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In some ways, power outages held a type of charm.
For a moment, the busybodies hunkered down for warmth, the ever-present hum of appliances silenced, and it seemed like the whole world stood still. Which was fine when Louise wanted to sleep of course, but now it felt… lonely.
Gone were the days when her family bunkered in Mom and Dad’s room under all the stale-smelling quilts they pulled out of the very back of their closets. Louise remembered how they huddled together, talking about nothing until Tina thrashed. She even kind of missed groaning at Gene for Dutch oven-ing the place up. Kind of.
Determined not to let that ache in her chest control her, she decided to make friends with the inanimate objects of her apartment. She wandered into the bathroom where the only movement came from her slowly leaking faucets.
“So. What’s going on in here?” Louise asked the sink. “Still keeping the pipes from bursting?”
It did not respond, and she didn’t have the energy to give it a funny little voice.
She watched the drip- drip- drip a while, oddly mesmerized by the rhythm. Despite the chill, she took off her glove and held her knuckles under the freezing water. It jolted her awake, and she regained enough sense to yank her hand back and cradle it.
Man. She really missed the internet.
The first day without power had been a breeze. Well-stocked in nonperishables with plenty of emergency supplies on hand, any survival worries rolled right off her back. If anything, Louise delighted at the mandatory day off and used at least fourteen hours to do nothing but sleep.
The second day, she realized that her phone’s data sucked, which… still wasn’t that bad. She had an apartment to herself, no coworkers and no clients to bug her or ugly office wall art to assault her eyes. Nope, she had her own perfectly curated, mismatched thrift store furniture to hold her attention. So she couldn’t watch a movie to entertain her in the interim. Big deal, right?
As her bones began to ice over on the third day, she realized it was, in fact, a very big deal.
Now, moving into the fourth day, Louise noticed the frayed edges and fading vibrance of her perfectly curated furniture. Some of the weirder pieces of decor that didn’t quite fit but held a special place in her heart now seemed dysfunctional together. Were those shades of green always that obnoxious?
While she wanted nothing more than to brave the dumb storm and make sure her dad actually closed the restaurant like he said he would (and maybe get a little free entertainment by watching whatever nutso thing her mom had no doubt cooked up to pass the time), she settled for succumbing to the stir craze and pacing around her apartment.
Again.
And again.
And ag-
An erratic knock at her door broke Louise’s focus on the twelfth lap of her living room. Maybe Tina had come to make sure she was alive? That seemed very Tina—to do something stupid out of love.
Rather than a round-eyed worrier-warrior, she opened her door to a pathetic and soaking blond.
“Can m- motorcycles jumpstart cars?”
Processing Logan’s request, she took in his wet hair but otherwise unfrozen form.
“Have you been sitting in the parking garage?” Louise asked, crossing her arms. “Isn’t that how you get carbon monoxide poisoning?”
“Answer… the question-n,” he demanded.
She opened her mouth, but her sight drifted to the bits of snow caught in his lashes. They looked so delicate on a man who was not. Reaching for his face to brush some of the ice off, she remembered herself suddenly and changed trajectories. Rather than a gentle brush, she grabbed roughly at Logan’s coat to tug him inside.
He was letting out all of her insulated heat by standing there anyway.
“Yeah, technically my bike could jump your car,” she said while closing the door behind him. “But I’m not walking out in the freeze to help you kill yourself.”
“Just this once?” Logan asked, shaking off the excess snow from his shoulders. “This seems like something you’d be into. I die. You don’t get caught for the assist. Win-win.”
“Not happening,” Louise called over her shoulder, already gone to get him a towel from the bathroom. She stuck her tongue out at the faucet, its quiet dripping ever-present, as she passed. See, someone could give her a good conversation.
She returned to the living room and indicated to his wet hair, holding the procured towel hostage until he answered her. “What happened?”
“Snow fell off the roof when I was leaving the garage.”
“You need to be more careful. It could have been an icicle.”
Logan took the fluffy blue towel from her, nodding his thanks. “Why Belcher, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you cared.”
Drying his hair obscured any view he might have of her face, and she appreciated the distraction from the subject.
They had been dancing around each other for weeks now with looks that lingered and late-night conversations that lasted too long but felt too short. It reached a point where even she could tell where things were headed, ugh, emotionally.
It scared her.
