Logan
Wild horses couldn’t drag me away
Frankie
I’m leaving the hospital now
Logan
I’m calling an Uber, see you very soon
CHAPTER 22
FRANKIE
I press my palm against my stomach, trying to calm the butterflies rioting there as I check Logan’s progress.
The traffic in LA is my mother’s number one reason for not visiting more often, and my father hates it so much that perversely, I don’t mind it. Except tonight, when it seems like Logan’s inching his way toward me, and I’m painfully aware that our time together is super limited.
I married someone who I won’t see again for four or five months.
I smooth my hands over my cut-off shorts and think about changing again. I’ve already changed three times. Maybe yesterday I was subconsciously wanting to test his tolerance for post-shift Frankie, but tonight I want to look nice for him.
But then he texts that he’s a block away, and it’s too late to fourth-guess my outfit.
I open the front door as Logan’s getting out of the backseat of the car. He slings a duffel bag over his shoulder and waves, giving me the same lopsided smile that undid all my objections to staying married.
I wave back, suddenly-tongue tied.
God, he’s so big as he pushes through the little gate in the fence around the front yard and crosses to the porch in what feels like a few long strides.
“Hi,” he says as I step back, letting him inside.
I smile like an idiot. “Hi.”
We stand there for an agonizing beat, just looking at each other. He’s wearing joggers and a long-sleeved t-shirt, both soft and touchable, and all I want to do is leap on him, but I’m frozen. His gaze does its own assessment, trailing over every inch of me and then back up again to my face, his attention as hot against my skin as if he’s actually touching me. Then he drops his bag and closes the distance between us. His hands come up to frame my cheeks, warm and sure, and suddenly we’re breathing the same air. His thumb strokes along my cheekbone.
“I missed you,” he says quietly. “Is that okay to admit?”
I laugh. “I missed you, too.”
And then he’s kissing me. His lips move against mine. I thread my fingers through his hair, and our tongues meet.Oh, hello husband.
I still can’t get over what we’ve gotten ourselves tangled up in, but kissing this man? This part is so natural, so easy.
I love the sounds he makes.
And I love his taste.
But most of all, I love how he seems to sense my need, and how his whole body responds to it, curving over me, around me. Kissing me deeper and deeper, until we’re both making sounds that are usually reserved for the bedroom.
Veryglad I asked for the whole house tonight.
When we finally break apart, his chest heaving, my whole body shaking, he rests his forehead against mine.
“I’ve been thinking about doing that all fucking day.” He drags in a breath. “I’m going to do it again in a minute, too.”
Laughing again, I tug him into the living room. “How was the rest of your day?”
