Chapter 22 - Logan
LOGAN
The last few weeks with Rosie have been some of the best of my life.
Hard to believe it’s been a month since Tahoe.
We’ve fallen into this perfect rhythm of meeting every night after work, talking, dining, laughing, fucking until we’re exhausted, and falling asleep in each other’s arms. The next morning, we wake up in a mess of tangled limbs, which usually leads to slow, sleepy sex that makes it nearly impossible to leave the bed.
I’m a fucking addict. If I go more than a few hours without talking to her, I start craving her voice, her laughter, her relentless teasing.
Work has been chaotic for both of us, yet that never stops us from sending flirty texts or calling each other in between meetings, or while we’re driving.
We used to go weeks—hell, months—without talking, and I barely thought twice about it.
Rosie was always in the back of my mind, but whenever she was dating some douche who didn’t deserve her—which was most of the time—I stayed in my lane.
As gratifying as it was knowing those fuckwits saw me as a threat—and trust me, there was no doubt—I didn’t want to cause problems for Rosie.
If anything, those dudes were just more evidence as to why she’d never be mine.
After our first midnight kiss, I knew she was attracted to me.
Any lingering doubts I may have had were squashed.
But every guy I’d seen her with since was nothing like me—in looks or personality.
I was convinced that Rosie was more attracted to hedge fund hot shots with small dick energy.
It killed me, watching her waste time on jerks who didn’t deserve her, but it wasn’t my call to make.
So, I shoved my feelings down, swallowed my jealousy, and acted like it didn’t gut me every damn time she picked someone who wasn’t me.
“Earth to Logan.”
I glance down with a smile as Rosie’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Sorry, spaced out for a minute. What’d you say?”
She tilts her head toward a blue and white truck. “Greek sound good? I’m craving falafel. It’s a nice night. We should eat here.”
I glance at the open courtyard, the clusters of people, the outdoor tables offering zero cover.
“You sure?” I ask, keeping my voice even.
She nods, slipping her fingers through mine like it’s second nature. “Yeah.”
“Works for me.” I squeeze her hand, grinning like a fool.
Lately, I’ve watched her anxiety fade, little by little, giving me hope she’s nearly ready to talk to her family.
I mean, Rosie is still Rosie. Most days, the woman has enough frenetic energy running through her veins to power the whole county.
But her eyes no longer dart around, searching for familiar faces whenever we step out to grab a bite.
She never hesitates to hold my hand or raise up on her toes to steal a quick kiss.
Granted, we’re careful, sticking to a small radius in her neighborhood, but she knows there’s always a risk of being seen, no matter how low it may be.
Suggesting we dine outdoors in a crowded courtyard is a bold move, which only deepens my conviction.
It’s a weeknight, just past seven, so thankfully, the line isn’t too long.
We place our order and step aside to wait as the scent of grilled meat, chopped veggies, and freshly baked pitas make my stomach growl.
When it’s ready, I grab the food—a falafel plate for her, chicken souvlaki wrap for me—and follow Rosie to an empty picnic table.
We settle onto the same side of a bench, unwrapping our food.
She takes one look at my wrap and grimaces. “Jesus. How are you going to fit that giant thing in your mouth?”
“I guess we’re about to find out.” I waggle my brows suggestively. “Got any tips since you’re such an expert on putting giant things in your mouth?”
Rosie chokes on her lemonade, coughing. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you just went there.”
I cup the back of her neck. “You walked right into that one, baby.”
She laughs as I pull her closer. “Touché, Edwards.”
“Don’t worry, Pip.” I press our lips together softly. “I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself later.” She moans as I deepen the kiss, making me forget where we are for a moment.
Her cheeks are flushed as I pull back. “What was that for?”
“No reason,” I say with a wink. “Just couldn’t resist.”
Rosie bites her lower lip as she glances down, noticing my growing erection. “First comes food, then comes sex.”
I laugh. “Is that how it works?”
“Duh.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s like, Dating 101.”
I take her hand, placing gentle kisses on each knuckle. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”
“Are you asking me to put a label on it?” Rosie’s delicate brows arch.
“What if I am?” I don’t break her gaze, letting the question linger. “I don’t need a label, but I am curious what you think.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to call this, but I do think it’s more than just dating. Don’t you?”