Like a corner of her mind that she chose to veer away from, she instead hung onto the small thread of hope that she imagined the whole thing and that she definitely didn’t have a crush on her rival. How embarrassing would that be? Having a crush as an adult?
His face became visible once more, the towel laying loose across his shoulders to catch any stray bits of snow he missed in the bedhead he called hair. Louise couldn’t help but wonder if he looked like that coming out of the shower.
Nope, no crush, she thought as she wrestled the towel back from him and asked, “Do you need to change?”
He blinked at her, a sly grin taking over his features.
“Oh, are you finally going to give me my shirt back?”
“I told you I tossed that forever ago.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “No, I was looking for an excuse to kick you out,” she held up the damp towel, “I’ve already done my community service for the day.”
“Well, unlucky for you, the snow just got my head.” He fluffed part of his hair then shrugged. “You’re stuck with me.”
Louise scoffed, tossing the towel into a corner and promising to take care of it later. No one had the energy for laundry during the apocalypse.
She jutted her thumb behind her, pointing to a hypothetical space through her door.
“You have your own apartment to freeze in.”
“Come on.” Logan ignored her very commanding thumb and backed further into her living room, intentionally away from the door. “You can’t honestly tell me you don’t want a little company.”
“Maybe that is what I’m saying.”
“But see the thing is? I know you better than that. You’re bored.” He emphasized the statement by pointing with his chin to the red solo cup tower she made on the coffee table during one of her lower moments.
After considering kicking the table’s leg to let her less than impressive tower crumble, she decided that was too childish. Instead, she blamed someone else for her problems. Like an adult.
“It’s not my fault the cell phone companies are evil and won’t let me stream shit,” she said with a shrug.
“Your phone battery is still alive without a car to charge it in?”
“Power banks. Guess I know what I’m getting you for Christmas.”
“Anything beats the time you got me a melon baller.”
Without permission, he directed himself to the couch and plopped down, claiming his favorite spot closer to the arc lamp he would swing back and forth when bored. And he said she was cat-like.
Louise busied herself with a trip to the closet and grabbed a couple of factory reject Christmas blankets. Hers she tossed onto her side of the couch lazily while she balled up the one for him and threw it at his head. He, unfortunately, caught it before impact.
“Where’d you get these ugly things?” Logan asked, laying the blanket across himself regardless of the misprinted Rudolph the Reindeer nightmare face.
“White elephant,” she replied as she settled in. She pulled her legs up onto the couch and curled in to use what body heat she had left. “They were the most useful presents there. My other options were one of those singing electric toothbrushes and an Aunt Gayle original from her anus period.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he hummed his approval.
“Wise choice. Not really sure what an anus period is but doesn’t sound… great. Do I know the poor sucker that ended up with it?”
“You already know it’s-”
“Tina,” they said simultaneously.
They swapped stories about their most terrible presents received, and he again reminded her of how much he loooved his melon baller and the ton of action it got in the very back of his utensil drawer.
She snickered at his sarcasm while burying herself deeper into the couch. Since her hibernation stunt, Louise had been having trouble falling asleep, but it didn’t seem an issue for her now. The couch’s soft fabric cushioned her smile as Logan regaled her with how his grandma used to always get him the same fifteen-dollar gift card to Applebee’s every year.
In the middle of storytelling, he stretched and rolled his shoulder. Louise, eyes half-lidded, followed the movement with such closeness she missed his question.
Waving a hand in front of her face, he forced her to snap back to attention.
“Hey, are you ignoring me?”
“I don’t see how I could. You’re on my couch.”
“So what’s the answer?” Logan waited then rolled his eyes and repeated himself. “You got any games?”
Louise snorted then pitched her voice to add more nasal. “You got games on your phone?”
“No,” he snickered. “I mean like… do you have any cards?”
“Loaned the deck to Gene for their strip poker tournament.”
“Monopoly?”
“With two people?”
“Puzzles?”
They both thought about that one then shook their heads in unison and said, “No puzzles.”
“Is there anything around here to do?”
“Uhhh,” she scratched her chin. “I have scrabble?”
With how hard he jolted and shook his head, she was surprised his neck hadn’t cracked.
“Absolutely not.”
“What? Why ca-”
“Trust me. There are horrors you could never know involved in scrabble.”
“Trusting you sounds like a horror on its own.”
Readjusting, Logan brought his feet up onto the couch but stretched his legs over to her side, nudging her to make room. The comments about his dirty shoes on her couch were ignored.
