It’s funny how, out of the hundreds of amazing things he’s said and done to me, a simple statement like this can still twist me in delicious knots. Maybe because a part of me had feared that he hated me after I left. That there would never be anything about me that he thought of as his favorite again.
But he doesn’t hate me. And he’s here. And I’ve missed him so so much that just seeing him makes me all sorts of crazy happy. But if nothing’s changed since I last saw him…“What are you doing here, Logan?” My tone is demanding and I don’t try to hide the bite of desperation. “You come all the way to Austin like this, and I’m going to start to get my hopes up. Is there any reason why maybe I should get my hopes up?”
His eyes fall—nervous maybe? He digs in his back pocket. “I don’t know if it’s worth getting your hopes up over. But as for what I’m doing here,” he pulls out his wallet and flips it open, “I came to pay a tuition bill.”
Understanding settles in, and my heart literally sinks. “I don’t need you to pay my tuition bill, thank you. I’m doing fine on my own.”
I wonder if he talked to my mother or if he just decided to come do this on a whim of his own. I’m not sure how he ever got the notion that I would want this, as if he owed me. As if I were his whore. I’m pissed and my eyes are stinging, and how the hell is it still possible for him to hurt me like this?
But then he says, “Not your tuition, Queen Cass. Mine.”
My throat goes dry. “What?”
“Yeah, see,” he runs a hand through his hair, and I have to bite my lip to keep myself from doing anything rash like, oh, molest him in a public space. “It took me a little while to get all the details sorted out, but I’ve wrapped up all of my prior obligations and sold a portion of my production studios to Vida. And as of about three days ago, I’m officially a student at UT Austin.” His expression is somehow both bold and boyish. “In other words, you are looking at a man who is no longer a porn star.”
In a flash, all sense of propriety goes out the window and I’m crawling over the counter to leap into Logan’s arms.
And then we’re kissing, greedily, desperately, our mouths clashing awkwardly with eagerness. My ass is still on the counter, but I wrap my legs around his waist, and his hands thread possessively through my hair, and I can’t even think because my feelings are so big and consuming.
“You’re crying,” he whispers when I pull away to catch my breath.
“I can’t help it. You enrolled in school for me.” I watch my thumb sweep across his jawline, too overwhelmed to look him in the eye.
“Hey.” With two fingers, Logan pushes my chin up to meet his gaze. “I enrolled in school for me. I rented out my house and am living in a one-bedroom in Texas for you. Got it?”
Even better. I’m grinning, but I rein it in to give him a look of mock seriousness. “Got it.”
He swipes away my tears with the back of his finger then wraps a hand behind my neck. “Awfully convenient that the same school you chose has a fairly decent film program, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Convenient. That’s what that was.” I like the idea of fate and everything, but I’m not one to rely on it alone. So I nudged the universe a little. Can you blame me?
“You knew I’d follow you here, didn’t you?”
My mind flashes to that Tarot’s star card, the card that I’ve held close for all these months. “I didn’t know. I hoped.”
Logan pulls back to study me. “Why didn’t you say that’s what you wanted?”
“I couldn’t ask you to give up your world for me. You would have resented me forever. You had to choose that for yourself.” I’m so proud that he has, that he’s thought about this and stayed true to his feelings while taking planned, logical steps that are good for him and his future.
“Hanged man has to hang himself?” God, I love him.
“You got it.” Then, because it seems like maybe I should be sure he really has chosen what I think he has, that he’s really okay with it, I ask, “So you’re completely out of the porn business?”
“Not completely.” He continues to search my face while he talks, perhaps looking for my approval. “I’m still producing long distance. Tanner’s holding down the fort. I’ll probably do some directing now and then.”
“But no more performing?”
He shakes his head, and it sounds like a promise when he says, “No more performing.”
I’m relieved. And, strangely, a little something else. “No more Logan O’Toole films. That’s almost disappointing.”
He chuckles and the sound vibrates through me. “Maybe, I could come out of retirement for a film or two. But I’ll only star with one woman.” His voice gets low and serious. “I’ll only ever perform again with you, Devi.”
I reach up to capture his mouth with mine, kissing him in approval.
But he breaks away after only a few seconds, pulling back with a somber expression. “I’m sorry, babe. Really sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t quit before. I know that it hurt you…” He trails off, I think, because this apology is hard for him.
I know he needs to say this, but I need him to know I already know. “I get it. You didn’t mean to hurt me. You were doing your job. A job that you loved.”