20. Try a Little Tenderness
CHAPTER TWENTY
try a little tenderness
ABI
SASKATOON, SASKATCHEWAN
PRESENT DAY
“So…” I sip my cherry slushie as we wade through the endless crowds of people. “I guess we should figure out how we met.”
“What do you mean?”
The night market was a great idea. So far, we’ve devoured about three bags of mini donuts, chased each other with bumper cars, and enjoyed gourmet hot dogs— well, Logan said they were gourmet, because he dipped them in Canadian mustard.
“Well, we can’t tell the truth.”
“Why not?”
“Because!”
I laugh, but I don’t really have an answer for him. It just seems kind of absurd that we wouldn’t come up with some clever little deception.
“It doesn’t exactly look great, especially if we have to admit we met three years ago. My mom would probably flip if she thought I was hiding a relationship for that long! Even a fake one.”
“Fair,” Logan replies. “Okay, new plan. We met at a department shindig or something. Then a couple months later, I proposed to you at Guardian Point.”
“A couple months ?!” I exclaim. “Damn Flynn, you move fast!”
“Ah yeah, you see, fictional me doesn’t like to waste time. He’s like real-me, but if I had even an ounce of willpower. No procrastination, only dynamic moves to build toward my best life!”
Logan’s a master at procrastination, and he has been as long as I’ve known him. Similar to his sister, he says he likes to ‘race the clock’ when it comes to completing deadlines. It gives him a rush, or maybe more accurately it gives him motivation. Too often our brainstorming sessions for papers turn into playing board games, or talking about TV shows, all the way up until the 11th hour.
“Who made the first move?” I ask. “That’s a big one we need to figure out.”
“Um… okay, so we’re at a conference, yeah? We traveled together, found ourselves alone in the hotel bar, and I couldn’t stop praising your work.” He elbows me gently in the ribs. “Which real-me also loves, by the way. Just want to point that out.”
I take another long sip of my slushie, grinning back at him until I get a little bit of brain freeze.
“Okay, the big question: Where was our first date? I’m thinking…” He clicks his tongue, confirming his choice to himself. “How about The Orchid! We went for a nice romantic evening. Oldschool.”
“Nice, very fancy. My mom’ll love that.”
The Orchid is one the most expensive restaurants in Emerald Bay. Alternate universe Logan was definitely on his A game.
“And then I took you to the Hi-Dive, to relax and just see how things would go. We played pool. You won, obviously. Sunk the 8 ball into the center right pocket to end the game. And then, not to be outdone, I brought the house down with a karaoke version of Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi.”
At first I assumed he was just making all this stuff up off the top of his head, but I’m realizing that most of these details are ones he’s plucked from different moments in our lives together. We’ve spent a lot of nights at that bar, shooting pool and talking about philosophy, theory, politics. He took me to that restaurant to congratulate me on an early publication opportunity. He’s absolutely belted out Dead or Alive on more than one occasion.
“I’m just a little surprised you’re being honest about the pool thing. Isn’t Other-Logan also a master shark? You’re saying there’s actually something he can’t do?”
Logan grins back at me, and I can’t help but let out a loud cackle. He’s one of the worst pool players I’ve ever met. He spends all of his time talking shit rather than actually focusing on playing, which works out great for me.
“Oh, no. No no no. The only thing that’s different between me and Other-Logan is I’m even more of a gentleman! I don’t want you to feel bad when I take away the one thing you have over me, so I let you think you’re the superior player!”
I smirk.
“Okay, Flynn. How about we test that theory? There’s gotta be a table around here somewhere.”
The night is warm, and I shed my leather jacket, slinging it over my shoulder. I chose a pair of skin tight purple leather pants for the night, and a black tank top I picked up at Throwback a few years ago. It looked really cool when I threw it together back at the hotel, but the leather was probably a bad choice. I’m sweating like crazy.
We wander through the crowd, taking in the flashing lights and drooling over the smell of corndogs and mini donuts. It reminds me of being a kid, going to little summer fairs in Blackburn. The carnival would roll in for the weekend and it was a huge deal. I remember practically dragging my mom along with me because all the parents said it wasn’t a good idea for the kids to go alone.
“How come we never do anything like this in Emerald Bay?” Logan muses. “There’s plenty of farmland available to put up some rides and some food stands… people would love it.”
