hearing your suggestions.”
Awhile? “How long?” I look at him mischievously.
“We’ve got time,” he lets me know seductively, leaning into me, his face burying into my neck which he kisses.
Good, I think, and then I peer out of our mesh-cage, scouting for people, double checking that we are entirely alone. We are.
“And when we’re up there we’ll be able to watch the sun going down,” he murmurs against my skin.
I am gratifyingly reminded of a past encounter of ours, as I say, “It’s not the sun you’re going to watch going down.”
I push Logan backwards, so that his back now rests against the opposite side of the elevator, giving me some room to kneel before him. I look up at him as I do and his eyes grow wide. He may have planned to do me on the top floor, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to receive a blow job on our way up there.
My hands work hastily to undo his pants. I pull them and his boxers down just far enough to release his semi-erect penis. I toy with him in my hands for a few moments, provoking him to harden fully, as Logan gazes at me in rapture. Then after giving him a cheeky, lustful grin, I drop my hardhat onto the mesh floor, and I take his tip into my mouth and suck him hard.
He quivers against me, groaning loudly, his hands gripping the side of my head. Enjoying his reaction so much, I repeat my action, before drawing him all the way into my mouth as far as I can take him.
“Oh, baby,” he breathes. “This is…this is not…what I thought…would happen,” he manages to say, as I drive him wilder and wilder.
Logan’s arousal climbs in time with the elevator, each floor we pass bringing him closer to his release. I suck him hard, then I lick him gently, I take him in, then I let him go, winding him up amid a chorus of his encouragement.
“Ah, yes,” he groans, the sound and the feel of him jerking sensitively makes me wetter by the second.
Despite my own growing desire, I don’t stop. I continue until he’s on the brink, his hands gripping me tightly, his voice deliciously loud. With my lips over his tip, I piston him a few quick times with my hand and he falls apart, orgasming, and releasing himself into my mouth.
I swallow and then release him from my clutches, reveling in the look of unbridled satisfaction that is plastered all over his face. His whole body looks loose and relaxed despite his rapid breathing.
As I get to my feet, I become aware that the elevator has stopped moving, though I’ve no idea how long we’ve been stationary for. As Logan slumps back against the side of our mesh-cage, I lean against him and kiss his neck, like he did to me earlier. His pulse is quick under my lips as I pull his boxers and pants back up, though I don’t bother fastening them.
“Can you talk?” I ask him gleefully, immensely enjoying how overcome he is.
“Words fail me,” he pants, making my smile broaden. He kisses me deeply, letting that do the talking for him. When we eventually break apart, he mutters, “Amazing, Gemima.”
Good, I think again.
Logan’s attention then turns to the elevator door, which he unfastens and slides open. I stride out, intent on walking up to the very edge of the building to peer over the safety railings, but Logan’s arm catches me around my waist, preventing me from going any further.
“Where do you think you’re going? You need to be harnessed,” he says, pointing to the safety harnesses that lie next to the door. Oh! They are the kind of harnesses that you have to step into, which go around your legs as well as your waist, and which usually dig into your crotch. Next to them, attached to a very solid-looking pillar, lie several long safety ropes to attach to the harnesses.
“Mr. Leary, you’re full of surprises this afternoon,” I tease him.
“Me? Gemima, you just blew me on my own construction site, do you have any idea how fucking hot that is?”
I shake my head, grinning at him. “Tell me, on a scale of one to ten, how hot was it?”
“A million,” he counters quickly.
“Perfect,” I laugh happily, watching him step into his safety harness. “But, uh, baby…how are we going to have sex if we’re both wearing harnesses?” I will flat-out refuse to wear a harness that close to my crotch if I’m not wearing anything under it.
“Yours is only going to go around your waist,” he tells me, now fiddling with my harshness, his brow furrowed as he works out the logistics of it. “And I can easily get my penis out while wearing it,” he says absentmindedly.
There’s a story hidden in his last sentence, I’m instantly sure of it. Taking full advantage of his absentmindedness, I ask, “And how do you know that?”
“Well, this one time I—” he stops himself.
I try not to smile as he looks at me with wide eyes. “Yes?” I press.
“It’s kind of gross,” he warns me.
“Did you pee off the side of a building, Logan?” I guess.
Reluctantly he nods, and I laugh again.
“That is gross,” I agree with him. “And yet oddly fascinating,” I muse. “If you peed off the edge at this height, the wind could carry it for miles before it touched the ground. Your piss could cover all of Paris.” Immediately I pull a face at the thought, making Logan chuckle.
“Here you go, baby,” he says, bending over and holding out the newly adjusted harness for me to step into. It’s just one large circle and when I’m in the centre of it, Logan pulls it up to my waist before tightening it securely. Then my safety rope is attached and at last I’m free to begin exploring.
Jeez, Paris is so incredibly beautiful! The view renders me speechless. The whole of the city is visible, in a stunning three hundred and sixty degree vista, the likes of which I’ve never seen. We walk around the edge of the building, a metre in from the safety railings, taking in everything. The on-coming sunset colours the huge sky, making the marriage of both city and sky the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Except maybe the man who brought me here.
Logan has already been up here once this afternoon as is evident by the picnic that he’s laid out on the west side of the building so that we can watch the setting sun. Atop the checkered blanket, which on closer inspection is being held down by several small concrete blocks, is a cheese platter, two baguettes, a smorgasbord of dips and relishes, and one of Paris’s finest wines.
“This looks delicious,” I say, sinking down onto the blanket, eager to tuck in.
“I thought you might enjoy a good spread,” he says, and he’s referring to the food, I know he is, and yet my mind wants so badly to reply, You know I do, but I clamp my mouth shut. Don’t ruin this romantic gesture with your x-rated thoughts, Gem, I tell myself.
Logan watches my entire internal debate, his amusement evident. I sigh theatrically, knowing that I’m as good as caught, and Logan bursts into laughter. I realise quite suddenly that it’s rather exhausting keeping my American Mouth at bay.
Finally, I blurt out, “I’m trying to give up making sexual innuendoes, Logan.” And then, because I just can’t help myself, I add with a cheeky grin, “But it’s so hard…”
* * *
All of my senses are indulged over the hour that we spend on the twenty-ninth floor. My tastebuds are treated, and after dinner, my body is worshipped as Logan makes love to me while we watch the sun go down.
“Where I’m taking you now pales in comparison to that,” I warn Logan once we’re back on terra firma and he’s locking the gates to the construction site. I’m certain that his surprise this afternoon is miles better than my surprise this evening, however half an hour later, once we’ve both driven to mine, parked, and walked the short way to the large candy store, Logan looks into its depths with wide, bright eyes, as if he’s a child who’s been taken to Disneyland.
“Happy boy?” I grin at his enthusiastic stupor.
He nods and pulls me inside.
Logan is in his element. When he told me that a candy store was his one weakness, he wasn’t downplaying his obsession with sweets. As I follow him around the heavenly-smelling shop, he loads his arms with more goodies than every five-year-old we pass put together, and I begin to seriously envy his peak physical shape. If this is how much candy he’s used to consuming, then that body is simply not fair. If I ate all of his selections my wobbly bits would quickly get a lot wobblier.
He leads the way through the store, leaving no shelf unchecked, making fast, decisive, and incredibly bright-coloured choices. He doesn’t actually speak to me for a solid five minutes, much to my amusement, but rather mutters to himself things like, this place is fucking fantastic… or, yes, sherbet!… or, tonight, tonight, tonight.
