Perfectly Damaged

He yawns. “It’s cool. What time is it?” He pauses. I look at my clock just as he recites the time. “It’s almost two in the morning, Jersey Girl. Are you all right?”

The sound of his voice is soothing, especially when he says the nickname he made up for me. It’s something I’ve grown accustomed to over the past few weeks. “Yeah…I just had a bad dream.”

“Another one, huh?” he says, his tone a bit clearer now. I can hear his bed squeak, as if he’s adjusting himself to sit up.

Last weekend at the lake house, Logan and I fell asleep on the couch in the living area. That couch has been known as our spot for the last month. We’d stayed up most of the night watching movies while everyone else sat out back partying. I didn’t realize I’d dozed off until Logan gently shook me awake. He said I was shaking and whimpering in my sleep. Even though I knew, I couldn’t tell him what my dream was about. I did tell him, however, that it’s a nightmare I’ve been dealing with for a very long time. He didn’t question me, thank goodness. He rarely does. But waking up to Logan made me feel safe. I guess that’s why I subconsciously called him just now.

“Yeah,” I say. “The same one.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. I guess I just needed to hear your voice,” I confess. “It calms me.”

He chuckles. The sound of the low rumble deep within his chest shoots a warm liquid through my heart, and a tug starts at the corner of my lips. “That’s good to hear,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to think of something else to keep him on the phone a bit longer.

“Jersey Girl?”

“Yes?”

“Want me to come over? I mean, I know your father is away on a business trip and your mother left for that stupid spa retreat with her friends. And Charlie’s on vacation with her family. You’re all alone in that house. I know you’re probably afraid.”

He’s right. I am alone. I’ve never felt more alone than I do now. “I am scared, I guess. But I don’t want you to drive here at this time. It’s late—or early… Whatever. I’ll be okay.”

“I don’t mind. Tomorrow is the Fourth and I’m off. If I leave now, at this time, there shouldn’t be any traffic. I can make it there in thirty minutes. Only if you want, of course. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, Logan.”

His silence says he doesn’t believe that. Have my reactions to certain things convinced him otherwise? “Well, the offer is still there,” he says.

“Okay.” I finally cave in. I want him here with me. I’m afraid of this house, of my dream, and of my own thoughts. I want Logan to clear all of it away, like he always unknowingly does.

“All right, see you soon.”

We end our call. I hop out of bed and walk into the bathroom. I look like crap, so I wash my face, brush my teeth, and comb my hair. Then I tread down the stairs and wait at the bottom step, in the foyer by the door.

I just sit and wait.

The doorbell sounds, startling me a bit. I stand, rubbing the numbness out of my behind from sitting on the marble stairs, and then shut off the alarm and open the door. With sleepy eyes, Logan smiles adorably at me and scratches the back of his head. His hair is a bit longer than when we first met. Right now, the right side is crushed flat against his head while the rest is wildly all over the place. A little giggle escapes me. “You have bed hair.”

Logan’s mouth slants into a crooked grin as he brushes his hand over the wild locks. “Well, I did hop out of bed and run to your rescue. Give me some credit, huh?”

Even at almost three in the morning he’s an ass. I playfully shove my hand against his shoulder. “All right, big guy, no need to be all cocky.” I smile. “Come on in.” Stepping aside, I give him room to shuffle in. When he does, I shut the door, lock it, and punch the code into the alarm. “Are you hungry or thirsty?” I ask him.

“Nah. You?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Well, um, I guess we can go up to my room.”

Logan nods once. It’s not like I’m nervous or anything. I’ve been alone with Logan a lot in the past few weeks, especially in his apartment. But he’s never been in my bedroom, and I’ve never been in his. A bedroom is kind of a sacred space. Asking someone to go in with you could give the wrong impression—especially for us. Will he be able to see right through me and know the exact person I am by my possessions? I shake that thought aside. I trust Logan, so I walk up the stairs, and he slowly follows behind me.

As I enter my room, I look around. Suddenly I’m insecure of my things. I wonder what he’s thinking as he takes in the cave I spend most of my time in. Is he judging the light grey walls and sleek black furniture? What about the built-in bench by the window? It’s filled with three stuffed animals my father gave me as a child, and I just can’t seem to let go of them. Does he think them juvenile?

I walk carefully toward the bed, turn to face him, and then plop down cross-legged on the center of the mattress. Logan’s eyes roam over the shelving unit by my desk, which is filled with old art sketches and oil paintings. “Did you sketch these?” he asks with his back to me.

“Yeah. A long time ago.”

“Damn, Jersey Girl. I knew you were talented with the oil paintings, but these are very detailed. They’re amazing.”

“Thanks.”

Logan drops the clear plastic shopping bag he walked in with on top of my desk. Through the bag I can see jeans and a white fabric, which I’m guessing is a T-shirt. He turns around, facing me, and comes my way. My heartstrings thrum when he reaches the edge of the bed and slightly lifts his shirt, reaching for the button of his jeans. He looks up. “I hope you don’t mind? I usually sleep naked, but I’ll keep my boxers on this time.” He winks with a grin.

Naked? “Uh, no, that’s fine.” My voice, I’m sure, is a bit shaky.

Nodding, he drops his jeans, then grips the edge of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. Each groove and line of his ab muscles flexes in the process. I swallow hard. I’ve seen him practically naked in swim trunks. This isn’t a big deal. Just think of swim trunks and quit ogling him.

My traitorous eyes navigate over his broad chest, which is just begging to be touched, down his perfectly sculpted abs, also begging to be touched, and past the V of his hipbones, which I wouldn’t mind running my tongue along. Then comes…his package. The fabric of his grey boxer briefs, snuggly wrapped around his impressive size, has my breath quickening and my mouth watering. All my self-control abandons ship and my thoughts betray me as images of Logan climbing into bed and covering my body with his explode in my mind. The only thing I can see are his blue-grey eyes filled with lust, penetrating mine as he drives his cock inside of me.