“Well, I mean they do that winter thing sometimes, don’t they?”
“Sure, but that’s not?—”
“And if they did it in the summer some drunk frat boys would absolutely roll up wasted and ruin it all.”
“Ah, yes, but then at least Emerald Bay’s finest would have something to do.”
Neither of us can hold back our laughter at the thought, only interrupted by an even louder cheer up ahead of us.
Logan is instantly curious.
“Tell me what those elf eyes see, Legolas,” I tease.
Logan cleans off his glasses, straining his neck as he shifts on the balls of his feet. He’s so cute when he squints.
“It’s hard to tell. There’s a big crowd. Come on.”
He takes my hand, leading me toward the commotion as the cheers grow louder. Everyone’s packed into the beer garden, and as we get closer I spot a hand waving back and forth erratically above a sea of people. It takes me a moment, but quickly everything comes together.
“It’s a mechanical bull!”
We manage to slide into the crowd, pushing our way through until we spot a man hanging on for dear life as the machine bucks and squeals.
“Wow, I haven’t seen one of these in years! That guy’s doing pretty good too, don’t you think?”
Logan doesn’t respond, he’s too busy staring down the mechanical bull. It almost looks like he’s sizing the damn thing up, prepping to go into battle.
Oh, I have to see this.
“Okay, we didn’t find a pool table, but how about tackling that?” I ask. “In what might be a world’s first, I think we’ve found something you could beat me at.”
“I’m considering it.”
Logan can’t resist trying something he’s got no experience in; he likes to find things he’s never done before and master them as quickly as possible, taking them apart in his head until he understands just what levers to pull or buttons to press. The funny part is the result ends up the same either way: either he figures it out, masters it and moves on, or he hits a wall, gets bored, and looks for the next thing to catch his attention.
“How long do you think I can hang on for?” He asks, his voice suddenly full of bravado.
“Do you want me to hype you up, or tell the truth?”
He slings his arm around me, squeezing me tight.
“I can take criticism, constructive or otherwise.”
I click my tongue, watching as the man tumbles off the creaking machine.
“Hmm, let me do the math. At your height, with your relative strength, combined with your body mass and experience… I’m thinking less than a second.”
Logan lets out a loud, bark of a laugh.
“A second?! You don’t even think I could last for one second? ”
“To clarify, I said less than a second. Those things are intense, and you already look like one of those wind-sock men at a car dealership on a good day.”
Everything around us smells like sweat, sunscreen, and beer, and it seems like the atmosphere’s affecting both of us in similar ways.
“Nah, you know what? I’m strong, I’m talented, and I’m brilliant. I give myself at least five seconds.”
“Logan, five seconds is insane for your first time!”
Logan’s a man on a mission, pushing his way to the front of the crowd much quicker than I initially expected. He puts his hands on his hips, looking around at the other people standing around the bull.
“Is there a line?”
A couple of them snicker, but a guy I think must be around my age with a trucker hat and jeans gestures to the bull.
“No line. You’re up, bro.”
Logan takes off his glasses, handing them over.
“Hold these for me if you would, gorgeous.”
He gets a few laughs from the crowd as he walks up, and it’s obvious why. The cardigan, dress pants, and oxfords make him stick out like a sore thumb amidst a sea of cowboy hats and denim; he’s basically the poster-boy for adult male nerd. I’ve always loved his ability to just exist, completely himself, no matter who he’s around.
Logan walks toward the bull with confidence, but things get a bit awkward the moment he attempts to get up on it, less climbing on and more throwing himself right at it. I can see his mismatched striped socks peek out as his legs stick almost all the way up into the air. A few more laughs ripple through the crowd, but when the attendant tries to help him, he waves him off.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I got it!”
A few more grunts and some awkward flailing and he does manage to get himself upright, turning to look at me with that shit-eating grin he’s so fond of. It is, of course, short lived. The moment the bull starts bucking he lets out a screech, seemingly shocked that the bull’s doing the thing he just spent a couple minutes watching it do, lurching forward and holding on for dear life.
He kind of reminds me of a muppet.
“Just fall off!” I laugh. “Your pride isn’t worth this, Logan!”
“Has it been a second?!” He yelps.