“Footsie is kind of a game.”
“Oh yeah?” Louise stretched her legs out to parallel his. Neither mentioned their legs tangling or how footsie would be impossible in this position. “How do you win?”
“Want me to show you?”
And it was the weirdest thing to say, but that’s what he did best. Weird lines that didn’t mean anything but felt like they did, especially when he used his stupid husky voice to say them.
He nudged her when she took too long to respond.
Straightening her back suddenly, she said, “I want something sweet.”
“When do you not?” Logan asked and got a swift kick to the thigh in response. “It’s a serious question!”
She ignored his quip and stood from the couch.
“Here,” she started and pointed at the kitchen. “I’ve got some of the powdered hot chocolate. You can have some too. I guess.”
“Huh?”
“Oh forgive me, your highness, for only carrying meager instant cocoa instead of the chocolate gold shavings you must be accustomed to.”
After a stretch and a good eye roll, she made her way to the kitchen, her guest following on her heels.
“No, I mean- wait, actually you can keep calling me that,” Logan said, and she could feel his smirk. “I kind of like it. But no, how are you going to make it?”
Halfway into her pantry for the box of hot chocolate mix, Louise popped back out and scrunched her nose.
“What do you mean? With boiling water on the stove.”
“But the power’s out?”
“We have gas stoves?”
Silence.
She straightened, finally realizing their miscommunication. The space between them felt so much larger as the pieces fit together, the gaps in their experiences wildly stretching them apart. Blinking, Louise put two hands out and tried to pause reality.
“Oh my god,” she said, concealing none of her astonishment. “Did you not know you can use gas during a power outage?”
“You’re messing with me.”
Both eyed each other in disbelief until Louise clicked her tongue and finished grabbing the hot chocolate to set down on the counter next to a box of matches.
She moved slowly and, in an exaggerated fashion, held up the match box to take one out, posturing like a magician’s assistant. Striking the match, Louise turned the knob for the stovetop then carefully brought the flame down. The ring of fire ignited.
“Oh” was all Logan said.
Extinguishing the match and tossing it in the sink, she continued to eyeball her neighbor. “What have you been eating for the past three days?”
Intentionally not meeting her gaze, he stared at the fire with a stubborn set to his jaw. He stayed like that until he finally closed his eyes and sighed.
“... I’ve been rationing my Neatza Pizza leftovers. I figured since everything’s cold it’s probably like a fridge.”
“I’m asking this out of genuine concern. Are you getting stupider as you age?”
“It’s not looking good for your old pal Logan.” He shrugged. “We always had electric stoves. I don’t know what to tell you.”
When he didn’t follow up with more excuses, she decided she ribbed him enough for one instance of ignorance. There would always be others he would take less gracefully, and those were the fires she liked to stoke.
“I guess I can’t… entirely fault you for not knowing basic survival skills.” She pointed over at the pantry. “Pull me out a can of soup.”
“Why?”
“You’re going to pass out from malnourishment.”
All the former stretches of space became much smaller again as he moved past her to retrieve the soup, placing a hand on her back to keep from bumping into her. She could feel the ghost of him even as she got a pot from her cabinet and when he passed her the can from a few feet away.
Popping the top off, she poured the vegetable and beef mixture into the pot while Logan watched.
“This isn’t as interesting as something like... a stovetop cookie,” she said, tossing the emptied can aside and grabbing a spoon. Logan continued watching despite her dismissal.
“Why don’t you make that instead?”
“I’m out of flour.”
“Ah.” He rubbed his hands together then held them closer to the stove, bumping into her as he made himself room. She almost nagged him for his lack of gloves, but he beat her to the punch. “Don’t look at me for supplies. I’m just now finding out we had a heat source this whole time.”
“I have a heat source. You go shiver in the living room.”
She nudged him with her hip towards the kitchen exit, hoping she could stir the mixture by herself and without the unnecessary… distraction. No such luck as he bounced right back.
“Sharing is caring,” Logan replied, bumping her so he could be in front of the flame.
“Good thing I don’t care.”
Again, she nudged him away from the stove.
“You’ve pushed me for the last time. I'm confiscating your warmth.”
She stilled as a pair of arms wrapped around her hips. Through their multiple layers, she could feel him all the same pressed against her back. Neither moved. He had even stopped breathing.
