His Plaything (11 page)

Wow, I sure wasn't expecting that answer. But it makes sense.
I nodded slowly. “I think I understand. You're away from home all the time, and your schedule is impossible to predict. And if you had a family, the kind of risks you take would really be hard to deal with.” Yet another reason to be glad that whatever I’d had with Nixon was over. It would have been terrible to fall in love with him and then watch him leave on dangerous missions all the time. Sitting at home like one of the housewives in a World War Two documentary, lonely and anxious, praying that the next letter I received wouldn't begin with:
We regret to inform you…

My throat tightened at the thought of Nixon dying thousands of miles away from me, and I had to stop myself from getting too worked up. Of course, death was always a terrible tragedy, even for an asshole like Nixon. But I wasn't the one who had chosen to join the military. If he wanted to tromp around in exotic hellholes and get shot at, then he could go right ahead. I shouldn't let anything he did break my heart.

Too late, I realized that Logan had just said something, and I'd been busy spacing out about Nixon. Again.

“My father did that,” Logan was in the middle of replying. “I'm proud of him now, but when I was a kid, I couldn't care less about honors and ops. I just hated not being able to play with my dad.” He stared into his champagne for a moment, then took a sip. “So I really want to be part of my kids' lives.”

“Right, I agree. What's the point of marrying somebody and having kids if you never get to see any of them? But … ” I tried and failed to picture this burly tank of a man selling used cars or sitting in a cubicle farm. “What would you do instead?”

“The Navy has already approached me for an instructor position. My rank would go up, which means better pay, and I could apply for a permanent post wherever I wanted to live.” He paused. “Maybe near San Diego.”

Was I imagining that look? I tried not to overanalyze the San Diego comment. Even as a vague possibility, planning his career around me would be truly weird to bring up on a first date. It was probably a coincidence. His family lived nearby, or he ironically enjoyed Christmas lights on palm trees, or he wanted to stay near his friends—as difficult as it was to believe that anybody could like Nixon that much.

Goddammit, I'm thinking about him again!
I forced myself to smile at Logan. “I guess you've got things all planned out, huh?” Taking a chance, I reached out one hand to rest my fingers on his. “I think it's good that you know what you want.”

Logan blinked, then smiled and rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. “Nothing wrong with not knowing, is there?”

“Well, no, and it's … refreshing. To hear a guy under thirty talk about his future like that, I mean.”
Although it seems like he's in a pretty big hurry about settling down.
Even though I found Logan's serious, domestic side endearing, it was still a little too intense for my life right now. If I wanted to survive in fashion journalism, I had a ton of work ahead of me.

But hey, so what if we had one measly incompatibility? No big deal. It wasn't like I was marrying him at the stroke of midnight. This date was just for fun. Trying each other on to see if we fit. And it really was great to finally interact with an adult man—instead of an overgrown boy who just wanted to drink and screw and blow things up, as if his life were all a game.

Almost sheepishly, Logan pulled his hand away to rub the back of his neck. “So you said you studied abroad? What was that like?”

“London was amazing,” I sighed. “I got to take classes with all these famous professors, and I even went to a few Fashion Week events… ”

We went on talking about my schoolwork and aspirations as we finished our main course. Unsurprisingly, Logan didn't know much about fashion. But he paid close attention to whatever I said, responding every so often with well-considered questions and remarks, encouraging me toward greater detail. In the face of his seemingly genuine interest, it was impossible to worry that I was talking about myself too much. I had probably never been on a nicer date.

But “nice” was all it was. I felt none of the spark—the intense heat—that hummed between Nixon and I whenever our eyes met. And the harder I tried to concentrate on Logan, the more I found my mind wandering to Nixon. The man sitting across our candlelit seaside table, with his mild smile and inviting hazel eyes, felt like nothing more than a brother—all while I hungered for my
stepbrother
. What was wrong with me? How fucked up could I get?

My distracted frustration grew until I had to stand up from my seat. “Could you hold that thought?” I asked, having only a vague idea what we'd been talking about. “I'll be right back. I need to visit the ladies’ room.” Too frazzled to wait for Logan's reply, I hurried back into the restaurant.

Thankfully, there was no one else in the restroom. Hands braced on either side of the black marble sink, I stared into the mirror, trying my best to compose myself. I had to breathe. Get a grip. Admire how put together I looked, regain my rightful pride, remember what Nixon had done and why I was here with Logan and how much better I was than that lying bastard. But no matter how many times I silently repeated
I am a motherfucking goddess
, it didn't stick. Beneath this glamorous dress, this painstakingly made-up face, I knew there was nothing right now but a sad, confused little girl.