“Almost five!” Someone shouts from the back. “You got this, Longlegs!”
Logan holds on for a couple more seconds before releasing the bull and letting it buck him off, landing on the mat with an undignified thud. He grunts and rolls onto his stomach, hair falling in his eyes, but he’s still got that bright, optimistic smile plastered onto his face. He did it, after all.
“That’s seven seconds! Not bad for a first-timer!”
At least half the crowd cheers, and a couple people step forward and help him to his feet, patting him on the shoulder.
“Thank you, thank you for watching my complete and utter humiliation!” He turns to me, cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. “You want a drink? I feel like I need some liquor in me after that.”
“Sure! I’ll grab us a table— unless you want to break your record?”
Logan scoffs, giving it a dismissive wave.
“I think I proved my point. I’ll get us the beers and be right back.”
He heads for the bar while I slip over to one of the empty picnic tables in the back, and I watch as he makes his way to the front, chatting with the bartender. It’s only a few seconds in and he’s already making her laugh; she’s definitely hitting on him, but I know he’s just being his usual charming self.
I’m not jealous. I can’t be because I don’t have the right.
Logan’s not mine.
But ever since this trip’s started to ramp up, I can’t get the image of him on top of me out of my fucking head. His warm breath on my neck, the way his arms caged me in, the way he moaned my name in my ear when he came all those years ago.
I haven’t had sex like that since.
I let out a long, shaky breath, pulling out my phone to distract me from my own thoughts.
“One night,” I murmur. “It’s just one night.”
It’ll be fine. We set up those rules to keep things where they need to be. Nothing is going to happen.
“Hey, pretty lady,” a deep voice rumbles, the man it belongs to sliding into the seat across from me. “What’re we drinkin’?”
He’s wearing a backwards snapback, blue and black flannel shirt, and a white t-shirt. He’s got a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and a lopsided smirk on his face.
Not to mention the fact that he reeks of booze.
“Oh, no thank you,” I chuckle. “My friend’s on his way?—”
“I didn’t ask for your life’s story,” the stranger scoffs. “I asked what we’re drinking.”
I try to keep up my sweetest smile, struggling as I feel venom swirling together with the bile rising up from my stomach. I glance over to Logan, but he’s still laughing with that bartender. I think he’s showing her one of his damn coin tricks.
I flip out my phone for a second underneath the table and shoot him a text.
ME
Creep alert.
“Did you hear me, sweetheart?”
The man’s voice is still mostly calm, but I can tell he’s starting to get agitated, and I figure now’s a better time than any to set some clear boundaries.
“Are you too stupid understand what a no is?” My tone shifts into something sharp and confrontational. “Because I’m pretty sure I said that my friend?—”
“Is an idiot for leaving you alone.” He smirks, looking me up and down. “I wouldn’t let you out of my sight for a second. What an asshole.”
What is it with men and not knowing when it’s time to just pack it in and take the L? It’s not exclusive to guys like this, either. I’ve been at more than a few academic conferences where an attendee gets so drunk they don’t even care how handsy they’re getting in public. No matter what the setting is, there’s always someone who feels entitled to something.
“I said no,” I reply firmly, a slight snarl rising in my voice. “My fiancé’s at the bar.”
“You said he was your friend.”
That drunken smirk is really starting to piss me off now.
“I meant—” I take a deep breath. I don’t need to justify or explain anything to him. “I said no. I’m waiting for my fiancé, and I?—”
“Hey, babe.”
Logan puts his hand on my shoulder. I don’t know how I missed him walking over here, but I’ve never been so relieved to see him.
“I got your drink. Who’s your friend?”
The stranger across from me leans back in his chair, staring at Logan like he’s sizing him up.
“Look, I’m not bothering her.” The stranger’s eyes lazily float back to me. “We were just having a nice conversation, right?”
Logan doesn’t miss a beat, setting our drinks neatly across from each other before leaning over right in the guy’s face. There’s not even a smidge of fear in his body language; no hesitation, and seemingly no idea that he might actually be about to get his ass kicked.
“Nah, see, you are bothering her. I’m guessing she told you she wasn’t interested. So now that we know what’s what, if you’ve still got a problem, you get to talk to me.”
