I walk to my closet, pulling back the bi-fold door and realize my suitcase isn’t here. I look around the room. My purse is here. My shoes are here. Hell, even my salt-crisped dress is here. So where is my bag?
I slip Logan's shirt and yesterday’s panties back on and march across the room. Each step creates a new throbbing sensation in my head that I ignore. Whipping the door open, all I see is the breakfast cart but then I hear his voice.
“Change your mind?”
I look down, and to my right, and there Logan is. Sitting on the floor. Legs bent. Arms resting on his knees. Texting. He looks up at me with a hopeful smile and my insides melt a little.
“Only because I’m hungry and have questions.”
Logan clicks the power button on his phone, darkening the screen, then pushes himself off the floor. I hold the door open as he pulls the cart inside. He takes the silver top off of our plates. Removes the plastic lids from our cups. Hands me a water and then digs in his pocket for a travel sized packet of Tylenol.
“Thanks,” I say as he tears the packet open and holds it out for me.
Logan takes his plate and settles into the oversized chair near the window. This room isn’t big by any means, but I appreciate him trying to put a little distance between us. Lord knows I need all the space I can get to stab the butterflies going crazy inside me and bury them six feet under. I’m only in town for thirty-two more hours. Unearthing old feelings just to go home even more broken than before is not on the agenda.
“I didn’t know if you were still vegan or not. I figured oatmeal was a safe bet and if you wanted eggs or bacon I’d share.”
He remembered? Firecrackers explode, creating a wave of heat that spreads through my body and climbs my neck. After the way I ended things, I figured Logan would have pushed all thoughts and memories of me away.
“Not really. I’ll eat chicken every now and then, and sometimes pork, but never seafood or red meat. It’s expensive being plant based and I don’t have that kind of money. ”Also, it’s hard to tell a kid who is socially trained to want Happy Meals that she can't have them. We still eat a lot of plant based meals, but not nearly as much as I wish we did.
“Isn’t it crazy how a pack of regular cream cheese is less than two dollars, but dairy free is more than five?” Logan looks at me like he’s totally serious and I’m shocked he knows the price differences. Georgia is a bit more expensive, depending on which store you shop in, but he’s pretty much right.
“So.” I mix the brown sugar and butter into my oatmeal, then add blueberries, pretending that us eating together is no big deal. That him changing me out of my wet dress last night doesn't send a shiver of nerves through me. “I’m assuming this is your room?”
Logan rubs the back of his neck then exhales loudly. “Yeah, you couldn’t tell me where yours was, so I brought you here. I slept in Cooper’s room down the hall. Didn’t think you’d want to wake up to me.”
A part of me says Logan is right. If I woke up beside him, I would have freaked and caused a scene but that’s not to say that a tiny, tiny, part of me wouldn’t have liked it. As much as it kills me to admit, Logan still makes me nervous. Even sitting across the room, every neuron in my body is firing. He has that effect on me.
I grab one of the tiny jelly containers in a condiments cup and scoop most of its contents onto my toast. “This doesn’t make us friends.”
Logan shrugs, as if he could care less that there’s a tiny, microscopic chance we could mend our broken bridge this weekend.
I convinced myself that Logan forgot me, that he pushed everything—the good and the bad—aside and that I meant nothing to him anymore. Afterall, that is what I desperately wish I could do. Forget him and everything he’s ever made me feel.
“I have no intention of being your friend, Danika.” His voice is smooth like honey, dripping with what feels like a hidden meaning.
“Of course you don’t.” I look down at my plate and take a bite of my toast. Friends is a stretch I know isn’t possible, not with all the secrets looming. I know this, and yet I can’t help the sinking feeling taking over.
4
Logan
Fuck friends.
Fuck it hard in the ass with a spiked dildo. I will never be just friends with Danika. I tried once, back and high school, and I damn near lost my mind.
No, I will be the guy she can’t get enough of. The one who breaks down her pathetic excuse for emotional walls and fucks her into next Tuesday. And then, when she’s about to leave me yet again and asks to keep in touch, I’ll shut her out. Leave her completely in the dark, wanting more, unable to satiate the need that will course through her.
Just like she did to me.
That was the original plan, the one I thought about tossing out the window because of how Danika made me feel last night. Because of that weightless breath I can only take when she’s around. But then she had to dangle that word in my face—friends—and remind me that I’m not even worthy of that pathetic title.
Fire bubbles in my veins, igniting a hatred I haven’t felt in a long time. Not since I realized Danika wasn’t coming back to me; to us. Not since I discovered that no matter who I stick my dick into they always felt wrong; nice, but wrong. It’s a fire that brings all the hateful things I practiced saying if ever given the chance to the front of my mind. Words I don't mean, but would hurt her almost as bad as she hurt me.
My fork drops to my plate with a startling clank. My appetite is gone, incinerated by the blaze building inside me, eating away at my resolve to play nice and make Danika want me again.
She jumps at the sound and lifts her gaze to meet mine again. “Are you okay?”