Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Logan
To be great is to be misunderstood.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Olivia still hates me.”
I glance across the dinner table at Gil.
Rhett is curled at my feet, even though we officially moved into my new apartment yesterday. I started work Monday, moved into my new place Tuesday, and now I’m here sharing a dinner with Gil and Maisy after my third day at Barnes—where Olivia Pennington has been working for years.
How did I not know this?
There I was, being introduced to the team on my first day. Darwin was raving about me, which, to be honest, made me feel a little uncomfortable. I scanned the room, familiarizing myself with my new coworkers. And there she was—looking better than I remembered. Well, except for the scowl marks in her forehead and the glare in her gaze when she saw me. I stopped focusing on Darwin and his recitation of my achievements. All I could see was Olivia—and the fact that she definitely was not thrilled by my arrival.
“Olivia has reason to hate you,” Gil says nonchalantly.
Rhett snorts from under the table. Maisy insisted I bring my dog with me tonight so he wouldn’t have to stay in my new apartment alone after a day of solitude—apart from the two visits from the dog walker I hired. I rub my sock-clad foot on his tummy to thank him for his vote of confidence.
“What? Why would she have reason to hate me?”
Maisy looks between Gil and me like a woman watching a match at Wimbledon.
“You’re kidding, right?” Gil asks.
I stare at my best friend. I’m at a loss. And I’m dying to hear what he thinks. Maybe his insight is the key to unlocking the silent scorn I have been subjected to for years.
I keep staring. Gil just shakes his head.
“I knew you were clueless, but I didn’t think it was this bad. Did you hit your head sometime between high school and tonight?”
Maisy chides her husband on my behalf. “Gil! Is that any way to talk to your best friend?”
“No. Yeah. You’re right. But trust me, if you had seen him in high school, you’d agree. It was so blatant.” He turns his attention back to me. “You showed up at every event Olivia was in, enrolled in every class she did, and you always took center stage and first place. If there was a prize to be won, a position of influence to be held, or an accolade to add to your resume, you claimed it. You always outshined her—perpetually made her look like she wasn’t up to the standard you set. And you never backed down. Plus, there were the pranks.”
“Which went both ways!” I remind Gil.
“Of course they did. You don’t expect a girl like Olivia to lie down and take a beating. She’s going to fight back. That woman’s a fighter. Always has been. I respect her indomitable spirit. But, man. You two. It was worse than the Hatfields and McCoys.”
Gil’s looking at Maisy again. “You should have seen them, babe. Logan got chummy with our janitor, Sam. One day, he talked him into unlocking Olivia’s locker in high school. Then you know what our boy here did? He filled her locker with slime held in some intricately rigged thin plastic sheeting that ripped the moment the door opened. You know the goopy stuff kids make on YouTube? Imagine Olivia opening the door to her locker and a landslide of slime oozing out all over her. It was insane. Like Flubber had babies and then held a family reunion in Olivia’s locker.”
“I removed her books first,” I say sheepishly. “And she retaliated big time.”
Gil laughs. And it’s not a chuckle. He’s cracking up. “By putting itching powder in your briefs? Oh, that was rich.” His words come out between gasps of laughter.
“She …” Gil covers his mouth with his napkin. Then he looks at Maisy. “She …” He takes a steadying breath and gets ahold of himself. “She sprinkled that stuff in all Logan’s compression shorts and left them folded the exact way he had left them in his cross country locker. We had a race that afternoon. Logan changed into his uniform after school—including …” Gil laughs again. “Including changing his underwear.”
Gil looks at me. “Do you remember that bus ride?”
“I’ll never forget it.” I squirm a little even though there’s no itching powder in my briefs today.
“It started with you shifting a little in the seat next to me. I remember telling you to sit still. Little did I know. I thought you had race-day nerves.”
He cracks up again. “You were trying oh-so subtly to scratch without actually scratching! And the race!” He snorts through his laughter. “Oh! You ran like you had ants in your pants!”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “Do you realize how heat impacts itching powder? Most people don’t.”
My attempt at logic only serves to fuel the fire of Gil’s hysterics. He dabs at his eyes with his napkin. Even Maisy is suppressing a grin. Kudos to her for trying not to laugh.
“And that right there shows we were on even ground,” I say. “I messed with Olivia. She messed with me. It was mostly innocent. And it was high school. That’s like five lifetimes ago.”
“I think things started out innocently enough,” Gil concedes. “I’ll give you that. You merely strove to achieve maximum success in everything you put your hand to—as always. But once the rivalry between the two of you caught fire, nothing stopped either one of you. I distinctly remember trying to play Zelda in my basement one afternoon after school while you paced back and forth, ranting about Olivia and how she was ‘going down’ in debate class.” He makes quote fingers when he says going down , to emphasize the exact words I used.
