Chapter Eighteen Mateo
(I Answered Her Call)
The texts that changed everything had come about ten months ago, and the fact that it just happened to have been Jamie's birthday was absolutely not lost on me.
Hey stranger, can I take you out to dinner next week?
I'd blinked a couple of times at Logan's question before tapping out a response. You'll be nearby?
I will
Sounds great. Just say when.
I'd held on to my phone for too long after that, so close to calling Jamie to say something. Anything.
Hi.
Hello.
I'm sorry.
I've missed you.
Happy birthday.
I want to go back to being the kind of friends who stay in touch and aren't afraid of a night in New York that should have happened a thousand other times but might have ruined them instead.
I'm still waiting.
Then I'd convinced myself that hearing from Logan wasn't a good reason to reach out to Jamie, and I'd said nothing at all.
The following week, I’d shared a bottle of wine, a caprese salad, and a wood-fired pizza with Logan, and he’d told me he was around for a few days because he was looking for a place to rent.
Then he’d told me he'd be around all the time because his company had offered him the opportunity to transfer to their Orange County office. I’d been just tipsy enough to ask him whether his decision to relocate had anything to do with me.
He’d said no, because he wasn't looking for ways to fall for someone who couldn't be his.
I'd had enough experience with that to hope he'd be stronger than I ever was.
That night at dinner, he’d bribed me with a few more meals, and I’d agreed to help when it was time for him to move.
Those payoffs fit nicely into days we spent together, me showing him around and Logan reminding me why we've always had fun together, just running silly errands and stopping to eat where anyone in the world could see us.
After we’d gotten him settled into an apartment, Logan had been busy adjusting to his new position and getting to know new coworkers.
I’d been heading into the spring semester and still hitting happy hour with Sophie.
Logan and I didn't spend that much time together.
And when it was time to watch Jamie coach in the playoffs again, I wasn't stupid enough to bring Logan with me to Kai's.
I knew he wasn't that much of a sports guy, so maybe that was my excuse.
Of course, Sophie and I had been at the bar for plenty of games before, and probably would be again, but I was feeling guilty or tender enough to spend those playoff nights at home with my best friend.
"Holy shit. The finals," Sophie had said from my couch, the conference series over, and Jamie and Taylor on the ice to shake hands with the team they had just beaten. "They could win it all."
They could have. They didn't.
I hadn’t been sure whether that would be a good time to finally text him, just to let him know I was thinking about him, then and always.
I’d decided against it because it felt a little like I'd be gloating that his love had let him down.
And given the space Logan was starting to occupy in my life, I probably had little room to talk.
Not long after Jamie's season ended, so did my school year.
I shifted my focus to the second year of my summer soccer clinic, thrilled to have Harper's help again.
Seven years ago, I'd taught myself to keep her separate from her father, at least as much as it's possible to untie a knot without seeing the slight kinks left behind. I’d remained decent at it until Logan surprised me with lunch one day, and I froze like I'd been caught doing something wrong, her blue eyes suddenly so much like Jamie's that Logan was left to introduce himself while I gestured helplessly between them.
He'd brought plenty for her to share, and the quick hitch of her eyebrow as she thanked him suggested she had questions for both of us.
Logan distracted her with questions of his own for as long as he was there, and they both ignored me when I kicked a soccer ball hard enough to lose it to the roof of the nearest building.
Even after he drove away, Harper stayed blessedly quiet.
He texted me that night. Sorry if I made anything difficult for you. I wasn't thinking.
It's not something you should have to think about.
Still…
Still nothing. Thank you for bringing us lunch. Next one's on me.
Logan and I were friends, and I was happy to return a friendly favor, but I didn't make good on my promise right away.
By the time I did—friendly or not—it was only an excuse to see him again.
I told him I wanted to make him dinner, but we both knew he had the better kitchen, so I arrived with a couple of grocery bags and a smile.
Logan poured us drinks and leaned against the countertop while I cooked.
