Chapter 5: Not the Night I Expected

I was impressed with Luke’s band and I probably would have went up and stood by the stage—along with the other hundred drunk (I’m surprised that they hadn’t started throwing under garments) girls—but they, meaning Jack, Logan, and Nicky, had already seen Luke play supposedly too many times to count.

Their first three songs, were a fast—mix of punk and ska—but truth be told, I’m not sure if I was really listening. I was almost too aware of Logan’s hands—and they did change position frequently.

Sometimes he and I sat, thigh to thigh with his arm slung around my neck, coaxing errant strands of hair aware from my bare shoulders and neck, so that his fingers could reside their instead. And then others, he’d move away, sharing some comment with Nick and Jack, but he’d keep one palm curved over my leg a bit above my knee.

Or maybe he’d slide away gradually and drag his arm down my thinly clothed arm—my goose bumps rose like a rash. Sometimes I’d snatch it away too fast, like a reflex, or shiver when he grinned like I was either completely hilarious or like this adorable little kid. I am not a child. I take care of children.

But when I did listen, I could appreciate the instrumentals more than the lyrics. Luke did some cool effects with his guitar and they seemed so unplanned, like his drummer got off beat sometimes when he went overboard with riffs.

What I really wanted to know about was where did they recruit band members—or maybe they all went to school together at Purchase and they bred gorgeous boys there. Maybe, and I couldn’t help but think, that it wasn’t such a coincidence for two brothers to be that attractive, but what about that bass player?

And the drummer, though half of his face was covered by thick wavy hair, was probably white hot too. As they finished their last song, Logan leaned over towards me, “We’re going now.”

“Why,” I leaned back so his lips weren’t brushing my neck anymore. “You don’t want to say goodbye?”

“Nah, his fans will swarm in a matter of moments anyway,” he answered dully. We slid out of the booth and he grabbed my arm, lightly around the elbow, towing me through the crowd. He paused, and then turned back to raise an eyebrow at me. “Why; do you want to see Luke or something?”

“No, are you...jealous,” I tossed back lightly. He grinned and turned forward without answering.

It was colder than I remember once we got to the car. I locked my jaw to keep my lips from shivering—Logan noticed and turned up the heat once we pulled out of the lot. I slipped my hands under my butt; I’d already suspected it to have heated seats.

Logan drove back into town but took a left on a street I’d never been down before—to Nick or Jack’s houses, I’m guessing. Oddly, as if it had been agreed upon before we got in the car that Nick and Jack should give Logan and me an optimum amount of time together—this I gather from Jack’s amused smirk when he told Logan not to, “worry about getting me home; I’ll stay at Nick’s tonight and you’ll be able to get to your prime destination with plenty of time.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Jack,” I protested, once we pulled up to Nick’s house. It was tiny, cottage sized, but then it was just him and his mother staying there. Honestly, it’d probably be the perfect size house for Ethan, Caden, and I. Laura’s—now my lawyer wanted to move us after she passed. I just couldn’t leave the house behind.

“You’re probably right, Ainsley; Logan doesn’t usually need too long, but either way, I don’t mind.” And as Jack was stepping out of the car, Logan let up on the brakes.

The car jerked forward and Jack’s outburst—that probably woke the rest of the residents on Nick’s street—was muffled by the engine revving. I did get the gist though. Logan glanced in the rearview mirror at Jack hobbling to the sidewalk and Nick at the front door, pointing and laughing. “Asshole.”

“I honestly think he was insulting you,” I murmured through my laughter. Without Jack’s indiscreet wink at me, I might have been offended.

“I know,” Logan said. The streets were mostly empty now, but Logan kept at the speed limit, as I would have too—maybe that was his reason.

“Is Jack always so quiet?” Those last few remarks were the most I’d heard him speak all night, and come to think of it, since I’d known him. Not a long time, but still. With some people quietness was disconcerting, but Logan and Nick acted no differently. It might have just been me; I do spend most of my time around seven year olds.

“He had two beers tonight; at about five he’ll talk your ear off—no joke. And only hard liquor gets involved, he’s the life of the party,” Logan answered without emotion. His heavy dark eyebrows were knitted together, concerned about something.

That reminded me of something Mom used to tell me when I was a kid. “After a few juice boxes, she’s a regular impractical child, only concerned with her Barbies and the next time I’ll buy her candy,” she had said once. “That’s why I keep the sugar to a minimum,” of course it couldn’t be to keep my teeth from rotting, “Ainsley’s practical when I don’t want to be.”

Jared answered her with a laugh. “Just like you after a few tequila shots, but Ainsley will probably be too smart to let alcohol get to her.” Then they got into an argument because Mom thought Jared was implying that her intelligence was lacking. Boy, did that piss her off—plus the fact that she’d already had a few shots that night.

