During the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, Logan drove us out to my parents’ house for dinner. It had been four weeks since the night he’d taken off my blindfold and turned my world completely upside-down. The honeymoon phase of our relationship was in full swing, and I was ashamed to admit we’d been neglecting everyone else.
My mother warned that every day she went without meeting Logan would mean more embarrassing marching band and family vacation pictures would surface when that meeting finally happened. It was one of the disadvantages of being an only child; I received one hundred percent of the parental focus. I had to stop her before it escalated to the horrible curling-iron bangs of seventh grade. That was a picture he wouldn’t be able to unsee.
“Arlington Heights?” my father repeated, after asking Logan where he was from. “Tell me you’re a south-side fan, though.”
“I was raised as a right-thinking American, so no.” Logan’s face was stoic. My father looked at him like I often did. Unsure if that was a joke or not. The corners of Logan’s lips twisted upward into a half-smile. Ah, yes. A joke.
My parents still lived in the same two-bedroom house on the outside of Tinley Park, a south suburb of the city. Coming home with Logan was wonderful but odd as my old life collided with my new one. My mother’s eyes were glued to the front window when we pulled up in his BMW, and I think she almost fainted when he opened the door for me.
Like with his family, we skirted around the truth of how we began dating. Logan asked me out to dinner, which wasn’t a lie— it had happened, but it was after a rather illegal and sordid transaction.
“Oh my goodness, he’s crazy about you,” my mother whispered in the kitchen while I scooped ice cream on top of the brownies she was plating. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”
My hand slipped on the ice cream scooper and went right into the tub, but thankfully went unnoticed by her. I carried the dishes out onto the cement slab patio I’d spent countless hours decorating with colored chalk in my youth, where now my father and boyfriend were discussing politics.
Logan leaned back in his seat and had one arm slung over the back of my empty chair, as if waiting for me. So casual and comfortable, like we’d been together forever.
Yeah, I was so completely in love with him.
When it was time to say goodbye, I was certain my mother was too. She hugged him for an awkwardly long time, but he played it cool. He took my father’s offered handshake, the leftover brownies from my mother, and led me down the front steps to his car.
“I like them,” he said, sincere, as he pulled out of the subdivision.
“Good. They certainly like you. And I . . .” I said, unable to contain it, “I love you.”
His hand tightened on the steering wheel. “You what?”
There was no reaction other than his flat voice. Oh, no. What had I done?
When I didn’t repeat it, he yanked the steering wheel hard and to the right, so he could turn off the road into the nearest parking lot, and pull in to one of the vacant spots. He threw the gearshift into park and gave me a hard look, his face like stone. I couldn’t breathe. My heart stopped beating. I should have kept my stupid mouth shut.
Hands seized my face, gripping it and pulling me in so he could slam his lips on mine. I wanted to melt into the kiss. I wanted the gearshift gone from in between us. There was the sound of his seatbelt unbuckling. The hands trapping my face tightened further, asking for more.
I was more than willing, but . . .
“Logan,” I mumbled against his frantic lips, “we can’t have sex in the parking lot of a Seven-Eleven.”
“I don’t remember suggesting that.”
“You have to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Kissing me. Touching me, or I’m going to need to have sex with you. Not want, but need.”
It was twilight outside, and a mischievous smile flashed across his face, made sexier by the soft light. Like he was thinking about continuing just to see if I’d make good on my threat. But instead he eased up, giving me a gentle, tender kiss.
“All right.” His voice was reluctant. “I will stop kissing you now, but I want you to know you started this . . . and I plan on finishing it soon.”
It took forever to find a parking space at my place, only increasing the anticipation. He took my keys from me and unlocked my door when I fumbled. I hadn’t expected to come back to my place tonight. We were due to meet his friends for drinks, and I assumed after that I’d spend the night at his place. So I hadn’t cleaned. He tripped over a pair of heels I’d left in the pathway to the living area.
“Sorry, I didn’t think I was going to have company,” I said, taking my keys back from him. There was a pile of clothes on the couch, and he blinked at it. I think it bothered him. I scooped them up and hurried to the closet.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up.” I heaved the clothes onto my bed.
“I don’t care about that. I don’t care about anything right now,” he said, his eyes pinning mine, “except hearing you say it again.”