She: Part 2 (5 page)

I give Logan a cheeky grin.
In that case
, I think giddily, before saying to the cashier, “Nous en prendrons deux, s’il vous plaît.”
We
’
ll have two, please
.

* * *

The so-called two minute walk is at least fifteen. I’m about to give up on the venture when Logan spots what we’re looking for: a small collection of pools, which on closer inspection are teeming with marine life.

With my feet securely planted on one of the rocks, I look up at him and say, “Now what?”

Logan laughs at me. “Now you catch something, baby. We’ll have it for dinner.”

I pull a face. “I don’t want to,” I mumble, suddenly wondering how I was so easily seduced into buying these nets.

He pokes me in the stomach with the end of his, still chuckling. “Catch and release, Gemima,” he tells me.

Oh,
good
, I think, dunking my net into the water, making a grand swooping motion and pulling it up a few seconds later…with something inside of it! I peer at the net, trying to make out what I’ve caught.

I gasp when I realise, “I’ve got crabs!”

Logan stumbles off of the rocks and back onto the beach amidst a fit of laughter, and it takes me several moments to realise why.
Seriously
,
Gem
,
you could
’
ve worded that better
!

When he at last stops laughing at my ridiculous inability to think before I speak, we continue fishing but tire of it quickly. Soon we’re back in the car, driving once more, and this time it’s not the ocean, but the quaint, movie-set-like villages that we pass that capture our attention. We stop in one towards the end of the afternoon, walking around a local weekend market that’s in its twilight, and all the while Logan and I are talking and learning more about each other.

It doesn’t take me long to realise that this day is different to any other we’ve spent together before now. As we drive back to the hotel, I acknowledge that something has changed between us as we’ve whiled away our day sightseeing and driving up and down this small stretch of the French Riviera. No matter where we’ve found ourselves, we’ve spent our time playing like children: chasing each other and being silly in a way that we’ve never previously been. It’s been fun, lighthearted, and has attracted me to Logan in a whole new way.

I realise that we’re building a different side to our relationship — our friendship — and I love it, I love
him
in this new light. Our relationship was so hot and fast right from the beginning that we never had the time to establish ourselves as friends. We jumped straight in to being lovers, which was wonderful (
so
wonderful), but throughout today it feels like we’ve taken the sex and flirting away, and while spending our time playing and being goofy, I’ve seen that there is something
more
than sex that brought us one another. There’s real camaraderie, and a true, inexplicable connection.

“Today’s been amazing, Logan,” I tell him, after we’ve parked the car and are making our way up to our hotel room. “It’s been fun becoming your friend,” I smile at him.

“Oh, baby,” he smiles affectionately back at me, before he presses his lips to my forehead. “It’s been fun becoming yours too, Gemima. I love getting to know you more, all your different sides and facets and moods. You’re fascinating,” he says, his sincerity evident.

“Ditto, Leary,” I grin, reaching up on my toes of kiss his full, delicious lips.

He
is
fascinating, I muse, as I change into my second nineteen-twenties inspired dress for our dinner on the terrace. He’s
always
fascinated me, but before today that interest had more of a sensual edge to it. Now I’m downright curious about
every
single thing about him. I’d be his shadow for days and simply watch him, learning everything, if that weren’t weird and borderline creepy.

Dinner will be a chance to talk more, I note, giving myself a once-over in the floor length mirror. While yesterday’s dress was beautiful, Mercy has really outdone herself with this one. It is stunning, flawless, and I’m instantly convinced that it’s more appealing than every other item of clothing I own, combined. It’s light-green — a perfect match for Logan’s eyes while also complimenting my own, and in-keeping with the fashion of the time, it ends mid-calf. The silk lining slides smoothly over my skin, with captivating crystal detailing sitting over the top.

It fits me so perfectly, that I can’t help wondering aloud, “How did Mercy know my size?”

“I told her,” Logan says, emerging from the bathroom, the sight of him making me swoon.