“What?” I blinked at Logan after he waved a hand in front of my face.

“I asked, were you serious. I mean, at the club, were you just joking?” I realized we were back driving down Main Street, about two hundred feet from the turn into my neighborhood.

“Oh, sorry; I—I was serious,” I said. I turned my face toward the window. I watched the letter ‘A’ in the Walgreens sign flicker out.

“And are you still,” he asked. And I’m not exactly sure at this point—the analytical side of my brain was telling me, yes, because it was the practical thing to do, to dislodge any interest Logan could still have in me after tonight—but, I think I am.

Though, I did manage to dodge his question. No matter how sure I was about it, it was still weird telling Logan, who I’ve known for less than three weeks, that I want to sleep with him. Some things are easier to reason in your head. “We can tour the house if you want.”

He laughed, pursed his lips, and laughed again. His voice was laced with so many undertones. I did my best to ignore them all. “That’ll be...fun.”

We went in through the garage after I punched in the code. It led straight through the laundry room and into the kitchen. I kicked on basket with my newly washed and folded clothing in it to the side—underwear that I didn’t particularly want Logan eyeing.

I stopped at the doorway to the kitchen. Why didn’t I hear his footsteps behind me anymore? I turned back around, as apprehension grew in my stomach. I forgot to turn on the light in there—well, no, I didn’t forget; I just didn’t think we’d be in there long enough for it to matter.

The fact that I was in the middle of washing clothes might have had something to do with it too. I had a feeling that some of the more...vibrant pairs were on top of that basket. “Logan—where’d you go?” I slammed right into his chest. “Oh!”

One of his arms caught me around my waist; although I was showing no signs of falling backwards at anytime. My fingers had latched onto his shirt now. “I got lost.”

“Mhm,” I said. I uncurled my hands but now they were only palms open against his chest, copping a feel. What was worse, I wondered. “Are you going to let me go or would you prefer to stay in here?”

He turned his body to the left and pressed even tighter up against me. My back grazed all the buttons on the front of the dryer. It cast a dull glow over his face. His unoccupied hand tilted my face upwards and the other was lifting at the folds of fabric on my back. “Do you mind?”

“If I take three steps forward, you’ll bang your head on shelves all along these walls. We could have gone through the front if I knew you’d be so eager,” I whispered. I gave him a little shove; I wasn’t uncomfortable (the warmth of his hand on my bare back was pleasant actually), but I could hear the dryer starting with nothing inside it. And well, that was kind of a waste of energy.

I turned and disabled the machine. “Now, could you please follow me? I’d tell you to walk behind me in a single-file line, but I’m pretty sure that’s beyond you.”

“Am I correct when assuming that you’d like to be an elementary school teacher? You’ve got the discipline part down; I bet your brothers have no fun. I’d bet they’d go into shock if you let me babysit for a night,” Logan goaded in my ear when I paused at the answering machine outside of the laundry room.

“Do you know how much more attractive you’d be if I could just censor everything that spewed out of your mouth,” I asked before pressing the blinking red light. A slightly too high pitched voice screaming my name erupted from the machine.

I didn’t bother finishing the rest, since it was obvious. Samantha was calling to let me know that she’d been visiting soon. Her parents had moved to Florida for their retirement as soon as she left in August—she was the youngest of five and her parents felt that it was a long time coming.

I turned. “Do you want a drink or something,” I started to ask. I’d never cleaned out Laura’s extensive liquor cabinet—or rather, her separate pantry for alcohol, not even counting the wine cellar downstairs—though it hadn’t been touched since Sam was last her.

I frowned. Where could he have gone? Maybe he’d get lost; I could only hope. “You know what, just because I brought you in here does not give you the license to wander all around my—”

“I think,” he grinned, and somehow, it was slightly innocent and way too sexual at the same time. He gripped a bottle of bright green liquor—

“Not her absinthe; I’m not drinking that,” I hissed. First off, how dare he? He’s probably more annoying than going to the grocery store with Caden—who never waits till we’re out of the store to start eating cereal, even when I watch him like a hawk. You’d think I’d have to label shelves just for the two first graders who live here, but no; the infuriating eighteen year old is who gave me this idea.

Second, the stories Laura has told me about that stuff. And yeah, okay, that had been when she lived in Prague and they don’t have very strict maybe the government prohibits however strong that stuff can be, but who knows where my grandmother buys her alcoholic beverages. There’s no telling whether she got it imported, really.

“You don’t have to drink anything. Aren’t you planning on taking advantage of me tonight, anyway? This’ll just make it easier.” He reached up high and pulled a tumbler out of the sandalwood cabinets and set the sugar bowl down next the bottle. I stared blankly at thin sinewy arms. There was a weird scar by his elbow and his forearms were very freckled.