I’m actually a little taken aback, but this guy isn’t intimidated at all, and when he gets to his feet I can see why. He’s got to be about two of Logan across, and nearly as tall. He cocks his head to the side, sizing Logan up with a sneer. Nobody else in the beer garden is paying any attention, and why would they? So far nothing’s gotten out of hand. Still, we could use a few Saskatchewan cowboys to take this guy out.
“Logan, it’s fine.” I keep my voice soft as I tug on his shirt. “He just wanted?—”
“I don’t care what he wants,” Logan smiles, staring the stranger down. “I think it might be time for him to head home.”
The guy bursts out laughing, errant spittle flying into Logan’s face and he breaks, giving the man a hard shove into the edge of the table.
“Did you not hear me, or are you just fucking stupid?” Logan snarls.
Okay… this is bad. His jaw is clenched and I can see a bright pink flush on his cheeks as he tries to control his breathing. I’ve never seen Logan’s temper get the best of him like this, but the man still seems surprisingly calm, licking his lips and chuckling as he straightens.
“Look, buddy, you sure you wanna do this? I don’t mind lettin’ it go if you just wander on back to the bar.”
“How about you get the fuck away from my girl?” Logan snarls.
Before I can even get a word out, a giant, meaty fist comes flying through the air, cracking Logan right in the jaw. I let out a shrill yelp as he staggers back, grunting as I stumble out of my chair toward him.
“Logan!”
He’s doubled over, cupping his face with one hand. I only take a moment to check on him before I feel my own senses start to blur into red, spinning back around to the giant dickhead and lunging for him. I’m only a couple steps away when Logan grabs me by the back of the shirt, pulling me backward and putting himself between the two of us.
The rest of the room is starting to take notice as Logan rushes him, taking a swing that actually manages to end up right between the man’s beady eyes.
Within seconds he bounces back, clearly a little stunned that he actually took a hit from a guy like Logan. He takes up an extremely messy boxing stance, but that still makes it at least 50% better than whatever Logan’s got going on, and I watch in horror as the altercation turns into a full out brawl.
Logan’s chest heaves, taking a weighty hit and tumbling backwards, the burning rage briefly visible in his eyes before he snaps himself forward in a shockingly quick motion. Just as it looks like he’s about to take a swing he pivots, jutting his leg out at the perfect angle to slam full-force in the man’s crotch. I hear something snap and the guy screams, doubling over as he struggles to breathe.
Logan smiles, letting himself breathe for the first time since the fight started, but it isn’t over. The drunken asshole straightens up, still wheezing, but despite the agony, he manages to throw another wild punch that connects right in Logan’s temple. All I see is blood streaming down his face as he hits the floor, and I can feel my heart stop. I hear someone shout for security, vaguely aware of movement around me, but all I can think is that we have to get the hell out of here. Fast.
I crouch down next to Logan, shaking him to try and get him up, but before I can even get a word out that giant moves in, towering over the two of us with a disgusting grin.
“You don’t wanna fight back, huh, pretty boy?” He spits on Logan. “Little bitch.”
And that’s it.
“You fucking asshole!”
I remember the words, and then some movement. I think I grab my beer and toss it in the man’s face. I think he stumbles. The one thing I know is that I take a lesson from watching Logan to heart: When my knee connects with his balls, it’s got all my weight behind it.
He lets out a shattered whine before he drops, clutching his crotch for dear life. There’s a second where it looks like he might make it back up, but I watch his legs wobble and give out completely, leaving him squirming on the floor. I turn back to Logan, but I’m shocked to see him already on his feet, waving me over. His face is bloodied, and it’s already starting to swell around his eyes. I’m pretty sure his nose is broken, or at the very least fractured.
The stranger grunts, squirming on the ground as Logan steps toward him.
“Don’t you fucking touch my girl!” He gives him a hard kick to the ribs, spitting some of his own blood back in the man’s face. “You fucking hear me this time?!”
I try to pull him away, but he wrenches himself out of my grasp, his jaw ticking as the blood continues to pour down his nose. There’s a moment where I think he’s going to go back in on the guy, losing himself completely in his anger, but then his shoulders slump.
“I need some air.”
“Logan—”
His eyes are wild, his face a mix of fear and disgust.
“Abi, just— I need some space!”
And then he storms through the crowd, out toward the exit.
Leaving me alone in the chaos.