Apparently, though, all that pretty bullshit was still enough to fool men. Back at the apartment, Nixon had stopped in his tracks and gazed at me like water in the desert. Well, that was just too damn bad for him. I was unattainable now. If he wanted me, he should've thought of that before he
lied
to me about Navy business and met up for a weekend fucking Pam in Vegas.

But … dammit, in that one tiny moment, I had wanted Nixon right back. And I hated us both for it. We'd known each other for less than a month, and he had already left his greasy little fingerprints all over my heart. Even when I was at a romantic dinner in a beautiful five-star restaurant with another man, I couldn't stop thinking about that prick. What more did I want, for Christ's sake? Logan was fucking perfect. Handsome, warmhearted, thoughtful, mature. He had his life together. Clearly, though, I couldn't say the same for myself. Here I was, hiding in the bathroom like a high schooler whose boyfriend had dumped her right before prom.

Okay, so I was totally pathetic. Fine. I could deal with that. I had to get back out there before Logan thought I was having some humiliating medical problem. And to do that, I had to remind myself why I'd come on this date in the first place.

Needing fire, needing to not care, needing to re-ignite my engines and burn away this poison, I reached for an image that would fill me with rage. But all I could think of—Nixon laughing with Pam about how they'd fooled me, him kissing her neck in their gaudy Vegas hotel room, squeezing her tits, so much bigger than mine, closing his eyes with a moan as he slid inside her—just made me feel like throwing up. All bile, no relief. Maybe this sickness would fade with time, but right now, it hurt so much I couldn't stand it.

They probably christened every flat surface of their tacky hotel room,
I thought, and blinked back tears. I gritted my teeth and hurried back out into the restaurant, almost slamming the bathroom door open.

As I approached our table, Logan asked, “You interested in dessert? I had my eye on the baked figs with honey.”

I swallowed hard, willing my voice not to crack. “That sounds good, but … I'm not feeling so hot all of a sudden. Can we call it an early night?”

His eyebrows peaked and I braced for him to ask what was wrong. But all he said was, “Oh, sure. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Let me get the check.”

After he flagged down our waiter and paid, Logan held my elbow as we walked outside to the valet station. His gentlemanly behavior just made me hate myself even more. He didn't sign up for any of my emotional baggage. He was being so sweet to me, and I couldn't even feel happy about it, and he had no clue why. This was so unfair to everyone involved—and it was all Nixon's fault.

When we reached his forest-green Dodge truck, Logan paused, glancing at me. “You good to drive? Or you want a ride?”

“Nah, I'm fine.” That was a blatant lie, but I didn't want company right now. I had too much thinking to do. And possibly crying. I looked down at my burgundy-painted toes. “Sorry about this. I had a really nice time, I just…”

“Hey, don't worry about it. Shit happens.” Logan leaned over me slightly, as if he wanted to kiss me on the forehead, then hesitated and squeezed my hand instead. “Feel better, okay?”

“I'll try,” I said, unable to return his smile.

Chapter 17

Nixon

As ragged as the past two days had run me, my thoughts were too chaotic for any chance of sleep. I lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my ears perking at every random noise that might have been Avery returning home. My anger at Logan had long since faded into a strange, dark sourness. Actually, I was more mad at myself than anything. I had never once thought about taking Avery out, showing her the town, wooing her like Logan was doing right now. I'd just skipped straight to the “nice shoes, wanna fuck?” stage.

In my defense, the ultra-direct approach had always worked well for me. Maybe a little too well—I'd easily scored pussy whenever I needed it, so I hadn't bothered getting much practice at dinner-and-a-movie dating. Up until a few hours ago, I'd assumed that Avery didn't mind our … unconventional courtship. But now, I wasn't so sure.

Was that why she was pissed? Did she feel unappreciated or cheated or something? Did she think I'd used her for sex without offering any romance in return? Unease had started building deep in my chest. It was that falling-yet-frozen sensation of imminent disaster: a hiss of air bubbles from my SCUBA tank's hose, a twig snapping in the shadowy trees behind me, a teammate whispering
oh, fuck!
right before all hell broke loose. The moment when a man had to toss aside all his obsolete plans and rise to the occasion.

I couldn't tell whether my moment with Avery had already passed or still lay ahead. If I got a chance to rescue our relationship, I couldn't afford to let it slip through my fingers. But what if I didn't see it coming? Would I even recognize it if I did? And…

Had I imagined that click? I sat up to listen. No, the front door's deadbolt was definitely sliding open. But it was only a quarter after nine. Why was Avery back so early? Evidently her date hadn't gone well. I felt something like optimism, which immediately turned to guilt for hoping that she'd had a shitty evening.

High heels clacked in the kitchen for a second, then muted to quick, quiet thumps through the living room and hallway. Before I could get up, the guestroom door slammed.
Straight to bed, huh?
Apparently she still wasn't interested in talking to me.

