Chapter 26
Bellini
“Bellini,” Logan greeted me outside Lady Whiskey’s. It was eight, and I was finally headed home after ten hours of steady work. The jukebox was playing rock versions of Christmas songs, I was tired of pouring martinis, and the happy noise of the bar had deadened my hearing.
“Hi, Logan.” Oh, cease my fluttering heart. Please! Calm down! He stood about two feet away from me, smiling. Why did he have to smile like that at me? “Why do you have to smile like that at me? Oh gall. I said that out loud.”
He turned off his smile and glared at me. I knew he was kidding around. “Is this better? I’m not smiling at all.”
“You look like a sexy gangster.” It was true. It didn’t appear that he’d shaved today. I loved his thick black hair. After a shower, he pushed it off his forehead with his fingers, and that was about it for styling.
“A sexy gangster?” He glowered. “I’ll take it. Would you like to be my co-gangster?”
I laughed. The red and green Christmas lights on Main Street, linked from one building to the next, glowed in the darkness. Christmas carolers surrounded the town tree, singing through the snowflakes.
Logan had come in earlier, I’d served him his dinner—hamburger, salad, no alcohol, pecan pie—and we’d made pleasant chitchat.
He looked so hot sitting there alone…until he was joined five minutes later by a few people we knew from school—a classmate who now owned a cowboy boot shop in town and our former high school history teacher and her husband.
“I would be your co-gangster if I had time. Between running the bar and getting the burlesque show together and making sure my mother is resting, I’m too busy to commit any crimes.
It’s very hard to keep her down. Yesterday, she was making Christmas cookies.
I don’t think I can be a competent felon with you. ”
“Maybe I’ll kidnap you, then.”
I froze. I have an active imagination. I get visions all the time.
The vision that popped into my mind was being flung over Logan’s huge shoulder, my rear in the air.
He threw me into his truck and “kidnapped” me to a quiet, modern log cabin in the woods.
The fire was, naturally, already burning, the lights down low, candles lit.
The bed was bouncy, yet firm, and he tossed me onto it.
I said, “Let me go!” But the words came out all panty and sexy, and then I opened my arms to him, and he kissed me, and then…
“Bellini?”
“Yes?” I said, my voice whispery as I imagined Logan whipping off my pretty, red, floaty summer dress, undoing my red satin bra with push-ups, which matched my silky red underwear, and then I ripped open his—
“You okay? I was kidding about the kidnapping.” He was about to laugh. I could tell.
“What? Yes. Yes, I know. It was funny. You could kidnap me. I mean…” I coughed as the image cleared. “You could not kidnap me, as I would…uh…protest. Uh, vociferously. Protest. Strongly. I would not go to a log cabin with you.”
“A log cabin?” He leaned back on his heels and rocked. “I love cabins.”
“I love y—” I stopped. “I love cabins, too, for kidnapping. I’m sorry. What did you want to ask me?”
“Do you want to go to the hot spring?”
“What?”
“Let’s go to the hot spring.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“I…”
“We used to go all the time.”
“I remember.” I started to blush. I didn’t know why. Well, yes, I did. I knew what we did in the hot spring.
“You’re blushing.”
“That appears to be true.” I tilted my head up for some cooling snowflakes.
He laughed. “That’s cute.”
“Cute? I should not be blushing anymore.”
“Bring your blush to the hot spring. The stars will be incredible. Clear night. Not that cold. A little snow. I have dinner for you. And dessert. Chocolate mousse.”
“I love chocolate mousse, but I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“I don’t either.”
Oh, good gracious, and holy moly, and bad words, I thought. I couldn’t go to the hot spring with Logan without our swimsuits!
That would be too tempting.
We would be near naked, and wet, in that hot spring, the constellations twinkling above, the moon calling our names…
Why start something with him? Why be alone?
Why break my own heart again?
Why break his?
“Sounds fun,” I heard myself saying. “Yes.”
“Let’s go.” He held out his hand, and I grabbed it.
The road was dark, but the full moon’s rays created a path. Not many people knew about the hot spring. It was on Cal and Lilly Otumbai’s property, and you had to be invited to go, or you had to sneak in. The Otumbais were friends with my mom and had said we could go anytime.
The hot spring was private, surrounded by towering pine and fir trees, and almost a perfect oval, bubbling and utterly tranquil.
It was fed upstream by a waterfall. An owl hooted as we arrived, then flew off.