Oh, good god, he’s never looked sexier! I can’t stop my shameless ogling. I look him up and down, utterly transfixed. Mercy has, again, surpassed last nights standards of debonairness. Logan’s well-fitted light-grey suit, comprised of pants, waistcoat and jacket, makes him look like he’s stepped back in time. And the way he wears it, with such confidence and charisma, derails my thoughts entirely.

“Logan…you look…” I trail off.
Wasn
’
t I in the middle of asking him something
, I try to recall.

He straightens his jacket and buttons it up. I’m tempted to go over to him, reach out my hands, and undo what he just did.

“You look flummoxed, Gemima,” he grins, striding over to me.

“I am,” I breathe as his hands settle around my waist.

He returns the gesture, now looking me up and down, and with slightly more grace than I, he says, “You look phenomenal.”

I pull myself together to tell him, “So do you, Logan.” I can’t help but add, “You look so fucking good!”

He laughs and leans down to kiss me quickly. “I told Mercy your size,” he says again, reminding me of my original question.

I stare at him, perplexed. I hadn’t taken Logan for one who knows much about women’s sizing. Suddenly I realise, “Ah, you checked my other dresses for the size?”

He shakes his head.

He didn
’
t
? “Then, how did you know?” I’m confused.

He releases me and holds his hands in front of him, between our stomachs. The fingers on each hand are curved inwards and it looks like he’s making an oval shape between them. “I know your exact size because I’ve felt it,” he says simply. “I’ve felt
you
, many memorable times. This,” he indicates his hands, “is the size of your waist. This,” he moves his hands outwards, creating a larger oval, “is how your hips feel. And your bust,” he moves his hands in ever-so-slightly, “is like this,” he tells me. “So Mercy just took a measuring tape and jotted down the circumference of the shapes I made with my hands, and voilà, we had your measurements,” he says, matter-of-factly.

I stare at him, stunned by his sexy,
sexy
words. He’s memorised the way I feel so accurately that his measurements are faultless!

“And I’d say that it’s a pretty good system,” he adds, smiling adorably.

“Logan, that is the sexiest thing you’ve
ever
said to me,” I blurt out, feeling suddenly breathless.

He starts chuckling. “Really?” he seems unconvinced.

“
Really
,” I assure him.

“Maybe you should keep in mind that I was spaced out on painkillers at the time,” he laughs. “It was probably inappropriate more than sexy,” he thinks.

I shake my head as I reach up to wrap my arms around his neck. “I know all about saying inappropriate things,” I roll my eyes at myself.

“Like I’ve got crabs?” Logan says, laughing once more.

“Exactly,” I giggle. “And what you just said doesn’t cut it, baby.“ I kiss him. “Thank you,” I say to him. “It’s wonderful, and I feel every bit the part.” I look down at my body, reveling in how much I like what I see.

“Good,” he nods. “That was the plan. Now…” he reaches into his pocket and takes out his mobile phone. He takes several steps backwards and then holds it up to snap a picture of me. In explanation, he tells me, “I’m going to want to look at this picture on lonely business trips.”

“But I’ve got clothes on,” I toy with him.

He groans at the thought of photographing me naked, much to my satisfaction, and then grinning broadly, I strike my best nineteen-twenties pose, and he takes his shot.

Ten minutes later we’re seated on the terrace under a glowing red heater. It reminds me happily of our first lunch date, when I blamed
it
for making me flustered instead of admitting to myself the potent effect that Logan was having on me. I couldn’t deny his effect now even if I wanted to. I indulge in it fully, enjoying the sultry hour we spend feeding each other, and the romantic dancing that follows.

Music issues from speakers attached to the outer walls of the building and we twirl leisurely, Logan’s hands moving seductively over my body, until the cold becomes too much for me. I unbutton his jacket and press my body firmly against his as he wraps it around my back as far as it will go.

“I love holding you,” he whispers in my ear. “I love feeling your body against mine.”

I nod into his chest, thinking this moment couldn’t get any sweeter. I then look up at him and he gazes down at me, our foreheads touching. While we turn to the music, we talk, appeasing — for now — my endless fascination with him.

“I haven’t been out of Paris for anything other than business or family visits for ten years,” he shares with me.

“What about those weekends away on the coast?” I ask, remembering him telling me that he likes to do that.

