AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And I know I can’t compare with those socialites and models he spends his evenings with.
But we can help each other. Maybe just be friends.
No, I could never just be his friend. I feel sick just thinking about it.
I remind myself that, as far as Logan knows and will ever know, I’m a stranger who made use of his charity, nothing more.
After he leaves here, we’ll probably never see each other again. His charity has a presence in several cities on the East Coast, and he’s always busy fundraising or partying, orbeing with other women.
Heck. I can’t stop.
“I wanted to call it Never Again,” he goes on. “But we all know the name wouldn’t fit. The sad fact is, this happens all the time. We do our best to prevent it. We try to offer help to people who may accidentally become hit-and-run killers one day, whether through addiction programs or counseling.”
Counseling. The word brings me back to college when I thought helping others would be the driving force of my life, not this endless staring at myself, wondering when I’ll stop feeling like a zombie.
Logan makes me feel pretty freaking alive, my heart hammering, my body tingling with want. But there’s little else.
“The cold reality is,” Logan goes on, “this will and does happen far too often. That’s why I want to encourage you to come to these support groups whenever possible. It’s very difficult for other people to understand, having everything you hold closest, everything you love taken away likethat.”
He snaps his fingers. His words are bouncing around my head.
Everything he loves, everything he holds close….
Of course, that’s going to include his daughter and his girlfriend. But the thought still makes my belly get all twisted up.
What do I want, exactly, for this celebrity playboy to forget about the perfect life that was taken from him and choosemeinstead?
When Logan ends the speech, providing information about the upcoming meetings, I clap along with everybody else.
I feel my hands clapping together far harder than they need to, slamming, and my palms hurting.
With each clap, a memory triggers.
I’m in bed, endlessly cycling through photos of Logan.
My hand is sliding down over my belly, between my legs, as I stare hard at the photo and make myself believe it’s real until it’s like he’s right there with me. As I indulgently rub at my soaked core, I forget for brief minutes. Nothing else matters.
Then the orgasm will pass…and the pain will return without him there to hold me and kiss me tenderly.
Maybe it alwayswill.
Maybe this fixation on Logan is some sort of distraction, a way to convince myself, oh, Icouldbe happy if only I had Logan, which is impossible…so maybe, overall, I’m giving myself an excuse to mope and pout and hate life.
Jane would say I need to cut myself some slack. I honestly don’t know.
I thought Logan would leave after the speech, but then I notice an older woman with colorful clothing directing people to carry the chairs to the edge of the room.
Music has started playing softly, and the woman raises her voice over it.
“For those who don’t want to hang around for soda and snacks, we completely understand. Not everybody will be ready yet.”
Several people file from the room.
I step aside, my gaze following Logan as he carries six stacked chairs across the room, handling them like they’re toys. He’s rolled his shirt sleeves up, showing the tautness of his forearms.
“Hey.” The organizer approaches me with a smile. “Sorry I didn’t say hello before. I’m Trixie.”
I return her smile as best as I can, attempting to push down some of this tension, this want, the whole confusing mess of it.