I rested my forehead against the doorframe, letting the angled wood bite between my eyebrows. I wanted to punch something until my knuckles bled. Whatever was going on with Avery, it was slowly but surely driving me nuts. I couldn't understand this strange tension that had sprung up between us, and the not-knowing was almost as bad as the distance itself. If she would just communicate for two fucking minutes, I was sure that we could bring things back to how they used to be. I could find out what had driven her to Logan and fix it. I was willing to do anything, but until I knew
what
to do, I was stuck in neutral.

Still restless, I spent the rest of the night struggling to sleep, painfully aware of Avery's presence just a few feet down the hall.

When the first pale glow of dawn showed through the blinds, I gave up on bed and started to get dressed. Without bothering with breakfast or a shower, I went downstairs to the condo parking lot. I could have walked to Logan's townhouse in less than half an hour—it was just down the side road that ran along the beach where we jogged every Saturday—but my patience was too shredded for that kind of delay. I wanted answers now, and if I couldn't talk to Avery, I’d have to get them from Logan. Hopefully lover-boy could explain what the fuck was going on with her.

In five minutes I was parked at the curb and knocking loudly on his door. “Morning,” I said as soon as he opened up.

Logan blinked. He was probably surprised to see me like this at the crack of dawn. But his only response was, “Oh, hey. I was just making some coffee. Want some?”

“That sounds great.”

He stepped back to let me in, then closed the door as I sat down at his dining table. “No sugar and a little cream, right?”

“Yep.”

I didn't bring up why I had come yet—and he didn't ask. We just let the silence hang, unbroken except for the gurgling hiss of the coffee machine and Logan moving around in the kitchen, until he sat down across from me with two steaming mugs in hand.

“Thanks,” I said, taking mine.

Logan nodded a silent
no prob
. His gaze was cool, but I could read the question in it. Now that we were finally ready to talk, though … I wondered where to even start.

Maybe I hadn't thought this little intel-gathering mission all the way through. I couldn't treat Logan like a partner, because debriefing him fully would just overcomplicate things. He didn't need to know that I liked Avery—more than
liked
her, if I wanted to be brutally honest with myself—or that we'd been fucking like rabbits for the past few weeks. I couldn't afford to get sidetracked by raised eyebrows or awkward questions right now. And, provided that we ever talked again, I didn't want Avery to skin me alive. She'd only recently gotten over being ashamed of our relationship, and now that she wanted nothing to do with me, it was way too hard to predict how she'd react to me blabbing our dirty laundry all over town.

I needed to play it cool. So this couldn't be an open strategy meeting between friendlies. Instead, it was more like espionage.
Fucking terrific. I love lying to my best friend.

“So … I told you to check up on Avery while I was gone,” I said, trying to sound like nothing more than a concerned older brother. “I didn't think you'd date her.”

Logan paused, mug halfway to his mouth. “Oh. Yeah.” He set it down again. “Don't worry about that.”

“I'll worry about my family if I want.”

My voice had come out harsher than I'd intended, but Logan didn't seem offended. “That's cool,” he said simply. In fact, his lips were quirked the tiniest bit. Did he think this was funny? I guess I was acting like kind of a jackass, but still. Wasn't there a whole section of the Bro Code about not messing with people's sisters?

“We're not
dating
,” Logan continued. “We had one date. Singular.”

“And you never thought of anything beyond that?”
Or purposely waited to make your move until my back was turned?

Looking a little confused, he shrugged. “Well … yeah, sure. What's the point of asking a girl out on one date if you're not gunning for a second?”

Several obvious answers came to mind. But Logan had never been a fuck-and-run kind of guy. “I guess,” I said slowly.

“But things haven't gotten that far yet.” He sipped his coffee. “And if they did later … would that really be the end of the world? You know me, man. I'd never hurt her.”

As much as it killed me to admit it, I knew he was right. Logan was one of the good guys. I nodded, raising my eyebrows to let him know he was still on trial. “Fair enough. So how'd things go last night?” I wanted Logan to think I was fishing for an excuse to kick his ass, instead of clues about why Avery might hate me—or a morsel of hope that I wouldn't lose Avery to him anytime soon. “What did you guys do?”

Logan wouldn't outright lie to me, but he was more than smart enough to choose his words carefully. “Nothing much. We had dinner at The Pointe.”

Holy shit, The Pointe? This guy doesn't leave anything to chance.
“Oh, is that all?” I snorted bitterly.
Compared to Mister Romance here, I look like a complete tool.