We talked then and throughout our meal, never short of things to say to each other, and when he asked if I wanted to do the dishes together, it was so easy to say yes.
We washed and dried, and I was at home in a place that would never stay that way for longer than a night at a time.
I fiercely missed a kitchen I hadn't seen in two and a half years, and it was a terribly weak reason to reach out to a distant friend, so I left my phone in my pocket and startled when Logan ran a fingertip along the underside of my jaw.
"Hey," he murmured. "You okay?"
"No, yeah. I'm sorry. Did you say something?"
"No, but I splashed you," he said. "Got careless with a spoon. Water ended up on your face. You know how it is."
I looked down at my clothes, but everything was dry, and I would've preferred his hand on my face either way.
Logan's t-shirt was obviously wet, but taking the time to check him out meant an extra few seconds to stare at his short shorts, always a perfectly ridiculous choice for someone with his long legs.
With a dish towel still in my hand, I resisted the temptation to reach for anything he was wearing, and met his eyes when he decided there was no good reason to keep touching me.
Except that there was often a good reason, and we both knew it.
"You'll need to change," I said.
"Not really. When you leave, I'll just take everything off."
"Logan?"
"Yes?"
"Do you really want to wait for me to leave first?"
His breath caught at that. Visibly so. It confirmed that I was behaving terribly—selfish in a way I should abhor—but that was true at Taylor's too, and in Logan’s kitchen, I was willing to bring that particular sin count to an even two.
"No."
It should've been fast then, our kiss and everything that followed. Instead, Logan pulled the towel from my hand and set it aside and pinned me against the refrigerator with his body.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Now you're getting me all wet."
"I guess you need to take everything off, too."
Then we kissed, and every familiar thing about it told my dick to react accordingly. I left in the morning with fewer regrets than I deserved.
For a couple of weeks afterward, we didn't quite ignore what had happened, but we didn't quite talk about it either.
August was already creeping up on me, and all I could think about was the trip I had taken the year before.
On an unbearably hot Saturday, Logan and I spent the afternoon at the community pool in my complex, and then we stumbled into my apartment, sun-drunk and barely dressed.
I grabbed him, unfairly hungry, and he grabbed me back, pleading silently until he gathered the energy for a few words.
"Are you using me to forget him?"
"I don't know," I growled, most of it ending up in Logan's mouth. "I mean, yes, but it won't—I can't forget him. I don't think I want to. But it hurts to keep thinking about him all the time."
"Okay. Yeah, okay." He stopped to kiss me again, his tongue desperately deep inside my mouth. "Can you think about me while I'm here? While we fuck—can you please think about me instead?"
I told him I could. It was the only correct answer.
Tonight, over three months after I made that promise—and after many, many nights with Logan's endless legs wrapped around me—I don't know whether I've kept my word. Probably not. Probably not even close. It's why I respond to Jamie the way I do.
Everything has changed and I hate it
Nothing has changed, sweetheart.
Those two messages aren't enough to make everything right between Jamie and me.
I keep an eye on his games and look for a reason to say something important to him, but awesome win or tough loss or does Lena ever come to see you don't feel right.
I stay busy with teaching and coaching, and Logan and I weave friendship and sex into something almost real.
November becomes December, and because his family isn't around, I bring him everywhere with mine.
We bake cookies with nieces and nephews who should be too old for silly traditions, but welcome us with faux eye rolls.
We help my mom with last-minute Nativity play preparations at the church.
We join everyone for a walk through a neighborhood known for outrageous light displays, and I refuse to acknowledge that the hot apple cider I drink reminds me of a night with somebody else.
It makes sense when my parents encourage me to bring Logan to midnight Mass, and it's even less of a surprise when they tell me to bring him to my sister's house on Christmas Day. I do both, but I break somewhere in between.
Merry Christmas. I still miss you.
There's a chance he's asleep—I won't guess much about his schedule these days—but he responds quickly enough to keep me from imagining anything that hurts.
Merry Christmas. I hope you have a great day with your family.