I lean in, brushing my lips against hers. “Yeah, Rosie. A lot more.”
She smiles shyly. “Good. Now that we’ve settled that, can we please eat? I’m freaking starving.”
I chuckle. “Go to town, Pip.” I tear off a big bite of my wrap, making her laugh.
“Animal,” she teases.
I lick a stray drop of sauce from my thumb. “You know it, baby.”
Rosie and I eat in comfortable silence for a bit, the sounds of downtown living—the distant wail of a siren, a group of people laughing, music drifting from one of the apartments above—serving as our soundtrack.
As we’re sitting here, a thought settles in my chest. How has it only been a month since we’ve been exploring this new dynamic?
Being with Rosie is the most natural thing in the world.
It’s exhilarating and effortless, but she’s also my greatest source of peace.
My days before Tahoe feel like an entirely different lifetime.
I didn’t realize how tragically unfulfilled I was back then.
But when she smiles at me like I’m her favorite fucking person, it’s so substantial, I now realize the Grand Canyon had previously resided in my chest.
I never used to think about the future unless it related to my business or investments. But lately, I’ve envisioned all sorts of things, asking myself all kinds of questions.
Like, would Rosie ever want to trade city living for something quieter, maybe get a house together in the hills?
I picture us sitting on the back deck sharing a bottle of wine, watching the city lights down below.
Sharing a cup of coffee in the kitchen each morning while she’s wearing nothing but my T-shirt.
Then the vision sharpens, and maybe a few years later, she’s standing in that same kitchen, belly round with my child.
Rosie’s breasts are heavy, her skin is flushed and glowing, her long, dark hair is extra shiny.
Even her pouty lips have a little more natural color.
I swear to god, she’s never looked sexier, and I already want to give her another the second she pushes this kid out.
Whoa.
Where the hell did that come from?
And why do I want it so fucking badly?
It’s not the first time I’ve thought about having kids with Rosie, but this is the first time I’ve ever visualized her carrying my child on such a visceral level.
Instead of panicking like a sane person, my brain takes a giant fucking leap off a cliff, straight into logistics.
So now I’m thinking about actually making the babies with her, the way she’d feel, all soft and warm, back arching as she writhed beneath me.
The rising crescendo of her moans as I took her pleasure to new heights.
Her breathy sighs as she begged me to plant my seed inside of her.
Fuck, that’s hot.
I subtly adjust myself under the table, reminding my dick now is not the time.
Showing off your boner in public is grounds for arrest, dude.
Rosie quirks a brow. “What’s that look for?”
I clear my throat. “What look?”
“Don’t even.” She shakes her head. “One minute you’re munching on your wrap, and the next, you look like you’re ready to throw me over this table and have your wicked way with me.”
She’s not wrong.
I laugh. “That’s how I always look at you, Pip.”
Her eyes narrow, not buying my bullshit for one second. “Logan, what were you thinking about just now?”
Oh, nothing big. Just breeding you like a goddamn Neanderthal. Just give me a club, and I’ll be all set.
“Work,” I hedge. “The Olympus pitch.”
Rosie snorts. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
I reach out to tuck a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. “Eat your fried chickpeas, Rosie.”
She rolls her eyes but leans into my touch, making me smile. “Worry about your own food, Edwards.”
“Yes, ma’am.” My lips twitch as I tack on a pithy salute.
After dinner, we head back to her place.
It’s a short walk, but the tension stretching between us is coiled so tightly, it might as well be miles.
My skin feels too taut, my heartbeat is thudding in my chest, and don’t even get me started on my dick.
The city pulses all around us but all I can focus on is Rosie.
The way the cool night air raises goose bumps on her arms. The way her breath hitches every time our hands brush.
The intoxicating sugary, tropical scent of her skin.
By the time we step into her building’s lobby, I’m hanging on by a fucking thread.
I press the call button for the elevator, stealing a glance down at her as we wait.
She’s restless. Amped up. Wound just as tightly as I am.
Her plump bottom lip is captive between her teeth, the delicate flesh already a little swollen.
She shifts from one foot to another, the soft rustle of fabric against her silky skin driving me mad.