13. Savanna
SAVANNA
Two weeks later…
Logan’s stirring the pasta sauce and singing along to my Taylor Swift playlist when my phone rings.
Cassie’s name flashes up on the screen, and guilt gnaws at my belly.
I haven’t taken her last two calls because I can’t face lying to her, and also because I was in bed with Logan when she last rang.
In her last voicemail, she threatened to get on a plane and come check on me.
I take my phone into the bedroom and close the door. It doesn’t quite block out Logan’s singing.
“Hey, Cassie.”
“Where have you been? I was about to book a ticket.”
“Don’t do that. I’m fine. I’ve been busy with work.”
I wince at the lie. I’m usually open with my sister, and this feels wrong, which is why I haven’t been taking her calls. Ignoring Cassie is easier than lying to her.
The chorus to my favorite song filters through the door, and Logan belts out the lyrics.
“What the hell is that? Do you have someone there?”
“No.” Another lie. “It’s the radio.”
But I can’t fool Cassie. “That’s a man’s voice. You’ve got a man over.”
“It’s the radio,” I say meekly, wishing I had told Logan to shut the fudge up before I took the call.
“Oh my fucking fuck sticks. It’s him, isn’t it?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and don’t say anything.
“Please don’t tell me you’re messing around with Logan fucking Winslow.”
Messing around is an understatement.
Since our tryst on the mountaintop two weeks ago, I can’t get enough of Logan inside me. I tried to keep my distance from him because it felt too intimate, but when he showed up the next night with ingredients to cook a chicken casserole, I let him in.
I can’t believe what I’ve been missing out on for all these years.
“It’s just that, messing around. We’re not involved or anything.”
“Oh, honey.” Cassie groans. “You promised.”
I hate that I broke a promise to my sister, but it’s my life and my decision. Why does everyone keep wanting to control my life? As if I can’t be trusted to make my own decisions.
“I’m a grown adult, Cassie. I can make my own choices about what I do.”
“I’m not disputing that, but Logan Winslow? The guy broke your heart. How could you let him back in to do it all over again?”
“I’m not, Cassie. We’re fooling around, and that is all. He has my body, but not my heart.”
As I say the words, I wonder if they’re still true. They have to be, or I’m in as much trouble as Cassie fears.
“He doesn’t deserve your body,” Cassie grumbles. “He deserves nothing from you.”
I purse my lips together. She’s probably right, but now that I’ve had a taste of what sex with Logan is like, I’m not giving it up.
“It’s not about what he deserves, it’s about what I deserve. And I deserve to have really great sex. It doesn’t mean I’m falling for him again.”
Cassie sighs. “Oh, honey, I worry about you, that’s all. You’re my baby sister; I’ll always worry about you.”
My anger dissipates. “I know, but trust me on this one. I’m using him for sex. It’s my payback.”
“As long as you’re making him work for it.”
I think about our marathon session last night, sitting on Logan’s face, grasping the headboard while I rode him to orgasm again and again.
“Oh yeah, he’s working for it alright.” I giggle, but Cassie doesn’t join me.
“I’m happy you’re finally getting laid, but please be careful. And don’t ignore my calls. I want to know when I’m needed to pick up the pieces.”
It irritates me that she still thinks I’m making a bad decision, but I don’t want to argue anymore. I turn the conversation to her latest show; she’s in Prague this week.
As she talks about the Gothic architecture and ancient stone bridges, my mind wanders to the man in my kitchen. The man I’m so adamant I’m using for sex. And I wonder if, once again, I’ve lied to my sister.