Usually having someone roam around my kitchen like they owned the place—especially since he’d never been here before—would annoy me, but fortunately I was worried about something else. “This,” I muttered, trudging into the dark pantry, “was a bad, bad mistake.”

I didn’t even have to read half of the bottles and I probably could have found any number of things in there without their labels. I was the seven year old whose mother taught her how to make her drinks when she was too lazy to do it herself. And I lined up her pills for the day, plus brewed her morning coffee. Drinks were for the afternoon; Mom never forgot her mother’s rules on drinking before the morning was up.

I realized I had drunk those three whiskeys to get drunk enough for the whole one-night-stand with Logan, but I abruptly stopped once I knew Logan had caught on to my plans. I knew I couldn’t do this without another—well, more than one preferably—drink.

He was stirring the milky white liquid when I stepped back into the kitchen. Logan leaned over his drink and onto the counter. The light from the ceiling fan reflected off the shiny granite counter and into his eyes, making them a perplexing shade of white-blue.

“You’re not backing down, yet,” he raised thin black eyebrows back under his dark hood of hair. “We could just talk. I thought Nick was just joking when he told me, but he asked me not to sleep with you. I really don’t plan on it.”

I turned and walked back into the closet. This was the ultimate embarrassment. God, I really must be annoying, ugly, or just unattractive. He could get drunk enough to not even remember it, but Logan still won’t sleep with me.

I sat the bottle of vodka back on the shelf. It was dusty anyway. So when I folded my arms up, rested them against the shelf, and stuffed my head in between them, figuring out what I’d say to Logan. What—and then there’s the real issue, what could be the least embarrassing to say—could I do to get him out of here, to let me wallow in the misery?

It wasn’t a shock when I heard the doorknob click. Of course he’d have to figure out what was wrong with the girl, the one who he just embarrassed beyond measure. My face was still burning. “This would work out much better if you just took my coming in here as an open invitation to leave.”

“I can’t. I can’t drive drunk,” he said and I almost laughed, because his voice was completely steady, no slurring, or tumbling over words. “Look, what are you doing in here, anyway?”

“I’m waiting for you to go,” I whined miserably. I stood straight up and walked past him, outside into the bright kitchen. Too bright—I hit the lights on my out. “And you’re not drunk—one drink does not make you drunk. Sorry, I don’t believe it. I’d like you to go now, Logan.”

I ran up the steps and listened for five minutes before peeling off the too tight jeans. I for listened another two before turning on the shower. I was still in my underwear when I heard the door slam. Too bad it was the fridge I heard and not the fucking front door!

I didn’t waste any time throwing on clothes, but his toe was in the door when I tried to go lock it. “I’m not dressed; I thought you were leaving!”

“How much does that really matter, when you were planning on sleeping with me tonight anyway?” I shoved at the door again and he didn’t even begin to budge. “You can change—I won’t watch.”

I, still keeping one foot on the door behind me, adjusted my shorts and pulled up the straps on my bra. Only I still didn’t have a shirt with me. “You promise you won’t come in?”

“God, you’re uptight, Ainsley, and not that I mind, it’s just, how exactly did you plan on seducing me tonight?” His voice was muffled by the door but the laughter in his voice was nothing if not amused. What a jackass?

“Alcohol lowers inhibitions and you’re more annoying than anyone I’ve ever tried to…,” I left that one hanging wide open. Who had I ever tried to seduce? Yeah, I’ve been making eyes at Mr. Parch for…years, without avail. But, I’m not without experience. I dated in high school. It wasn’t like I was a virgin, I’m just…modest.

“Seduce,” Logan guessed back. I was becoming more embarrassed by the second. “You can’t leave that one hanging wide open. You’re got to give me figures, Ainsley… And if the answer wasn’t apparent, I won’t be storming in on you until you open the door.”

My shoulders sagged and I bolted over to my dresser. I pulled out the top drawer and slammed it back closed. Okay, no lacy camisoles or ever lacier bras bought by Laura. Second drawer was a bust too; those t-shirts were too ratty and holey for Logan to see me in. The third was a compromise. A plain black sleeveless tank would do. Goosebumps were already blossoming on my arms and it was a little low-cut for my liking, but life’s a big compromise, right?

“So, uh, Logan,” I started after pulling the door open. He ducked underneath my arm—I really hope I shaved my arms this morning, since I just cannot seem to remember—and into the room without any reservations. “What do you want?”

He dropped a bottle of vodka, a carton of orange juice, and two highball glasses on my desk and leaned over scrutinizing the pictures lined up above the desk. There were a few from my high school days, an old black and white portrait of Laura back when she was in her late thirties and looked about twenty five, and countless others. Those others were pictures of Ethan and Caden—from when they wore matching diapers to their first Park District soccer game—and my own photography.