We flipped off our shoes, sat on the bank, and stuck our feet in the relaxing, slow flowing warmth.
We’d chatted all the way out in his truck, and it was like we’d been chatting forever, with no years-long break.
I ate the dinner Logan thoughtfully brought me—pasta and hot bread, and the mousse—and we talked about his work and what he was designing and building, and I asked him what he liked best about his job.
We talked about my Roxy Belle books. He had many questions for me about how I thought up the plots.
I told him I didn’t know what to write next, my mind was too frazzled, but I was stressed about this blankness in terms of what to write, so we thought of a bunch of ideas, and for the first time, I didn’t feel anxious about the next Roxy Belle book.
I could see the stories we talked about running through my head like mini movies.
We talked about my pink and white cottage in Oregon and my cats, and we talked about people we both knew from school and town. It felt like we had so much to catch up on, which was good, as we could stealthily dance around the deeper topics.
Logan was simmering. Totally hot. Angular features. Hard jaw. Dark eyes. Black hair. Yummy sexy.
“I missed you,” I told him as we kicked the water.
“I missed you, too,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Want to get in?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“What are you wearing?” It was a question I’d asked him so many times in the past that we both laughed. What were we wearing to the school dances…the first day of school…graduation…Field Day…Halloween…parties…
“I’m wearing my underwear,” he said. “I’m going to be appropriately modest. I don’t want to offend the fair lady in front of me. I don’t want to confuse her. But I am not getting in that pool in jeans.”
“I’m glad I wore underwear that is not ripped.”
“Congratulations, Bellini. This is excellent news. I feared seeing your ripped underwear. It’s been keeping me up at night.”
“Quite proud of myself.”
“You should be.”
“And I’m not wearing one of my old beige bras.”
“Even better. This night is already more than I imagined it could be.”
And then we stripped. It was like we were teenagers again. Jackets, hats, scarves, gloves, shirts, sweaters, pants—all came off in the freezing Montana air. We stood there, facing each other in the dark, the trees whispering, the owl hooting from another tree.
Logan looked amazing. Like some Greek god. Broader, bigger, not an ounce of fat, but just…manly. He was a full-grown male.
“Bellini,” he said, his voice husky. “You haven’t changed.”
“Is that good?”
“You’re beautiful. Always have been. Always will be.”
I sniffled. He always makes me tear up in a happy way.
I was wearing purple lacy underwear and a new, satiny red bra.
I’d been wearing the same dull bras for years, but I went shopping online when I got to Kalulell and first saw Logan.
Seeing him reminded me of how frumpy I’d gotten.
I went straight to Lace, Satin, and Baubles because their stuff is the best. A box full of satin and lace arrived in two days.
I did not buy new “delicates” because I thought Logan might see me in my boring underwear. No, not at all! I didn’t buy slinky lingerie thinking I might get naked with Logan. Not a chance!
I bought them because…because…hmmm… Well, that’s it! My underwear had holes, and my bras were beat up and dreary, and they all deserved to be trashed. But I was prepared…in case! The bra—devilish red—pushed up my boobs. I was grateful I’d gone shopping!
Logan smiled and offered me his hand, and I grabbed it. His hand was warm and strong, and mine was soon lost in his.
“Thanks, Logan,” I said as we stepped into the hot spring together. It was slippery, and I balanced myself against him.
“Anytime, Bellini.”
I laughed as the hot water swirled around us.
I had no business getting into the hot spring with Logan.
I shouldn’t have been there. Not in a bra, especially a red one.
Or wearing lacy purple underwear. In fact, I shouldn’t have been anywhere outside, alone, with him, with the moon shining down and inviting romance and naughty thoughts of activities that Logan and I had engaged in for years.
We should not have been rolling around naked together when we were in high school. We were too young, but we’d found each other irresistible. We did use birth control, which is why there are no little Logans or Bellinis running around.
It started to snow again, a few delicate snowflakes floating on down. They landed on Logan’s black hair.
What was I thinking, being near naked with him? I wasn’t thinking. Or I was refusing to think. “Statistically speaking, I should not have come here,” I drawled, then laughed because I couldn’t help it.
“Statistically speaking, I’m glad I’m here, and I’m glad you’re here. One hundred percent, to be precise.” His face grew serious, that slight stubble giving him a bit of a menacing look, which made me smile at him. Sexy mobster!
“You still look like a mermaid.”
“My shiny green tail has been growing from the time I hit the water.”