Chapter 23
Jasmine
I take a cab to Logan's apartment on the West Side. The city is loud with Saturday night energy, with cabs honking and groups of people spilling out of restaurants.
Through the window, a couple walks hand in hand along the sidewalk, leaning into each other, laughing at something only they know. My chest pulls tight. In twenty minutes, I'll be with Logan. Seven days without him has felt like a month.
I've been counting the hours since my flight landed, and I don't care how pathetic that sounds.
Philadelphia was brutal. Not the work — the work was fine. The panels were informative, and I networked with enough corporate lawyers to fill a stadium.
But every evening, when the conference wrapped and the other attendees headed to hotel bars in groups, I went back to my room alone. I ordered room service and sat on the bed with my laptop open and my phone in my hand, and the silence pressed in around me.
I saw couples everywhere that week, and each time, the absence of Logan hit me fresh. I called him every night, but his voice only made the distance worse.
I could hear him, but I couldn't touch him. I could talk to him, but I couldn't curl into his chest and feel his heartbeat under my cheek. By Wednesday, I was sleeping on the left side of the hotel bed out of habit, leaving space for a man who was three states away.
The cab pulls up to his building. I pay the driver and buzz his apartment. He doesn't say anything through the intercom. The door just clicks open.
I take the elevator up. I knock once, and it opens immediately.
Logan is in sweats and a t-shirt. There's an athletic tape wrapped around his right ankle. He looks tired.
“Hi,” I say.
He doesn't answer. He takes my bag from my hand, drops it on the floor behind him, cups my face with both hands, and kisses me.
The week apart collapses in the space between his mouth and mine. I grab the front of his t-shirt and pull him closer. He kicks the door shut behind me and walks me backward down the hallway.
My coat falls off my shoulders somewhere between the front door and the bedroom. His t-shirt comes off in the doorway, and my sweater follows.
He lifts me and sits on the edge of the mattress with me in his lap. I thread my fingers through his hair, reminding myself of how silky it is. Logan’s mouth is on my neck, my collarbone, and then the tops of my breasts.
I pull at his sweats while he unclasps my bra. We’re both breathing hard as we tear each other’s clothes off.
“I missed you,” he says against my skin. “Every fucking day.”
“Show me.”
He flips me onto my back and pulls my jeans down my legs in one motion. His mouth is on my stomach, my hip bones, the inside of my thigh. I arch off the bed and grip the sheets. He hooks his fingers into my underwear and drags them down. Then his mouth is between my legs.
I cry out and grip his head.
I love that Logan is not gentle. Gentle is not what I need today. His hands are rough on my hips, holding me open as his tongue works on me.
I come fast and hard, and he doesn't stop. He keeps going until a second orgasm tears through me.
“Fuck, Logan,” I cry out as my body trembles.
He pushes his sweats down and reaches for the nightstand drawer. I keep my eyes on his hard cock as he rolls on the condom. Then he pushes me with a satisfying deep stroke, and we both groan.
He drives into me over and over again, and I meet every thrust, my nails raking down his back and my legs locked around his waist.
“A whole week without this,” he says. “Never again.”
“Never again,” I agree.
Logan takes my hands and pins them above my head with one hand, and with the other, he holds my hip in place. I love being completely at his mercy.
My third orgasm builds slowly in my belly, and when it breaks, I scream his name as my body clamps around him. He comes right after me, burying himself deep and groaning my name into my neck.
After, I hold him tightly against me.
“Welcome home,” he says against my collarbone.
“If that's how you greet me after a week, I should go away more often,” I say with a tired laugh.
“Don't you dare.”
He rolls off me and pulls me into his side. His apartment is dark except for the light from the kitchen spilling down the hallway.
“I told my parents I'm bringing someone to dinner tomorrow,” he says.
Everything in me goes still. I know we spoke about not keeping secrets, but we didn’t make any concrete plans. Fear courses through me. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, it’s perfect. Everyone will be there,” he says.
I’m not a coward, but facing Cat at her own dinner table, where she holds every advantage — her house, her food, her family — is not a fair fight.
“So they don’t know that the ‘someone’ is me?” I ask.
“I said I'd confirm. I wanted to talk to you first,” Logan says.
I press my hands over my face. Okay, breathe Jasmine. This is something that Logan and I have to do if we plan on having a future together.
First things first. “I need to tell my mother first.”
“I agree.”
“Which means I need to drive to Long Island tomorrow morning to tell Mom. Then drive back to the city. Then drive back to Long Island again for dinner at your parents' house.” I drop my hands from my face and stare at him. “Logan, that's three trips to Long Island in one day.”
He grins. “I'll pay for gas.”
“This isn't funny.”
“It's a little funny.”
“I'm going to spend my entire Sunday on the Long Island Expressway.”
“Let me drive you. We'll go to your mom's place in the morning together, then head to my parents' from there.”
“No. Absolutely not. If I show up at my mother's boutique with you standing beside me, she'll lose her mind before I get a single word out. I need to do this alone. She needs to hear it from me, without you there, so she can react honestly.”
“And by react honestly, you mean yell.”
“My mother doesn't yell. She gets quiet. That's worse.”
He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. “Are you okay with this? All of it? If you're not ready, I'll call my mother and tell her plans changed.”
It is so tempting to opt for the coward’s way out, but I'm done hiding.
Toronto showed me what it costs. Philadelphia showed me how much I miss him when he's not beside me. The only thing scarier than telling my mother is not telling her. The secret is heavier than the truth. It's time to put it down.
“I'm okay with it,” I say. “We do it all tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
“Mom in the morning. Your parents at night.”
He pulls me down and kisses my forehead. “We've got this.”
“One of us has this. The other one is going to spend three hours in traffic on the expressway.”
He smirks and pulls me closer. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“You better,” I say.
Thankfully, Logan changes the topic. He tells me about the game tonight, and I tell him about the conference in Philadelphia.
“Did anyone hit on you?” Logan asks in a possessive tone that makes me laugh.
“Yeah. A corporate tax attorney from Boston. He asked if I wanted to get a drink.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I had an early morning.”
“You should have said you have a boyfriend who plays professional hockey and has a very bad temper.”
“You don't have a bad temper.”
“He doesn't need to know that.”
I laugh and press my face into his chest. As nice as it is being here with Logan, my chest is tight with anxiety. I hate disappointing my mother, and for sure, hearing about Logan and me will disappoint her.
But I hope that with time, she’ll get to know him again and see how special he is.
On Sunday morning, I'm up at seven. Logan is still asleep, his face half buried in the pillow, one arm stretched across the space where I was lying. I ease out of bed without waking him.
I shower and dress in the bathroom and do my makeup carefully. I desperately need routine this morning. When I’m done, I head to Logan’s kitchen and get the coffee machine going.
His coffee machine is nicer than mine — it's the one thing in this apartment that isn't basic. I pour two cups and carry one back to the bedroom. Logan is propped up on one elbow, staring at me.
“Morning,” I say, handing him the mug.
“You're already dressed,” he says with exaggerated disappointment.
I laugh, then grow serious. “I have a three-hour round trip to Long Island ahead of me. I need an early start.”
He sits up and takes the coffee. “You sure you don't want me to come?”
“I'm sure. This is something I need to do alone.”
“Call me when you're done?”
“I will.”
I kiss him. His mouth is warm from the coffee. He touches my cheek. “She's going to be okay, Jasmine. It might take her time, but she'll come around.”
I wish I were that confident. My mother has been known to hold grudges for decades. “You don't know my mother.”
“I used to, and I know she raised you. That means she's smart enough to see what's right even when it scares her.”