“Where are your parents,” Logan asked with his finger on the corner of a picture. My inner control freak almost barked at him for getting fingerprints all over it. “There not in any of these pictures. It’s just you and this lady. She seems too old to be your mother.”

“That’s my grandmother.” Logan turned back to me, something knitting his eyebrows together. It was not confusion though; he looked like he was trying to analyze me. I waved a hand around me. “This house used to be hers, but she passed away last year. That’s why I have my brothers.”

“Are your parents…dead, too?” He didn’t apologize. I was almost thankful for that, but his prying made me want to throw something at him. Once you hear the first apology, all the rest sound the same. And there is nothing I hate more than repetition.

“No, they’re just not the type to raise children is all, or well, my mother shouldn’t be. I never knew my father, so he must have figured it out early. That he wasn’t the type, I mean.” I was rambling and I shouldn’t have been telling him anything.

Logan sunk into the rolling chair under my desk and gestured at the glasses. “Do you mind if I pour this here?” He paused long enough to spin the top off the vodka bottle. I walked to the window and let down the shades while he talked. “Mine didn’t figure out that they weren’t the type until it was almost too late. Luke and I had to stay in a group home until he turned eighteen. No one will rent an apartment out to a seventeen year old and his younger brother.”

“Oh,” I stated dumbly. I was focusing on keeping the influx of all the things I’d seen or heard about “group homes” at bay. “How much older is he?”

“Luke’s twenty one and I’m turning nineteen in…,” Logan started before holding out a glass to me. It was cold and slick, sweating from the chilled liquid. He glanced at the clock on my bedside table. “I’m nineteen now, so two years.”

I was trying to talk, trying to figure out something to say, and trying to start a conversation, but it just didn’t happen. I took a sip of the drink, enjoying the tang of the orange juice combined with the sharp vodka. With an odd churning deep in my stomach, I remembered both Laura and my mother’s habit of a glass of orange juice with a touch of alcohol.

“So can I ask you something?”

I nodded. “Me or Luke?”

“You?” I answered with raised eyebrows. What exactly was I choosing for? It was just like me to go on my reflex and Logan, who I didn’t really like anyway. “You or Luke, what?”

“Me or Nick?”

“In what way? Are we talking romantically, or is this strictly platonic?” Logan just blinked at me. “Platonically, I’m gonna go with Nick, but romantically, I pick you. You’re too irritating to be my friend.”

I laid back on the stack of pillows that rested on my bed and the thought crossed my mind to offer Logan a seat next to me, but before I opened my mouth I felt the corner of the bed opposite me sink.

“Am I irritating enough for a kiss, on my birthday,” he probed with a laugh in his voice; although, by now I know he’s not kidding.

“I already gave you a kiss,” I turned on my side toward him and rested my head on my hand. I reached behind me for another sip of my drink, careful not to dribble it all down my shirt. One half of my reasoning was because I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of Logan, again, and another half because this flimsy shirt would leave me sticky all night.

“That was yesterday, last night. How about one this morning, with the premise of my birthday as your excuse? If anyone asks, you could always plead momentary insanity,” Logan said with a shrug. His eyes told a different story and I knew that in a couple of moments, I would kiss him. The fact that I would enjoy it was only an added plus.

“Who’s gonna ask,” I answered with the same blasé tone. I tried to keep from tensing up when he brushed my hair away from my neck. Logan smiled a little bit, brushing his fingers across my neck and down my collarbone.

I thought he’d say something for a second. His mouth twitched and instead his pressed his mouth against mine. It wasn’t one of those voracious, sexually driven kisses. His mouth was soft and warm, and it was me who sighed into his mouth.

I leaned forward, halfway lying on his chest now, and his fingers were looped through my long tendrils of hair and my fingers tugged at his shirt. But it was still gentle and probably my best kiss to date.

So when he shifted, so that I fell backwards, away from him, it felt a little like rejection. A casual brush off of sorts. Maybe I was too eager, or a terrible kisser, or something. Logan just wanted me away from him.

“Happy birthday,” I whispered, slightly stung.

I cut my eyes toward him, just as he turned his head to the side and reached over to brush my hair out of my face. His smile matched his eyes. Logan was satisfied, happy even, and smiling at me. Weird, because even though he came home with me and we were drinking, but he still wasn’t getting any. And he was still seemingly happy.

“Exactly,” Logan whispered back. He turned on his side, matching my posture from earlier. “So, now will you tell me about your brothers?”

A/N: It’s unfortunate that I can’t give any reason besides intense writer’s block as to why it’s taken me sooooo long to update this story. I am trying to get back on track with updating.

Thanks to: SuperSecretMusicMission, AngelaMichelle, Xxmoon-nightxX, krazygirlxo, River-NZ, and killerB for reviewing! It means a lot, since this project and its characters really means a lot to me.