When she didn’t return to stirring, he almost dragged himself away, the polyester of his jacket sliding against her own to release from the hold. Her free hand shot out and grabbed at his forearm, silently asking him to stay. He did, arms locking in, and his chin resting on top of her head.
Certain he wouldn’t leave, she let go and started to stir. The soup didn’t need this much attention, but it felt… nice. The heat from the stove warmed her face while he held her from behind.
Logan must have looked ridiculous, the way he normally towered over her but now slotted in so perfectly against her back. She should make fun of him for it. It would be so easy. But she never found the words.
It was quiet for a long while, and if she had to guess she would say this is what peace felt like.
He moved again, not away, but to rest his head against her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Louise asked as he nestled further into her hair.
“You didn’t know? You lose a lot of heat in the neck,” and he punctuated the thought with what could have been a kiss, but all she could focus on was the breath ghosting over her pulse point.
Bubbling from the stove called her attention.
“Your soup is done.”
He didn’t reply as she moved the pot off the burner but relented to speak once when she nudged him with her cheek.
“… Don’t you still need to make hot chocolate?” Logan asked, not letting go.
“It’s going to get cold.”
After another moment, he reluctantly released her. She let him have the spoon she used to stir, deciding to get another for her hot chocolate.
Grabbing the handle, Logan didn’t bother with a bowl and scooped straight from the pot. He let the excess drip once then popped the spoonful into his mouth.
Her warning that it might be too hot died on her lips as she watched him deliberate the bite. He chewed for a second, paused, then started shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming speed.
“Calm down,” Louise said, a tinge of disgust hanging on her words while she gathered another pot and two packets of hot chocolate mix. “It’s canned soup.”
“It’s a hot meal,” he managed between bites.
“You and your hot meal are gonna make me sick just watching you. Go eat in the dining nook.”
Apparently, a bit of gratitude made for a more malleable Logan, who left as instructed and took his pot with him.
The spoon scraping against metal as he scarfed down beef and vegetables somewhat quieted, so Louise went back to work on her hot chocolate. She filled a pot of water to boil and watched it despite the old idiom telling her not to do exactly that. After all, if she turned, her gaze would undoubtedly end up seeking out her neighbor on the other side of the serving hatch.
Where did he get off? Holding her like that? If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up getting used to having her bones defrosted and then what would she do for the rest of this damn power outage? Maybe it did feel nice, having someone there. Maybe she did like the company. That still didn’t give him the right to come into her apartment with his words, and his face, and his arms and-
Again, ferocious bubbling yelled at her to stop daydreaming. God, how long had she been thinking about him…
Stirring in the packets of hot chocolate, she let the whopping two ingredients “get to know each other” as the cooks said then killed the heat to fill two mugs.
As a final touch, she retrieved peppermint syrup from the pantry. Louise squeezed a bit in hers and almost capped the bottle but paused. Lips pursed, she nodded and added a generous splash to his mug too. He always stole the candy canes off the tree in the lobby around Christmas time.
“Do you-” At Logan’s sudden voice behind her, Louise startled. “-ha, jumpy. Do you want me to wash the pot by hand, since the dishwasher isn’t working? Or is that another thing that secretly doesn’t need power?”
She snorted. “No, that definitely needs electricity. Just throw it in the sink. You can get to it later. In the meantime,” she held up his mug, “hot chocolate.”
Reclaiming their spots on the opposite ends of the sofa, Louise and Logan bundled under the winter blankets with only their arms poking out for cocoa.
He took a small sip of his peppermint heavy drink but pulled back to look down at his cup, registering the taste. Peering out of the corner of his eye, he took another sip, slight smile unaddressed.
Louise cupped her own peppermint hot chocolate with both hands and lifted it to her lips, the drink lighting up her tongue and warming her insides with each swallow. She sighed appreciatively.
“Thanks,” he said, and she hummed a question. “For all of this.”
“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to always bail you out of trouble.”
“But you’re so good at it.”
They talked between sips, time fading away with what remained of her drinks. Louise reached the bottom of her cup, lamenting her lack of marshmallows, when she finally noticed that the air felt a little sharper, stinging her nose to the point where she checked her door to see if it had somehow blown open. She wasn’t the only one to pick up on the change.
“Is it… cold?” Logan asked.
“It’s been cold,” she responded dryly, even though she knew what he meant.
“Yeah, but like, you know, colder?”
