Did I write a letter to myself in my sleep or something? Jeez, it’s like someone plucked these exact thoughts from my head. Tossing the letter down on my desk, I sigh. It’s been over a week since I’ve seen Logan, and I never expected it to hit me this hard. Taking a deep breath, I shake my head and push those thoughts down. It won’t do me any good to wallow in this, and I just keep telling myself that there’s a reason for everything even if I’m not sure that I really believe that.
Sighing, I pull up a Word document and look over at the letter on my desk as I formulate a response in my head. Once I have a pretty good feel for where I’m going with this, I start typing.
Dear Dazed and Confused,
It’s been my experience that guys are usually pretty direct when it comes to what they want. If this guy truly wanted to be with you, you wouldn’t be writing me this letter. I know that kind of sucks, and I’m sorry that I don’t have a better answer for you but he’s showing you through his actions what he refuses to say out loud. And I think a part of you already knew that. You shouldn’t let this hurt you though. Just think, there’s probably some guy out there looking for you and he just doesn’t know it yet. There’s got to be more out there than being someone’s second or third priority. Hold on and have faith that when the time is right, he’ll find you and you won’t have to doubt how he feels because it will shine through in everything he does.
Sincerely,
Alison
I reread through my response several times before looking back over at the letter. It’s funny how I can give my readers such sound advice when my own love life is a complete mess. How can I expect people to listen to me when I can’t even take my own advice? Because if I did, it would stop hurting so damn bad that Logan just up and left my life without a word.
“Ali, there’s someone at the front desk for you,” Margie, our receptionist, says over the intercom, and I lean across the desk, pushing the button to respond.
“Thanks, Margie. I’ll be up in a second.”
I make sure to save my Word document and just as I’m standing to leave, Carly walks into my office with a smile on her face.
“Lunch today? We could try that new Mexican place down the street.”
My stomach growls on cue, and I nod. “Yes. That sounds amazing.”
“Okay, just let me finish something real quick and then we can go.”
I grab my bag off of the floor. “Actually, I have to go up to reception so I’ll just meet you there.”
She nods and heads back to her office as I look back at my desk, grabbing my phone before walking out and heading to reception. I can’t help but smile when I look at everyone running around working. They all seem so happy, and it’s such a contrast from the paper that it still surprises me at times. And even though things didn’t work out in my personal life, I’m still happy with this change.
As I step around the corner, the smile on my face slowly drains away, and my heart pounds in my chest. Logan is leaning up against the reception desk, talking to Margie. She says something, and he laughs, laying the charm on thick, and my stomach twists. Seriously? He disappears for over a week without a single goddamn word, and then he shows up here and flirts with Margie? I don’t want him here because even just looking at him hurts me.
I don’t want to love the way his jeans hug his hips or the perfect way his cut hangs off his shoulders. Envisioning walking up to him, grabbing the leather in my hands, and pulling him to me is a sure-fire path to disaster. And yet, here I stand, doing just that as my chest aches.
“What the fuck?” Carly hisses in my ear as she comes up behind me, and I nod in agreement. What the fuck, indeed.
“My thoughts exactly,” I whisper back and resist the urge to run back to my office and lock the door. Let’s be honest, he’d probably just follow me and make a scene. He turns to us and as soon as he sees me, his smile brightens, and his eyes warm, trailing down my body as he takes a step toward me, almost like he can’t stop himself. I shouldn’t let it get to me but the way he looks at me does all sorts of things to my traitorous body. I want to jump in his arms and slap the shit out of him all at the same time.
“Hey, Baby,” he says, smiling like he has every right to call me that.
“What did I tell you about that word?”
His brow furrows, and his smile drops a little. “What? Baby?”
“That’s the one,” I say, nodding, and he pushes off the counter, standing tall as he studies me.
“I thought we cleared this up already.”
I can hear his words in my head, telling me that I was his and he was mine. I loved that; loved the way that it felt to have someone I could call mine. “That was before you turned into Houdini.”
Sighing, he looks over at Margie, who is enthralled by our little display, before turning back to me. “Can we talk in private?”
“No.”
“Ali, please,” he pleads, and for a moment, I see Logan peeking through the Storm façade. It breaks me and I sigh, looking back at Carly. She’s glaring at Logan, and I wonder when she changed her mind about him.
“Outside,” I snap, pointing to the glass doors that lead out to the sidewalk, and he nods, following behind me. When we get outside, I pull my sweater tighter around my body and look back into the office. Carly hasn’t moved an inch, still shooting daggers at Logan and now Mercedes has joined the viewing party.
“What are you doing here, Storm?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I’m glad because one touch and I’d be in danger of giving in to him. “Don’t do that.”
There is so much I want to say to him right now. I’d love to just start screaming at him; tell him how much he hurt me even if I was a little reckless with my heart when it came to him. But, I don’t say any of that because the only thing worse than him hurting me is him knowing how much he hurt me.
“What are you doing here?”
He opens his mouth and shuts it again, searching my face as he tries to grasp on to something to say to persuade me. “I want to take you to lunch.”
“Not interested,” I shoot back, turning to walk back inside, and he grabs onto my arm.
“Alison.”
I whip back around, letting him see just how fucking angry I am. “What? Where have you been for the last week, Storm?”
“Stop calling me that,” he growls, pulling me into his body and sliding a hand into my hair. It feels too good to be good for me. “Logan. You and only you call me Logan.”
“Where have you been for the past week, Logan?”
His grip loosens but he doesn’t release me. “I’ve been busy.”
“Bullshit.” My answer is immediate and resounding in the space between us. “Let me go.”
“No,” he says, locking eyes with me, and we’re in a battle of wills. He’s not willing to let me go, and I don’t want to stay.
“You remember when I told you that I didn’t want to play games?”
He nods.
“This is exactly what I was talking about. One minute, you’re here and the next, you’re gone without a word. Where were you all week?”