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A few days later and it’s beginning to feel like we’re getting back to normal. Just when she’s moving out.
It’s going to feel so strange not having her here, although I won’t miss her leaving her stuff lying around. Small piles of shoes, bags, or clothes slowly building up into bigger ones until they become a trip hazard.
Though more than anything what I’ll miss is the way her presence and personality filled the whole apartment with warmth and joy. She turned my cold, minimalist space, which often felt more like a hotel suite, into a home.
That first week when she moved into my spare room, I was counting down the days to when she would go. But at some point, I lost count. And the last couple of weeks had me even wishing for another extension by Katie’s tenants, just so I could have Allie sleeping in the room next to mine for a little longer.
The faint sounds of her getting ready for bed at night would filter through the walls while I lay in my room. It was strangely calming like my own version of counting sheep.
I’ll even miss those nights when my imagination couldn’t avoid thinking about her undressing, slipping on a pair of those silky pajama shorts with funny animals on. Nights when I had to pump out my frustration onto the shower tiles before I could settle back down and sleep.
But now, the only thing I’ll be left with is the silence echoing throughout the rooms. My single black coffee cup in the dishwasher and takeout for one.
Maybe occasionally she’ll join me for a meal or invite me over to hers.
Chapter nineteen
Allie
The sexual tension between Logan and I these last couple of days has been palpable. With no more threatening texts, he hasn’t hugged or kissed me. In fact, he’s barely touched me. It’s like he thinks he needs an excuse. He doesn’t. I want to feel his lips and hands on me again along with a whole lot more.
Instead, we’re living in the land of denial and have become experts at pretending the sexual tension swirling around us doesn’t exist. That the accidental touching of our hands when he passes me a glass of wine, or a mug of coffee doesn’t set my body on fire. Or the slight brushing against each other as we move about in the kitchen doesn’t make me want to beg him to take me right there on the cold granite counter.
It’s frustrating.
I don’t know why he’s putting this physical distance between us, but if it’s what he wants, I’m not about to throw myself at his feet begging for more orgasms, no matter how tempting the thought. He’s the one who put the brakes on us, so he can be the one to make the first move.
With a satisfied sigh, I close the lid on another box of photographic equipment, not bothering to tape it up this time. Moving is a drag, even if it’s just across the hall. But one quick glance around the room tells me I’m nearly done. Or am I? Because I appear to be riding a wave of clothes, bed linens, and cushions that could at any moment dump me on the floor. How did I manage to accumulate so many things in just six weeks, especially when I knew I’d be moving again? Organization has never been a strong point, that’s Katie’s role in our friendship group, but this chaos I’ve created is something else.
Logan is right; I do have a lot of things. I fold another one-off designer silk dress and place it in the basket I’m using to move from this closet to the larger one in Katie’s apartment. Packing, then unpacking for such a short move feels ridiculous honestly. Thankfully, Katie’s place has plenty of storage space, and that massive walk-in closet will even be big enough to hold all of my clothes.
From a coat hanger, I unhook the wool knit dress I wore to dinner with Logan the other night. It will forever hold memories of those moments on the sofa when he made me feel like I was his world. I hug it to me briefly, even though it’s been cleaned and no longer bears his rich woody scent. This is a new low, desperately searching for the smell of a man in the fibers of my clothes. Disgusted with myself, I fold it roughly and drop it on the top of the basket. It’s a good thing I’m moving into my own space because wanting Logan but not having him is becoming harder.
The man in question strides back in the room and I quickly fold another dress, adding it to the growing pile. Logan insisted on helping me move, but the way he is looking at me now has me thinking he regrets the offer.
“I swear you have even more stuff than when you moved in.” He looks at the remaining few boxes on the floor by the door and the basket I’m currently filling.
He picks up a box of books, then says, “Load me up with another box.”
“Are you sure? Those books are heavy.”
He tilts his head to the side and sighs out his exasperation. “Just do it, Sunshine.”
I laugh and pick up another box and plonk it on top of the one he’s already holding. I watch his biceps bulge with the strain. Maybe I should give him another one to carry because those arms are panty-dropping gorgeous.
He smiles when I don’t hide my appreciation, then turns and leaves my room. The pull of muscles across his back is equally impressive. Ever since our sexy times on the sofa, it’s been a struggle to get thoughts of naked Logan out of my head.
I pick up a box and follow him from his apartment the few short paces across the hall to my new place. Most things are going in the spare bedroom where I can sort through it before filling the closet. We return to his apartment and repeat the process a few more times until we are on the last load.
He bends in front of me to pick up the last of the heavy boxes, then turns to face me waiting for the smaller one beside it to be loaded on top. I pile the box on, then say, “Wait.” A basket filled with colorful bundles of lace and silk underwear is the perfect thing to put on top. Right under his nose. I’m not adverse to pushing his buttons with a little temptation.
He looks down into the basket, then back at me. “You’re kidding me.” I can almost see the memory of my red lace underwear flashing through his mind.
I laugh, then pick up the final box. “Let’s go,” I say with a cheerful grin. He can barely see over the top of the basket as I lead him out of the empty room.
“This lot can go into my bedroom,” I tell him while we walk the short distance. He bumps his shoulder against the doorframe on the way into my new bedroom, and one of my French silk G-strings falls out.
I pick it up. “Logan, please be careful with my lingerie. It’s the best money can buy and even if you’re not interested, I’m sure you can appreciate the value of a quality item.” He stares at the pale-pink piece of silk dangling from my finger. I place the G-string back on top of the basket he’s still holding in his thick muscled arms.