“Swear to God. We just talked about our careers and Avery's classes and stuff like that. Home safe before curfew.” Logan had completely misunderstood my icy reaction, and I wasn't about to correct him. He hesitated, staring into his coffee, before slowly saying, “She's … easy to talk to. I'd meant to keep the conversation light, but before I knew it, I was telling her how I wanted to leave the SEALs. And all my reasons why.”

“You mean the settling-down thing?”

“Yeah.” He sighed through his nose. “Wanting to be a good husband and father. As long as I'm still a SEAL, I could never manage it.”

“What'd Avery think of your plan?” My curiosity was piqued.

“Total agreement. She said she wouldn't want to get serious with someone who'd be gone so often … and might end up gone for good.” Logan shook his head. “She looked upset just at the thought. I felt kind of bad for bringing it up.”

He
felt bad? Keeping my face dead blank, I drank a long, slow mouthful of still-blistering coffee, welcoming the burn. I had no idea what to say to that. Hell, I didn't even know what to think. The military was my life; I didn’t want to choose between remaining a SEAL and keeping Avery. With those few words to Logan last night, she might as well have ripped out my guts.

But it made complete sense for her to feel that way. In our first real conversation, she'd said that if she ever had kids, she wouldn't want them to grow up without a mother, like she did. And if she cared about me, she would want to spend a lot of stress-free time together. She wouldn't want to be separated for months on end, lonely and worried sick that I'd come home in a body bag. Of course, if she didn't care about me…

I stood up suddenly, leaving my half-full cup on the table. “Thanks for the coffee. I gotta run now, but I'll see you next Saturday. Usual spot.”

Logan nodded, grunting in acknowledgment. Was he giving me a weird look? Whatever. I didn't really give a fuck right now. I went to the door, then paused and looked back. “I'm trusting you with Avery—for now. But if you hurt her, there won't be enough left of you to identify.”

“I know. I still have your text from last night.” His lips quirked again. “I can read it out loud to myself if I ever forget to fear your vengeful wrath.”

I gave a humorless laugh and left before I smashed something.

I drove back to the condo complex, parked, and headed inside—then stopped and turned toward the beach instead. I told myself a good hard jog would help clear my head, despite knowing it probably wouldn't.

Or maybe the problem was that my head was already clear. No matter how much I thought about it, all signs pointed one way: Avery had no future with me. More precisely, I had nothing to offer her. We would just be stuck in a holding pattern—we'd get a couple months of mind-blowing sex, sure, but then I'd ship out to God knew where for God knew how long. And we would run on that cycle forever, with no chance for either stability or change, until the Navy put me out to pasture. What kind of life was that?

Over the long haul, I just couldn't see anything for us. But it was easy to imagine her and Logan together. He was the objectively smarter choice.

That knowledge sat heavy in my gut like a cold slug of lead. Late last night, or early this morning, I had wondered whether and when and how my chance to set things right would come. But all along, I'd misunderstood what was really at stake here. This moment of truth wasn't about losing Avery or winning her back. This was about her happiness. And if Logan would make her happier than me—be a better man for her—then I had to suck it up. Just let her go.

I turned around and started jogging back home. Now that I had decided to face facts and do what was right, I felt a weird sense of peace. Or maybe it was just hollowness.

Chapter 18

Avery

Nixon's attitude toward me had definitely changed. He was … cooler. Not
cold
, but not his usual flirtatious self, either. Evidently a few days away had satisfied his appetite for female attention, and he didn’t even attempt to salvage things with me. Apparently whatever we’d had for the five minutes we’d been together wasn’t even worth an after-thought. Or maybe he was moping because he missed Pam already. Things were obviously pretty serious between them, if he was flying to other cities just to spend time with her. So why hadn’t they invoked the exclusivity clause in their relationship? Maybe because Nixon was incapable? Regardless of the reason, Nixon's attention had gradually turned away from me until it disappeared.

As excruciating as it felt, I had to face facts. I’d been nothing but a passing fling for him. A novelty. It really was time for me to move on. Whether or not I wanted to start anything with Logan, the Nixon chapter of my life was over. We'd had good fun, and the sex had been incredible—I had the unpleasant feeling that I'd struggle to meet that standard for the rest of my life—but it was
over
.

And maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If our relationship had been doomed to fail since the beginning, then it was better to end things before they could’ve gotten serious... Before any more of my heart was bound up in his. The sooner I ripped off this bandage, all in one quick burst of agony, the sooner I could enjoy the air on my skin again.

Over the following week, I tried my best to do just that. I spent a lot of long hours in downtown San Diego. Going to class and my professors' office hours, studying at the library, staying out late with my friends—anything to stay busy and away from our apartment. I wanted to get my mind back onto my own life and shed the life I'd started slipping into with Nixon. Trying to bury or deny those memories would have been impossible; all I could do was give myself breathing room. Let my feelings fade naturally over time.