Chapter 12
Twelve
Logan
The day of the Candlelight Tour finally arrives. It’s a mad scramble to the finish. We’re up at the crack of dawn, racing against the clock to check in vendors, finish setup, and make this place match my vision.
Sierra is everywhere—greeting vendors, hauling three chairs at once, popping and locking folding tables, crawling in the dirt to secure cables.
She is fearless. Fearless, and so capable.
I threw her into the deep end of this crazy event idea, and she hasn’t just stayed afloat; she is swimming laps and rescuing me like my own personal lifeguard.
Watching her work fills me with so much pride.
It almost eclipses feelings far less noble—an ache for her I can’t seem to reason away.
We’re both working as fast as we can, but we are running out of time.
We have less than an hour before the first guests are scheduled to arrive, and I’m still stringing the lights while she tests the microphone.
Both of us are coated in dust and sweating profusely despite the mild weather and nice breeze.
“Testing one-two-three” echoes around the pavilion, followed by a “Oh, thank god,” then Sierra races over with another ladder to help me attach the last strings of lights around the pavilion poles.
“Almost done. You’re doing great,” I tell her as she climbs her ladder.
“Race you?”
“If you’re careful,” I tell her. “A visit from OSHA would put a damper on the evening.”
She ratchets up her stapling with enthusiasm. Sweat gleams on her rosy face, and the front of her gray t-shirt clings damply to her breasts. I look away, but every shift of her muscles, every flick of her ponytail catches my eye.
“Ha! Beat you,” she crows as she slaps her last staple into the pole. She blows over the top of her staple gun like an old Western gunslinger.
I smile. “So you did.”
“Is that it? Are we done?”
We stop and look around. The place looks great.
Twinkling lights fill the white pavilion tent.
Tablecloths and candles top the small tables that circle a small sound stage, where the band Moonlight Bloom is already warming up with a few light strums of their guitars.
It looks tasteful and romantic, but more importantly, professional and polished.
As much as I appreciate the cheesy outlaw schtick that the town embraced after the Blackstone find, this feels right too.
This has staying power—the chance to elevate Sagebrush into the diamond Sierra first saw it as all those years ago.
My heart skips a beat at the thought that we might actually pull this off.
“Let’s run home and get changed,” I tell her.
Sierra checks her phone. “You think we can get back in time?”
“We can try.”
We climb into the truck, both of us moving so slowly from exhaustion that Sierra can’t stop giggling.
“You’re going to have to roll me into the shower,” she says. “Oh, gosh, I forgot. There’s only one shower.”
Oh, I’m aware. It reminds me of the last time I relinquished the shower to her that first night, the way she admired my shirtless chest. I grip the steering wheel harder.
“Logan, you missed the turn.”
“Oh, fuck.” I jerk the wheel and do a not-quite-legal U-turn.
Sierra giggles. “Maybe there’s a car wash we can drive through instead.”
A text message notification pops up on the touchscreen navigation. Thinking it is relevant to the event today, I immediately hit the button to have it read aloud.
The strange, automated voice recites the text. “Mom says, ‘Good luck tonight, honey. You and Sierra will do awesome. I know you said Sierra doesn’t want to see me, but could you let her know that, if she changes her mind—’”
I stab at the cancel button just in case my mom has any more to say. “Sorry. I thought…”
I can sense Sierra freezing up next to me. “You told your mom I was in town?”
I wince. Sierra knows how close my family is, so why is she surprised? “I said you didn’t have to see them. I didn’t say that I wouldn’t tell them,” I say finally. “On that, you know Emily and Seth are working the event tonight too, right?”
“What? I didn’t know about Emily.”
I glance over to see her wide, horror-filled expression.
“She offered during the last business meeting, just in case. She also…” I clench my jaw, then move forward with the lie. “She also lent you a dress and heels, so you have something to wear tonight.”
Sierra presses her face into her hands. “You said jeans were fine. Besides, you can’t just ask a random woman for clothing and shoes. Women vary in size, you know?”
“I may have taken a peek to see your size,” I admit.
Not for borrowing from my sister though.
I bought the shoes and dress outright, since I remembered how sometimes Sierra could be prickly about that kind of thing, thinking I was treating her like a charity case.