Louise looked out towards her patio door. Though she had insulated it the best she could, there was usually a sliver of light that peeked through. Under her scrutiny, she realized it was gone.
“Sun probably just went down.”
They pretended that it didn’t bother them, but the longer they sat still the more it seemed like the outside chill managed to break in. When teeth started chattering, Louise broke.
“Would you want…” She grimaced. Instead of finishing her thought, she gestured to her bedroom. “I’ve got more blankets in there.”
“Are you… offering to bring them out here?” Logan asked, also skating the thin ice of the subject.
“... no.”
“So what are you saying?”
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
Her mouth opened, but the words caught in her throat. They didn’t even form a full sentence in her brain, so she sure as hell wouldn’t be able to ask him what she was thinking. Out of the abstract soup that was her thoughts, she finally managed “Can you stop making things harder on me for a second?”
Taken aback, he registered her question—that sounded a lot more like a statement—slowly. He accepted it just as slowly, then his expression morphed to include an air of seriousness.
“I want to be little spoon,” he said, nodding to himself.
“What?? You’re like seven feet tall.”
“I’m six foot-”
“You being the little spoon doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t care.” Logan stuck his nose in the air. “I know what I’m worth, and it’s at least ten minutes of being little spoon.”
“Not happening. Short people only get so many privileges, and this is one of them.”
“Okay, but if I’m not the little spoon then why am I the first one in bed?”
“What does that even-”
Before she could finish, he took off to her bedroom.
Adrenaline kicking in, she shot off the couch and raced after him, laughter escaping them both in small bursts. She had to dodge his shoes as he kicked them off and considered throwing her own shoes at him as she mirrored the move.
His stupid long legs beat her there, and he was already under the covers by the time she got to the side of the bed. She didn’t pause to let doubt take over and slid in next to him.
“I win,” he said, pulling his arms up over his head, self-satisfaction pouring off him.
He interrupted his own gloating, face pinching to look at his arms. Apparently uncomfortable, he shed his outermost layer, the red puffer, and tossed it off the bed before sinking further in.
Louise pulled the covers over herself, moving to lay on her back. That seemed easier than facing the man laying not even a foot away from her.
“I hate how beds are cold when you first get in,” Louise said to the ceiling, “and you have to lay there for a bit until it warms up.”
“That’s most things though, isn’t it?” Logan shrugged and shuffled to also talk to the ceiling. “You have to jump in then adjust.”
“Some people take their time. Make informed decisions about what they want to do.”
“Those people are cowards. And probably standing around cold anyway.”
His head turned, taking in the sights of her room. He whistled, and she tilted to find him staring at the wall where her hwandudaedo was mounted.
“That’s the infamous sword, huh?”
She too admired the sharpened blade, chest puffed but shrugging to keep her cool. He didn’t need to know how many times she fell asleep smiling at the steel with its intricate inlay work.
“You’ve seen it before.”
“What?”
“That time you came over drunk off your ass. You ran in here to try to play with the sword.”
“Huh. And that’s the… only sword that got played with?” His Ow! when she hit his arm wasn’t nearly satisfying enough and she considered whacking him again, but he held up a hand in defeat. “I’m kidding, I know you wouldn’t take advantage of me. Probably.”
“I didn’t let you take the actual sword either.”
“Well, thank you. For looking out for me. You have a way of doing that.”
Only for some people. Instead of voicing that thought, she brought her hand back to her and played with the fingers of her glove.
“You really don’t remember being in here at all?”
Logan readjusted to lay on his side, facing her. He squinted into the distance then shrugged. “I remember waking up on the couch and that’s it. It’s nice. A little too much room if I’m being honest.”
“I’m not taking decorating tips from a hoarder.”
“No, I mean like-”
And he reached out an arm to her waist and pulled her closer. Her heart hammered at her chest, so she reverted to her greatest defense in a time of need: sarcasm.
“I thought you wanted to be little spoon so bad?”
“Great point,” he said and flipped over in a comically overexaggerated motion. He reached behind himself blindly before finding her arm and yanking it over his middle.
She laid there, contemplating her next move.
After a moment, she nodded and shifted to her side so that she could curl around what parts of Logan she could reach. Nestled into his back, she focused on the rise and fall of his chest beneath the arm wrapped around him.
Neither made attempts at small talk. What could anyone say in a position like this?
Much sooner than expected, she remembered a downside of cuddling, and their combined heats started to irritate her.