“I was always working on them,” he says swiftly. “They were a change of scene, but not a change of behaviour. This,” he indicates our surroundings, “is different. This is the first time I’ve been able to leave the city and also leave work behind.”

“You’re not itching to check your emails?” I tease.

“I’ll do that while you’re sleeping,” he teases me back. “When’s the last time you went on holiday?” he then asks me.

I think back. “Last August. Jerry and I went to London for two weeks,” I say, remembering the trip that I took with my insolent ex-boyfriend. “We took the train, so I didn’t have to face my fear of flying,” I add.

“Did you have fun?” he asks quietly.

“Not really,” I admit, recalling the details. “I wanted to go to Italy, but he booked everything behind my back. Not a
good
behind-my-back like you bringing me here,” I hasten to add. “A sneaky behind-my-back because he knew I wasn’t interested in spending two weeks being his chaperone to a series of football matches that he just
had
to see.”

Logan looks at me in disbelief. “He’s such a fucking idiot,” he exclaims, making me smile and nod in agreement.

“He was a pain in my ass that holiday,” I say, and then I blanch. “Not literally,” I add, horrified.

Logan laughs, his dimples distracting me from yet another careless choice of words. “I didn’t think it was a literal comment, baby,” he says, bringing his lips closer to mine, “but I’m glad to hear you clarify it,” he chuckles.

Steering the conversation far away from me and Jerry and anal sex, I say, “The summer before London, Amber and I went back to the States. I took more sleeping pills than I should’ve,” I admit, “so I don’t remember much about the journey there or back. But while we were there we drove from my hometown in Florida to her hometown in Oregon.”

“Wow,” Logan breathes. “I bet you two got up to no good,” he rightly assumes.

I laugh and confess, “I’m very good at sweet-talking cops out of giving me tickets.”

“That’s a good skill to put on your resume. I tried it once,” he jokes, “it didn’t fly.”

“It might’ve if the cop was a woman,” I think.

“She was,” Logan laughs. “But I was driving high with a car full of drunk teenagers and I doubt any amount of sweet-talk would’ve gotten me out of that predicament. That was arrest number two,” he adds. Two of seven, I remind myself. “And in hindsight it was a very good thing that I had a huge, muscular female cop pull me from my vehicle and pin me to the ground.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” he reveals.

My eyes widen. “You didn’t even have your license!”

He shakes his head. “Young. And very dumb,” he says.

I stare at him in awe, amazed that such a destructive teenager could transform into the man before me. His words stoke my curiosity. “Alright, Leary, what
is
the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

He considers for a long moment. “I’ve got a few things in mind,” he grins, “but
I
think the stupidest thing my friends and I ever did was train-dodging.”

I shudder at the name.

Reading my response correctly, Logan continues, “It’s exactly as the name suggests: we would wait until a train was close, too close, and then we’d sprint across the tracks.”

I gape at him. “You’re right — that
is
stupid,” I say, shocked. Then, just to be sure that old habits don’t die hard, I ask, “When’s the last time you did that?”

“About seventeen years ago,” he assures me.

“Any fatalities?” I wonder.

“No, fortunately. But my brother told me that my friends and I started the craze, which continued for years after I moved here. A couple of kids have died since then. I
didn
’
t
start the craze, by the way,” he tells me. “People were doing it years before I ever did, but that’s just something Taylor likes to tell me to make me feel responsible.”

“That’s not very nice,” I frown. “None of it is: you risking your life, other kids dying, or Taylor being mean.”

Logan laughs, and warns me, “He can be mean, baby. That’s why I spend most of my time ignoring him. What about you? What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

“Date Jerry Cassidy,” I say without missing a beat.

Logan laughs and nods his agreement. “I think that’s worse than train-dodging,” he says.

“You might be right about that,” I sigh, lamenting my early twenties, when coasting through life in an unaware daze was my norm. I’m
so
glad things have changed, I think, gratefully looking up at the biggest change to occur since Jerry and I broke up last year.

“Do you think he’s nursing a black eye?” Logan asks, referring to their dustup two nights ago, during which Logan punched Jerry after Jerry called me a whore.