Memories start to flood me like a dam breaking after the final drop of water presses too hard against the deteriorating wall.
I remember the way I lit up with a passion to dominate Olivia. But hey. I was a teen boy. She irked me. And … she intrigued me. I possibly harbored a bit of a crush on her. She was pretty, intelligent, and clever. And that spirit of hers—the one Gil admits to admiring—it felt like a siren call to me at that age. I wanted more of her, any way I could get it.
My infatuation with Olivia Pennington is something I’ll keep to myself. I think half the time I was struggling in vain to impress her. Winning wasn’t merely a way to show myself and everyone else I could best them. A part of me wanted Olivia to see me at the top of my game and be wowed. That was all so long ago. Surely she’s moved on. It’s been ten years. I no longer need to prove myself like I used to. I’ve matured, obviously. I’m sure she’s moved past all that by now.
“Okay. So, maybe it got out of hand at one point,” I say, glancing across the table.
Maisy looks pensive, as if this revelation about my high school game of cat-and-mouse might impact the way she views me despite having known me well for the past four years. I was Gil’s best man. Maisy’s always had a soft spot for me. She has to see I’m barely a shadow of the kid I once was.
“It was high school—a full decade ago,” I defend. “Olivia can’t possibly still be holding a ten-year grudge.”
Gil simply shrugs. “I’m one-hundred-percent Team Logan. But if I’m being honest, I can easily see why she wouldn’t be rolling out the red carpet. You outshined her everywhere she went. Even in college. And now the stakes are so much higher. You just walked into her workplace.”
“What are the odds?”
“Right?” Maisy says. “I think it’s a sign. You could have ended up anywhere, and here you are in the same workplace as Olivia.”
“They are both in marketing. It’s not completely unrealistic,” Gil says to Maisy.
“True. I just like to imagine things … like, Logan’s been gone all these years. He’s back. At the same workplace …”
Gil places his hand over Maisy’s and leans over to kiss her cheek. “Keep dreaming. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
Maisy smiles. “You know,” she says to me. “They say there’s a fine line between love and hate.”
“Oh. That?” Gil says. “There’s no doubt in my mind Logan had a thing for Olivia. You should have seen them dance together at prom.”
“You took her to prom?” Maisy’s voice is full of romantic hope.
“Nooooo. No. No. No. I definitely did not. I was prom king.”
“Of course you were,” Maisy says with a playfully teasing tone.
“And Olivia was prom queen,” Gil supplies. “So they had to dance together after the coronation. And I know my best friend. He was not hating that dance—at all.”
“High school,” I mutter before taking a big bite of mashed potatoes and rubbing my foot on Rhett’s belly under the table.
I take another bite of mashed potatoes and wonder if Gil’s right. He can’t be. After all these years, would Olivia still be nursing a grudge about high school? Well … and college. Maybe. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but it’s possible she was more offended and upset than I imagined. I never meant to make her feel less than. Did the thrill of competing get under my skin? Sure. I’m a winner at heart. I love a good contest. And I love the rush of coming out on top. But I never set out to diminish Olivia’s accomplishments. If anything, I always admired her as one of my fiercest competitors. It never occurred to me that winning— always winning—might make her actually dislike me.
“Now. You see it, don’t you?” Gil looks me square in the eyes.
“I’m starting to see the possibility. It still seems far-fetched. After all these years?”
“You’re in her workplace now. People get touchy about their jobs. You know, it’s not like their livelihood depends on doing well, impressing the boss, and appearing indispensable.”
“You’ve got a point,” I concede.
“Well, you’ve got an opportunity to show her you’ve changed,” Maisy says hopefully.
“He hasn’t changed.” Gil smiles over at me. “He’s still the most competitive guy I know.”
“I don’t use slime against the competition anymore.”
“See?” Maisy exclaims.. “He’s a new man!”
Rhett barks his assent from his spot at my feet.
“I’ll just have to explain it all to her. Make sure she knows the past is in the past.”
“Yeah, no.” Gil shakes his head. “I don’t think just walking up to her when she’s obviously not happy to see you at her workplace is going to work. She’s not laying out a welcome mat, and your plan is to, what? Tell her she needs to get over it?”
Gil’s right. If Olivia were giving me a neutral or even slightly positive reception, I could assure her things are different now. But the way she’s been acting the past three days tells me the ground around her is lava. If I get too close without being invited, I’d be on a fool’s errand, doomed before I begin.
I’ll just have to show her.
“I’ll prove it to her,” I say.
Rhett stands and plops down right on top of my feet, exhaling with a snuffly snort and farting in the process.
“Rhett!” Gil shouts.
“Sure,” Maisy teases. “Blame it on the dog.”