I thought it would go smoother to say it was a loan, but judging by the look on her face, it may have been a worse idea.
“You’ll feel more comfortable in a nice dress,” I say lamely.
We careen into my parking space outside my house and race up toward the front door. My hands fumble as I try to fit the key into the lock. It’s not going in.
“We’re not going to make it back in time. Guess we’ll just have to stay here,” Sierra says, her voice sounding a tad wistful.
I laugh. “Sierra, we’re going. My sister isn’t that bad.”
The key slides into the lock, and we dive into the house.
“Go for the shower,” I say as I kick off my shoes. “You’ve been working so hard, you deserve it.”
“It’s your event, Logan! You should use it first,” she says. “You’re the front man tonight. I’m just background girl.”
Not to me, I want to say.
“You’ve done as much as I have,” I say instead. “And your hair will take longer to dry. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before we have to drive back. Just take it.”
She shakes her head. “Let’s share.”
“What?”
“The shower. You’re right. We don’t have time for each of us to take one. Let’s take one together.”
I gape at her. If this is a joke, it’s a cruel one.
Then she turns to face me, her eyes glowing with a look I recognize immediately—her impulsive look. It’s definitely not a joke. She has always been unnervingly sincere when she gets that light in her eyes.
“It’s not a big deal, it’s a large shower, and neither of us is shy. It’ll be like gym class, right?” She strips off her clothing as she walks away.
I watch as she steps out of her shorts and panties and undoes the clasp on her bra as she reaches the bathroom door.
“Well, are we doing this, or not?” She turns to face me. Completely nude. Her chest is rising rapidly, either from excitement about doing something sexual or taboo, I’m not sure, and I don’t have time to contemplate. “Time’s ticking.”
God damn it. I’m only human. I stumble and trip over my shorts as I hurry after her.
Sierra has turned on the shower and is waiting for it to heat up when I finally make it into the bathroom. She glances down at my erection. I can’t blame her; it’s hard to miss, bobbing up rudely toward her.
“Ignore it,” I say. “Involuntary erections, uh, happen.”
She laughs at that. “Sure, Logan.” She tests the water with her fingers. “Good enough,” she says and steps inside the tub.
I pull the shower curtain closed behind us.
I didn’t consider how small a space this would be. We are inches apart with nowhere to go, my cock jutting out and taking up more space than it should.
It becomes a complicated, awkward dance—moving out of the flow of water to make room for her, and then back so I can rinse off.
Each time, I accidentally graze her hip with the tip of my cock.
I have to smother a moan and instead bark out a gruff, “Sorry,” until the anticipation of it happening again becomes so unbearable that I grab her slick, warm shoulders and maneuver her around me.
Every sound is sharp: the rush of the water, the clink of a shampoo bottle, the soft thud of her footstep on the ceramic tub.
I dunk my head into the flow over and over again every time I’m tempted to stare.
She has the most perfect body. High, perky breasts, slim waist, rounded hips, muscular thighs.
I know she spends a lot of time climbing and working out, and boy, does it show when she’s unclothed.
She must be one of those people who feels like they need to boil their skin to become clean.
The heat, steam, and the perfume of her shampoo are so thick that it’s making me dizzy.
At one point, she turns away from me and bends over to scrub her legs, her beautiful heart-shaped ass inches away.
I sway dangerously as the heat and blood loss to my head take their toll.
“I just need to rinse out the conditioner, and then I’m done,” she says.
Her eyelashes are thick with water, her eyes big and moist, and outlined by water droplets scattered across her skin.
I freeze as she moves forward, once again grazing my stupid, begging cock by accident with her hip.
Water sluices down over her head and down her back, trim waist, and ass.
Her hair is like a beautiful, smooth river down her back, and I itch to touch its streaming locks.
Then the torture is over. She hops out and quickly checks her phone.
“Hey, that actually worked out!” she says with far more excitement than the situation warrants.
I recognize the high-pitched, slightly slurred, post-adrenaline voice instantly.
“We’ve got eight minutes. I think we’ll make it!
” Her breasts bob when she lifts her arms to squeeze the moisture out of her hair.
“Yeah,” I manage. “We’ll make it. Your dress and shoes are in the bag by the couch.”
