Stupid Logan and his logic. I’ve been so caught up in Tucker that I haven’t even thought of the outside world, of the people around us, of the repercussions of our coupling.
“I don’t mean to upset you.” Yeah, right! “I guess I was just caught off guard, that’s all,” Logan says, placing his hand over mine. As has been his habit, his thumb caresses my skin in what I’ve always considered a reassuring way.
“You didn’t upset me.” I try to think of how to respond and instead just go with honesty. “I really didn’t think about anyone else besides us. It just happened so fast, and I guess I haven’t sat back to think about what it all means.”
“Is it serious?”
To me it is. To Tucker, I really have no idea.
“We haven’t really had that conversation. We’ve just been, you know, seeing where it all goes.”
Logan nods and puts his pencil down in the crevice of book. “Well, it seems like he makes you happy. It’s hard not to notice the change in your demeanor.”
“He does make me happy.”
“And what about him? Does he feel the same way about you?”
I don’t like Logan’s questioning. “What kind of questions are these?” He’s making me question Tucker’s intent and I really don’t care for it. Is that Logan’s intent? To make me doubt Tucker? I don’t want to think about us because the minute I start thinking about how Tucker feels inside, my gut starts to churn. As long as I’ve known Tucker, his heart has been Sadie’s. It’s always been Sadie and the thought of him still harboring feelings for her literally tears me in half, makes me feel physically ill. I can’t think about it. I won’t think about it. I refuse to. Didn’t he say he needed to work through that before we slept together? Did we rush that? Did he simply give in to me because he was horny?
“I’m just concerned about you. I don’t want you to start something that’s going to break you later on.”
“Why do you think he’s going to break me? You barely know him and you haven’t seen us together, so you don’t see how he treats me.”
“That’s true, but what I do know about him scares me. You’ve told me about his ex, about how he’s felt about her, how he bought that house for her. And then there’s that room, the room he won’t let you in. And don’t forget about . . . what is it? Rule number six? Don’t talk about Sadie?” He strokes my hand again, concern in his eyes. “Come on, Emma, it doesn’t seem like he’s over her and instead of dealing with his baggage, he’s covering it up with you as a distraction.”
Ouch. That hurts and what hurts even more is that his comment seems to ring too close to the truth for my liking.
“Don’t be mad at me, Emma,” Logan says, tugging on my hand. “I’m just looking out for you.”
“I know.” I nod. “I, uh, I have to get going, though. I have somewhere I have to be.” I start to pack up my things as quickly as possible.
“Emma, don’t go. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
I try to catch my breath as I pack. “I know and I appreciate that. I just have to go.”
Logan stands and stops me from putting a book in my backpack. “Don’t just run away. Talk to me, Emma.”
Irritation overwhelms me and I snap at him. “Talk to you? I just told you how happy I am and you go and throw a wet blanket over it. Why would I want to talk to you when you make me feel like crap?”
His face registers shock and I feel slightly bad for lashing out. “I’m sorry, Emma. I really was just looking out for you. I don’t trust him and his intentions.” Yeah, Logan. That much is obvious.
I snag my book from him and stuff it in my backpack followed by zippering it up. I toss the bag over my back and say, “Well, I’m a big girl, Logan, and I know what I’m doing. I appreciate your concern but please just stay out of it.”
With that, I take off toward my car while I check my phone. There’s a text form Tucker.
Tucker: When are you getting home? Racer is here and I want an excuse to kick him out.
I sigh and tuck my phone into my pocket. Home. That’s exactly what it has felt like. Returning home. To Tucker. Damn Logan. He’s the reason it feels a lot less exciting now.
Logan succinctly brought all my fears to the forefront of my mind and I’m not ready. Not ready to wonder if my life with Tucker is transient. Not ready for him to ask me nicely to leave with a “Thank you very much, Emma, but my heart will never be yours.” Not ready to have my heart shatter and wonder if I’ll ever be whole again.
I’m not ready to be let go, and I’m not sure I ever will be.
***
When I pull up to the house, there are almost blinding lights blasting in the living room, making the whole house look like it’s harboring the sun. Confused, I grab my bag and head in. I drop my stuff onto the kitchen counter and make my way to the living room where there’s music playing—One Direction, ha!—and lamps pointing toward the fireplace where two bare-chested men wearing tool belts and rocking a fireplace kneel on the ground. Tucker has a pencil tucked behind his ear, his hair all askew as if he’s been running his hand through it, and Racer is sporting a backward baseball cap.
Both men rival each other in the muscle department, their chests bronze despite the winter months, their backs rippling as they place a very light colored rock on the fireplace. The room has also been painted a pale grey, making it feel light and airy. How long was I studying that they could get all of this work done?
“Just put the mortar on the damn thing and give it to me,” Tucker says, holding his hand out.
“You’ve gotten to put all the rocks on, I should get to do some too.”
“Stop being a little bitch and hand me the rock. I want to get this done before Emma gets home.”
“I’m not being a little bitch.” Racer sits back on his heels and points to his tightly flexed chest. “You’re being the little bitch and not sharing. Sharing is caring, Tucker.”
“You put them on crooked.”
“The fuck I do. They call me the fireplace master back at the job site. You’re lucky I’m here helping you without charge. I could be invoicing you one hell of a bill if I wanted to.”
“The amount of pizza and beer you shoved down your throat while painting will cover that bullshit invoice. Now hand me the damn rock.”
“No.” Racer seems to put his foot down.
“For fuck’s sake, Racer.” Tucker pulls on his hair in frustration. I was right, he has been yanking on those beautiful strands and I can guess the reason why.
I decide to step in.
“Just let him put the rock on,” I say, turning the music off at the same time, startling both of the six-foot-three men right out of their construction boots.
“Fucking hell,” Racer says, dropping the mortar-covered rock right on the hardwood floor.