“Alright, back off.” She shoved at his back. “I’m gonna get sweaty.”
“No,” he said and wriggled his way into her space again. “Just take off a layer.”
She went to unzip her coat but a crucial piece of information shot to the forefront of her mind and forced her to leave the zipper high. “Actually, I’m fine.”
Logan cocked his head, looking back at her with a raised eyebrow. “You just said you were going to get sweaty?”
“I lied.”
“You’re turning red.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you- oh for god’s sake.”
Logan moved to prop himself up, reached over, and tugged her zipper down despite the hands trying to slap him away. He got halfway and stopped.
“That…”
Her face pinched as they silently took in the hard truth staring them both in the face.
She was wearing his shirt.
“Int-eresting,” he said finally.
“They say you’re supposed to wear loose-fitting clothing,” Louise rushed out and finished unzipping the coat. “It’s the loosest thing around. Don’t make a big deal about this.”
“I was asking about it before the blizzard.”
“And?”
“And it means you kept it for other reasons.”
Louise refused to entertain him, shrugging off the jacket and tossing it over the side of the bed. The urge to cross her arms and look away was strong. He didn’t give her the chance though, laying back down and pulling her over to him, letting her head fall onto his arm and giving up little spoon without a fight.
They laid on the bed in silence, neither stating the unspoken. She nestled deeper into her new cocoon now able to fully enjoy it without the additional layer. Taking her wriggling closer as permission, his other arm wrapped around her waist.
As he was known to do, he broke the still quiet first.
“You’ve got gloves on.”
“They’re my gloves.”
“Yes, doofus, you wouldn’t be able to pass off gloves my size as yours.” The arm around her waist shifted slightly, and his hand met hers. He tugged at the bulky, black material. “You should take them off too.”
“And sacrifice a single other appendage to the elements? No thank you.”
“What else is still cold?”
She didn’t answer him, opting to pull both of her hands in. His hands followed her, but she let him.
Tracing over her fingers with his own, Logan’s point became a little clearer and a little more exciting. As she opened her fists and went to remove her gloves, he stopped her. His hand slipped under one, and the chill of his fingers hit her bare skin. Much like the dripping faucet, it shocked her but in a way that made her feel alive.
He pulled the glove off, then the other, and then… they held hands. It was simple, it was ordinary, but the heat pooling in her belly absolutely wasn’t.
It stayed like that until their hands warmed, and Logan spoke again.
“Can I borrow one of your beanies?”
“That’s… the other thing that’s cold,” she admitted, still staring at their intertwined hands. “The hat doesn’t actually do much insulation.”
“What?” Logan asked then nosed under her beanie, his cheek brushing against her ear. “Jeez!”
She jerked away at the sudden noise, turning to glare at him. “Ow! Be careful, that’s my ear you’re yelling in.”
“That’s not an ear. That’s an ice cube.”
“Well, I apparently didn’t stock up on earmuffs, so I guess I’m out of luck. Did you still want a beanie?”
“No, I’m good. Not worth the trouble of getting up,” he said pointedly. Unaware of what he hinted at, it took his eyes darting down to realize he wanted her to settle back in.
With a relenting sigh, she reclaimed the arm pillow. He let go of her hand to cradle her waist, and he nuzzled into her hair. A puff of breath ghosted over her ear, and, unbidden, her entire body twitched.
They both froze, Louise hoping he didn’t notice but knowing that he did.
“What was that?” Logan asked, mischievous and giddy at the same time. When she refused to acknowledge him, he went back in, closer to her ear lobe, and—god help her—she whimpered. “Oh, you’re sensitive there? Huh… Kind of ironic.”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” she managed. “What are you doing?”
“Your ears are cold. I’m helping.” Logan continued to press her lips to her neck, his breath rolling over her skin and igniting something deep inside her. He moved up to press a kiss directly to the cusp of her ear then whispered, “Doesn’t that feel better?”
Her resounding moan might as well have been a declaration of war.
With the damning admission of her feelings, he responded in kind and doubled his efforts to attack at her neck and ear, kissing, sucking, nibbling at her like he might not get another chance.
The pressure became too much, none of her moans releasing the tension building low, and she arched her back to push Logan away, rolling over to face him.
Their panting matched each other, as did the wide eyes and desperation. Still, they stayed apart, catching their breath but not taking their eyes off each other.
“Can we… pause the game for a second?” Logan asked, none of his usual bravado peppering the statement.
