“A shower, huh? You know,” she says casually, “I just got a second showerhead installed in my shower.”—and there’s nothing casual about the end of that sentence—“I always see it in the movies, these incredible-looking showers with a million showerheads, and I was like, why can’t I have that? And then I realized, I absolutely can.” She grins. “So I called a plumber and he came by last week and installed it. I can’t even describe how amazing it is. Water spraying you front and back? It’s glorious.”
Annnnnd my dick is semi-hard now.
I’m not about to get all self-judgy, though, because one, I haven’t had sex in almost three months, and two, when a beautiful woman is talking about her shower, there’s something wrong with you if your brain doesn’t conjure up the image of her in that shower. Naked. With water spraying her—front and back.
“You should come over and check it out sometime,” she says, and her wink is about as subtle as a slap on the ass.
Hesitation rises in my chest. Any other time, I’d invite myself into her shower in a heartbeat. But I’m still holding on to hope that Grace might…might what? Text me? Accept my apology? Even if she does, that doesn’t mean she’ll want to go out with me. Hell, why would she? She wanted to fuck me and I rejected her.
As my silence drags, Tori lets out a sigh. “I’ve heard the rumors about you, Logan, and I’ve gotta say, I’m disappointed that they’re not true.”
I narrow my eyes. “What rumors?”
“You know, that you’re sex on a stick. Up for anything. Good in bed.” She gives me a sassy grin. “Or maybe all of it is true, and you’re just not into older women. But I’ll have you know, I polled some friends and they all concurred that a six-year age difference does not make me a cougar.”
A laugh pops out. “You’re definitely not a cougar, Tori.”
“Then I guess I’m not your type.”
My gaze wanders over the perky tits beneath her tight shirt and the shapely legs that go on forever. Not my type? Yeah right. She’s exactly the kind of woman I’m normally attracted to.
So what the hell is stopping me? Grace? Because after months of radio silence, maybe it’s time for me to finally take the hint.
“Naah, that’s not true,” I say nonchalantly. “You usually catch me when I’m distracted.”
“Hmmm. Well, are you distracted now?”
“Nope. In fact…” My gaze lingers on her chest again before meeting her eyes. “I could really go for a shower.”
17
Logan
July
Garrett surprises me by showing up at the garage on a Thursday night with pizza and a six-pack. I don’t see much of him during the summer, what with me living at home and him working sixty-hour weeks at a construction company in Boston. We text here and there, usually about the NHL playoffs. We get together to watch the Stanley Cup game every year, which we did last month. But for the most part, our friendship goes on hiatus until I head back to Hastings in September.
I’m happy to see him, though. I’d probably be happier if he hadn’t brought beer, but hey, how is Garrett supposed to know that my father whipped a beer can at my head this morning?
Yup, shit got real today. Dad threw a can and a tantrum, which resulted in me nearly taking a swing at him. Jeff, of course, broke it up and played peacekeeper, before dragging Dad’s drunken ass home. When I popped in for lunch, the old man was drinking Bud Lights in the living room and watching infomercials, greeting me with a smile that told me he’d already forgotten what had happened.
“Hey.” Garrett strides up to the Hyundai whose brake pads I just replaced and gives me a macho man-hug that involves many a back slap. Then he glances across the room at my brother. “Jeff, my man. Long time.”
“G!” Jeff sets down his socket wrench and wanders over to shake Garrett’s hand. “Where the hell have you been hiding this summer?”
“Boston. I’ve spent the past two weeks slaving away on a roof with the sun beating down on my head.”
I grin when I notice the sunburn on his nose, neck and shoulders. And because I’m an ass, I lean in and flick the red patch of his skin on his left shoulder.
He winces. “Fuck you. That hurt.”
“Poor baby. You should ask Wellsy to rub aloe on your booboos.”
He gives a wolfish smile. “Oh, trust me, she has. Which already makes her a way better roommate than you.”