I fling a towel around me and hurry to my room. The door barely shuts before I take myself in hand. Three jerks later, and I spend all over my hand with a low, pathetic moan.
“Logan!”
“Yeah, I’m coming!” Literally.
I fling on my black slacks and button-up shirt, socks and dress shoes in hand.
Sierra looks stunning in the simple, black sheath dress, heels in one hand and a makeup bag in the other. Her eyes are still a little too bright. “Hey, these fit! Let’s boogie!”
On the drive back, I force myself to look at the road, my mind spinning.
The haze of desire has faded, and now I feel confused.
It’s a weird twist on our previous relationship dynamic, and I don’t know how to read it. Sierra has always been impulsive, and I’m more than familiar with the look she gets when she’s about to suggest something outrageous.
The sexual angle to her behavior is not out of character for her either.
I usually understood that it didn’t necessarily mean that she was horny, just trying to distract herself from whatever shitty thing her mom had done to her that week.
But as a young man with a healthy libido, I was more than happy to oblige her.
Even during times when I should have been her friend instead.
I remember with burning shame when her mom overdosed and had to stay in the hospital for a week. Sierra was relentless during it. Instead of trying to get her to talk like I should have, I was more than happy to let her take out her emotions on me with sex.
It wasn’t enough. The day before her mom was to be released, she propositioned some of my friends.
She was hanging out with me at my house while I was playing an online shooter game with a few guys.
I left to go to the bathroom, and when I returned, she was sitting in my chair, holding my gaming headset against her ears.
“One at a time or all at once, guys. I’m easy,” I overheard her offering with that unnatural bright glimmer in her eyes.
I yanked the headset off her head and plunked it down on mine. Through the headphones, I heard the soft background noises of the game, overlaid with a thick silence.
I had the presence of mind to play it off as a prank. “Gotcha,” I said.
There were a few awkward laughing groans and curses from the guys. I remember apologizing for the prank, logging off, and then unleashing on her.
I screamed at her for embarrassing me, for trying to cheat on me in such a terrible way. She swore that she was only trying to make me jealous, that she wanted to see what I would do.
So I made her get on her knees for me. “Is this what you want? To be treated and used like a whore?” I asked her as she gagged and choked.
Afterwards, she begged me not to break up with her when I threatened it. “I was…I was scared for my mom,” she said brokenly.
And I took her back. That was one of the worst times, but the worshipful way she looked at me for saving her from herself…I didn’t feel like I deserved it, but I reveled in it nonetheless.
Outside of these bad moments, and most of the time, our relationship was like a game. Light testing. Playful. I used to love how she would tease me and push my buttons, and she seemed to enjoy it when I would tease and torment her back.
Now, though, I have no idea what she is doing.
She’s flirting like she used to do, then seems to lose her nerve.
It can’t all just be her trying to process whatever trauma she’s reliving being back in Sagebrush.
Surely, at least some of it means she wants me.
There’s no way it was a perfectly platonic shower to her, right?
And the erotic poetry and almost kissing after dancing…
all her ideas that led to—at least for me—romantically charged moments.
And if she does, what then? The question isn’t whether I want her; it’s whether I should act on those feelings. I can’t make love to her—it will haunt me forever when she leaves again. Because it would be making love, not just sex. Some guys can compartmentalize; I’m not one of them.
I tried dating for a few years after Seth encouraged me. Just for fun, he said. Just have a drink and keep it light. Take a girl home if you’re both feeling it.
But I can’t keep it light, I never could. And, worse, I don’t want to—not if the girl is Sierra.
I glance over at her. She’s leaning toward the passenger mirror, applying lipstick to her plush lips with a deft hand.
The late sun slides across her throat, down the curve of her shoulder, and I yearn to trace the sunlight’s path with my fingertips.
Jesus, to touch her and kiss her like the sun is kissing her skin now.
I glance at the clock, then speed up. We will make it back before our guests start arriving, but just barely.
I need to forget about it. Was that shower the most erotic experience I’ve had in years?
Yes, but I can’t get distracted. I need to pull off a professional persona. Tented pants would ruin the illusion.
“Where are we going?” Sierra asks as I pull off and park behind a large boulder next to the pavilion.
“This will leave the parking lot for the guests,” I explain. “Come on. It’s showtime.”