The Fine Line (12 page)

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

He gave me a slight nod, keeping his eyes on mine, as I was pushed upward with each breath he took.  We were frozen, immersed in each other’s eyes.  His hand slowly inched its way from my lower back, and up to the back of my neck, causing my body to pulse.  Then he closed his eyes and dropped his head back to the floor.  He took a deep breath in and stayed that way for a moment.  When he opened his eyes, they seemed to have a glimmer, and a mischievous grin crossed his face.  He had regained control.

“We better get you up so you can clean up this mess you made,” he teased.  Then he gently pushed me off him and stood up, pulling me with him to a standing position as if I was light as a feather.   

I breathed deeply.  “I was just defending myself.”  My voice had come out more breathy than I anticipated.  It must have caught his attention because it caused him to turn his head to look at me with a thoughtful expression, just before it quickly turned into a slight smile.

“Don’t worry, Liv,” he said, as he pulled me into a hug.  “I’m not going to let you do it on your own.”  Then he kissed my forehead and released me.

Chapter Thirteen

My head pounded as I rose from my bed.  After six consecutive sneezes and a number of nose blows, I realized I would be out of commission today.  There was no way in hell I was going to sit through school feeling like this.  Too lazy to move, I reached for my phone and texted my mom to call the school.  I knew she was downstairs getting ready to go to her day job, but I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. 

Knowing how rare it was for me to miss school or work, she texted me back.

No prob. Feel better.

After calling Frank’s to let them know I wouldn’t be at work tonight, I plopped back on my bed and drifted off to sleep. 

A familiar tune woke me a few hours later.  It was the B.B. King song that Logan sang in his car two months earlier.  He had programmed the song and his picture into my phone the night I fell asleep in his apartment.  Into his phone, the same night, I had programmed a picture of myself with my fingers in a peace symbol in front of my face with Katy Perry's song "Last Friday Night."  I smiled as I took my phone and looked at the overly sexy face he made for my phone picture.  

“Hey.” I answered.

“Hey…who is this?” he replied with a confused tone in his voice.

“It’s me.  How do you not know who you’re calling?” I attempted to laugh, but it came out as a cough.

“Holy shit, it doesn’t sound like you.  Are you okay?” 

“I’m sick.  I’m home, wallowing in my own misery at the moment.”  My voice sounded like a man’s. No wonder he didn’t recognize me.

He paused for a moment, and I wondered if he was really concerned about me.  If he was, he made sure not to let on.  “Playing hooky, and you didn’t tell me?” he teased.

“Yeah, it’s a big party over here.  You’re sure missing out.”  I took my glass of water from the mounding pile of tissues and cough drop wrappers and tried to take a drink. While holding the phone on my face with my shoulder, my other hand messed with my iPod, attempting to turn on some music.

“I’m just teasing, Liv.  I was going to ask you something, but I’ll wait until you’re feeling better.”

“SHIT!  DAMMIT!  Logan, I have to go.  I just spilled water all over myself.”  I hung up, leapt out of bed, and headed towards the bathroom to get a towel.  My hand held on to the door frame as a massive head rush ensued, and I reminded myself never to do that again. 
Never spill water on yourself.  Never get up that fast when you are sick. 

I figured since I was already soaked, I may as well take a shower.  And holy hell, it felt good.  I let the hot water massage me and the steam clear my sinuses until the hot water ran out.  As I stepped out of the shower, I heard the doorbell.  Still relaxed and not wanting to rush, I ignored it.  Then there was a knock.  Annoyed, since I was in no mood to be in a hurry and the only people who would knock on the door in the middle of a weekday were sales or delivery people, I quickly wrapped a towel around my wet hair and a bathrobe around my body, stepping out of my self-made sauna into the frigid air of the hallway. 

Goosebumps prickled my body, and a shiver ran through me as I peeked through a closed window blind to see who was at the door.  Logan stood in the icy rain, waiting, holding a white paper bag in one hand and a white plastic bag in the other.  A smile formed on my face as my annoyance instantly turned to contentment. 

When I opened the door, he looked down at what I was wearing, then up at my head, and I remembered I had a towel on my head.  I quickly took it off, instantly realizing how horrible I must look with my tangled wet hair now stuck to my face.  Not to mention my sick, puffy, makeup-free eyes. 

Logan just stared at me, making me feel even more self-conscious.

He pointed at me up and down.  "You shouldn't answer the door like that.  I could've been anyone.  There's a lot of douchebags out there, you know." 

"What do you mean?  I'm completely covered!" 

He sighed and shook his head.  "I know, never mind."  His expression changed to compassion, and he walked through the door, passing me, and headed toward the kitchen.  After he laid the bags on the table, he began to empty the plastic one.  An assortment of boxes and bottles were lined up on the table, all different kinds of cold, cough, and flu medicines.  The final thing he pulled out of the bag was a box of Puffs tissues. 