“You think we’re playing a game?”
“Don’t you?”
Would it still be as fun if she admitted he was right?
“Or, how about, instead, we pretend?” Before she could refute the notion on principle alone, his head raised to signal he had more to say. “For the rest of the day, we can pretend like you’re not afraid of emotional intimacy and I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot.”
“What??”
“You’re not.” She looked down at the sheets and took a deep breath. “I mean, about some stuff yeah, you’re a huge moron, but that’s everyone. There’s other stuff you’re good at.”
“Like what?”
“Like, being better at this… emotions bullshit and knowing what you’re feeling. You’re also good at not backing down or running away. You’re coordinated. You know how to take a hit.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“It’s a good thing when you want to be around me. I used to get told that all the time, that I play too rough, but you… you could always handle it. For the most part.”
He snickered, and she finally looked back up at him. Something about him seemed genuine, even as he teased. “Awww you were on a roll, don’t try to backhand compliment your way out of it now.”
“Who’s going to stop me?”
“Well, well, well. Is that a challenge I hear?”
She rocked her hips, taking him on.
The “Oh fuck” fell out of his mouth like it had been waiting on his tongue for too long. His hand agreed, shooting up from her waist and into her hair, and pulling her to him for a kiss. Her similar habit of not backing down led her to deepen their passion until both were left breathless.
Again, they parted with matching shudders. Logan’s choke for air halfway made it out of his mouth before he swallowed it back down. He angled his chin in tiny measures but didn’t come closer even as his lips stayed parted with all the wanting and hoping neither could verbalize.
She could feel her own desire raking through her core, and she wondered if he felt the slight tremors as the longing manifested. It didn’t matter anyway. Couldn’t hide anymore.
He descended on her neck again, the other side of her now, warming her in a hurried passion.
It was so unfair that he could do this—make her feel so completely hot and wrecked and his.
But, she did have something to even the balance.
She angled to give him more room but let a whisper escape her. “So good.”
Stuck just before another bite, he stilled.
“Again,” he said, rough and desperate.
“This. You.” Her nails scratched at his scalp as she pulled him up to look at her. “It’s all… so good.”
It was his turn to whimper, but he kept frustratingly sober enough to talk on.
“Are we still pretending?” Logan asked in a leading sort of way.
“Yes.”
“Then it’s safe for me to tell you how fucking amazing you feel.” He ran his hands over her hips, emphasizing his point.
“You’re saying that because you’re cold.”
He stopped, thought for a second, then laughed in a low tone. “I forgot I was supposed to be cold.” He got close to her ear, each word sending a shock rocking through her. “You do that to me. I forget life can be cold or boring or empty.”
“I’m mean to you.”
“Who says that’s not part of the fun?”
“You’re a masochist.”
“Maybe, but if I have your attention, I’m the luckiest fucking masochist around.” His grip tightened in her hair, and she gasped in response. “You want to know what I feel?”
“No. I have a pretty good idea anyway,” she said with a pointed twist of her hips.
“Too bad because I’m going to tell you. You-”
She kissed him in a frenzy that she hoped might distract him. His hair was a mess and eyes unfocused when he finally regained his senses enough to pull back.
“Cute,” he breathed out, head falling to her shoulder. “That’s what I wanted to say. I think all of your little attempts to run away from what’s happening are cute. It’s even better because I know, Louise. I know exactly what you want.”
“Are you done,” she said more than asked and tugged his hair for a groan that sounded so sweet. “You sound too cocky for someone who is just as into me.”
At the next tug on his hair, he buckled under the weight of everything between them, collapsing next to her, eyes wide as he tried to wrestle some semblance of control back from his own desire.
“It’s too much.”
She looked at him, overwhelmed by their actions, and wondered how could devastate him further.
“Close your eyes,” she instructed.
And he did.
She moved now under the covers and positioned herself over him. Her hands came up to cup his face. His hands moved too, placing them on her hips and she let him. As she leaned in closer, his eyes remained closed. Perfect. She didn’t think she could do this with anyone watching.
“I feel like I’m on fire when I’m around you,” her voice low with want. “You make things good, and it makes me need you so bad.”
His breath shuddered, and she could see him strain to keep his eyes shut and grip tight. His hips jutted up against her.
Good.
At least for now, he was hers too.
-
The power came back at eight that night, but Louise and Logan decided they wanted to pretend for a little while longer.