Chapter 20 Sierra
Twenty
Sierra
We’re in our usual working mode, laptops open, settled on the couch. It’s probably terrible for our posture, but it’s comfortable and surprisingly easy to focus with the laptop screen a foot away from my face. I didn’t realize how much of that extra focus I would need.
Logan frowns at some email and runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up until it sticks out in little tufts. My fingers twitch with the urge to run them over his hair and smooth it back down. His curly hair always feels so soft against my fingertips.
At the end of the day, he’s still my boss. Yes, I was sitting on his face like ten hours ago, but right now, we have a job to do. And I want Logan and his business to succeed.
One brush of my fingers would push it back into place, though.
As if sensing my stare, Logan shoots me a rueful smile. “Hi,” he murmurs.
“Hi back,” I say warmly. Oh, fuck it. I reach up to smooth the lock away from his temple. My fingertips graze his warm, smooth skin, and I can’t help but pass my fingers through it one more time, my knuckles brushing through the soft strands. Perfect.
He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. If he were a cat, he would purr. “Last night was—”
There’s the sound of a door opening, followed by heavy footsteps.
Although we’re sitting no closer today than we were before we started sleeping together, Logan panics at the sound of his brother approaching.
He practically launches himself away from me.
His laptop slips from his lap, and he lunges to catch it as Seth appears around the corner.
The mouse goes flying, batteries and the lid popping off in a loud clatter as they roll across the hardwood floor.
Seth does his usual quick assessment. His eyes flick from Logan’s guilty expression to me biting back a laugh at Logan’s computer juggling.
I appreciate that Logan is trying to respect my wishes and keep this quiet.
But he’s just so, so bad at it. It’s been well over a week since Isolation Canyon, and there’s no way that Seth doesn’t realize what’s going on. He doesn’t look happy about either.
“Good morning, Seth,” I say.
He presses his lips together and gives me a quick upward nod. Then, without a word, he crouches to collect the mouse pieces, movements efficient and a little sharp. He snaps the batteries into place and hands the mouse to Logan.
“You off to do a tour this morning?” I ask to break the tension.
“Yeah.” He presses his lips together, like he wants to say more.
My phone rings, and I want to kiss my mechanic for saving me from this awkward scenario. “Sam!” I answer as I escape to the kitchen. “Did you get my deposit for the engine parts? I sent it earlier this week.”
“Yep! That’s what I’m calling about,” he confirms. “All the parts came in, and I should be done in about a week.”
I fiddle with the dial on the toaster oven. “I won’t have the rest of your money for another three weeks,” I admit.
“I can hold it for you,” he says. “Not a problem.”
I thank him and hang up. When I return to the living room, Logan is alone. His face is dark, brooding over Seth’s behavior, the reminder that I’m leaving in a few weeks, or who knows what else.
Right. Time to change tracks.
I clap my hands together. “I have a great marketing idea,” I say. “Let’s hang flyers around the Arizona State University campus. Futon Drift is really popular with college kids, and we might be able to land some more poetry participants.”
Logan frowns. “That’s a several-hour drive there and back.”
“Yes?”
“You’ll be gone all day.”
I laugh at his dour, put-out tone. “No, silly. We should go together.”
Logan hesitates.
“You have no tours today anyway. It’ll be fun. A road trip. When’s the last time you’ve taken a road trip?”
“Never,” Logan mutters.
“Never! That settles it. Let’s go!” To my surprise, Logan doesn’t protest or argue. We pull on our shoes, fill up our water bottles for necessary road-trip hydration, and head out into the bright sunlight.
“I’ll drive!” I jokingly shove him toward the passenger side of the truck. “I’ve been wanting to drive this monster for a while.”
Logan holds up his hands in surrender and climbs into the passenger seat. “How is this any different than your hulking van?”
“She’s not hulking. Ladies don’t hulk,” I say as I start messing with the seat and mirrors. “Anyway, Clunker is sensitive. She requires a gentle touch. This beast looks like it needs some manhandling. I enjoy a little manhandling now and again.”
“Giving or receiving?” Logan asks, brushing a light hand over my thigh.
I give him a wink. He always blushes when I do, and it’s too much fun. “Both.”
The truck gives a loud purr when I start the ignition. I squirm in my seat where I can feel the vibrations quivering underneath me. “Okay, oversized truck. I’m a convert.”
Logan turns on the music, and a pensive-sounding guitar thrum fills the cab.
“Nuh uh. None of that moody stuff,” I say, skimming through the playlist options. “We’re going on a road trip! We need something to match that energy.”
We bicker for a moment until we compromise on an indie pop list, and then we’re off.
It doesn’t take too long to reach the edge of Phoenix, but then we keep driving…and driving. “Jesus, you forget how massive this city is until you have to cross it,” I say. “How long have we been driving? An hour?”
“Urban sprawl at its finest,” Logan says. He twists the dial for the air conditioning, and the cool air rushes toward my face.
“I can’t believe you never come to Phoenix,” I say. “It’s like driving through a hot, beige wormhole of soulless shopping malls and cookie-cutter houses. What’s not to like?”
Logan grins at me. “You may have a point there.”
By the time we arrive at the university campus and park, it’s already hot and pushing ninety degrees, unfortunately, not unusual for the Valley of the Sun in early April. With the giant man-made lake nearby, it’s humid as well. I swipe at my moist forehead as we wander around the campus.
Despite the heat, the place has a lot of energy.
Around us, students hurry past, stuffed backpacks and craned necks giving the impression of oversized speedy turtles.
There is an absurd number of skateboarders whizzing past. In the distance, some traveling preacher is being booed for calling college girls whores of Babylon.
A single guy in a ball cap and sunglasses stands under a palm tree with a large poster board that says, “Cereal is just soup - change my mind.”
We start tacking up flyers at a kiosk. It’s littered with glinting staples and ripped announcements: a summer lecture series about ancient cultures and traditions, a talk by a computer scientist on AI, business internships for an engineering firm, and an Italian Club fundraiser for a trip to Rome.
I watch Logan studying the summer lectures flyer.
I can feel my face softening as I look at him.
He’s so driven and passionate that he would have thrived in an academic setting.
He’d probably knock all these other students out of the water, blowing past them with cum laudes or whatever high accolades they bestow.
I give our flyer a little pat and turn to face him. “We should try to figure out which of these buildings is for humanities,” I say.
He’s looking at me so seriously, I press my hand against his cheek. “Is the heat getting you?” I ask. “Let’s get some water and find some shade. Sunstroke is not something to be taken lightly.”
“I used to want to go to college,” he says suddenly.
It matches what I was thinking so closely about him that I bark out a surprised laugh. He frowns, thinking I’m ridiculing his statement.
“No, I was just thinking the same thing. I can see you here,” I say earnestly.
“Did you ever want to go to college?” he asks.
I wrinkle my nose. “Me, an academic?”
“What’s your dream then? I still can’t remember what you put on Mrs. Grove’s vision board project.”
“Dreams change,” I remind him. “Now my dream is living in the moment. You should try it sometime,” I tease gently.
“You should try to finish high school. I can help you—”
“How little faith you have in me! I actually did get my GED,” I say, not without a little pride.
“Good for you,” he says softly. He takes my hand and brushes his lips against my knuckles.
Warmth spreads through me at his praise and easy affection.
“So, Mr. College. What would you have studied, had you gone here?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know what I would have studied, or what career I would have pursued afterwards. Probably a business degree? Turns out I didn’t need a degree to be successful. I call many of the shots at our company and can do as I please. It’s worked out for the best, profession-wise.”
“See, Logan? Look at what you’ve already accomplished. You’re living your best life too. Give yourself a moment to enjoy it.”
“Yeah, I suppose I am.” It’s cute how startled he looks by this realization.
I can’t help leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek.
“But seriously, I’m dying out here,” I say, fanning my face.
“Let’s take a break and seek some air-conditioned shelter.
Are you hungry? We should eat something that they don’t have in Sagebrush.
” I pull out my phone and search as we walk toward the parking lot.
“Jamaican? Ooh! Ethiopian. Come on, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried doro wat. ”
We duck into an Ethiopian restaurant for lunch, and the scent of berbere and simmering lentils makes my stomach growl.
“Okay, Phoenix is a bloated hot mess,” I say as I use the sour, spongy flatbread called injera to shovel the lentil stew into my mouth. “But the food options? Come on, it’s worth coming here.”
“This is good.”
“See? There’s so much more out there than Sagebrush, Logan.”
Logan dips his flatbread into the collard greens dish and takes a small bite. “I don’t need to see it. I have everything I need. I’m comfortable at home.”