"If you're not into drugs, there's a bunch of herbal crap here too," he informed me as he pointed to the non-pharmaceutical vitamins and remedies. "The lady at the vitamin store was incredibly helpful."

I'm sure she was.
  Logan never had any problems getting women to "help him" with things.  I glanced down to see Echinacea, Elderberry, and Thyme supplements next to a box of “Breathe Easy” tea.  I silently stared at the assortment, shocked, and not sure if I should laugh or cry.  It may have been the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. 

"What's that?" I whispered, pointing to the white paper bag.

He opened the bag and pulled out a Styrofoam container with a plastic lid on it.  "This..."  He lifted it up and proudly pointed to it.  "This is the best chicken noodle soup in the city."  Then he began to tell me about a restaurant that his family used to go to before his dad died and how his mom would get take-out chicken noodle soup from there every time he was sick.  It was the first time he talked about his mother. 

Maybe it was my feeling like crap that made me so emotional, but tears began to creep up behind my eyes as I thought about how incredibly considerate it was for him to do all of this for me.  I had become accustomed to taking care of myself.  It had been a long time since anyone took care of
me.

I quickly pushed the tears back and walked a few steps over to Logan, placing my arms around him, inside his unzipped leather jacket.  With my head on his chest, I squeezed him tightly.  "Thank you," I croaked, my voice still manly.

He didn't hug me back at first.  His hand was still holding the Styrofoam container in the air, but I didn't let go.  He was so warm.  I wished I could smell his intoxicating scent, but my nose was too plugged up. 

Maybe it was the combination of my headache, congestion, and muscle pain that had invited this moment of emotional weakness.  Whatever it was, I just needed to be close to him.  He slowly placed the chicken soup back on the table and wrapped his arms around me.  He rested his cheek on my head and breathed out, letting his body relax.  "You're welcome, Liv."

A moment later, he released me.  “Now that you have everything you need, I expect a full recovery within twenty-four hours,” he instructed, as he let go of me and began walking towards the door.

“You’re leaving?” I asked.

“Yeah, I was going to…”

“Stay,” I cut him off.  “I mean, you can stay if you want to.  I was going to watch a chick-flick, but we could watch something else.  Or do something else.”  He cocked an eyebrow and smirked.  I knew what that look meant.  “Jesus, Logan!  Not that!  You’re such a damn flirt.  Never mind, go if you must.”

He laughed.  “Hey, you said it, not me.”

“I meant play cards or something, you dope.  As if you’d even consider doing anything with someone who looks like this.”  I pointed to my makeup-free face.  “All puffy eyed and sickly.” 

His eyes widened, as his smile faded.  Then with a serious expression, his intense gaze locked with mine.  “Are you kidding?”  He paused and began looking around the room as if he were struggling to decide if he wanted to say what he was thinking. 

Then, he stepped towards me and placed his fingers under my chin, forcing me to look up into his contemplative eyes.  “Trust me, Liv.  I’ve considered plenty when it comes to you.  I consider you every damn day, actually.  And you look fucking hot as hell right now which baffles the shit out of me considering you
are
sick.  In fact, you in that bathrobe, with your wet hair is making me consider taking you right fucking here.” 

He took me behind the neck and pulled me closer with one hand, as he used the other to grab my bathrobe tie. His face was only inches from mine.  His voice lowered.  “But I’m not going to do that because I know it’s not what you want.”  He hesitated and took a deep breath.  “That’s not what you want…right?”

Holy crap. 

My cheeks burned as I watched his eyes darken.  My skin flamed, and the tears I had pushed back began to creep up again.  Thoughts were not forming in my mind, let alone words.  All I could do was feel, and I’d never felt so wanted.  My body wanted his.  He wasn’t letting go, and I didn’t want him to, but was I ready for this?  Did I even know what I wanted? 

I knew I cared about him too much to hurt him—or be hurt by him—but the way he was looking at me washed away any bit of sense I had.  I breathed in and bit my lip as I placed my hands on his abdomen, then slid them around his sides, under his leather jacket and up his back.  He slowly began to pull at my bathrobe tie as I brought my lips closer to his. 

Then, I sneezed. Three times.

A look of remorse overcame him as he let go of me.  He quickly grabbed the box of tissues on the table, opened them, and handed one to me.  I sneezed into the tissue two more times.  Then, just when I thought it was over, I sneezed again.

When the sneezing fit was finally over, I looked up at Logan’s distressed face.  We both knew the moment was gone and there was no coming back to it now.  Not knowing what to say or do, I felt a smile form on my face, and then a small giggle came out of me.  It was my typical inappropriate subconscious escape method for uncomfortable situations. 

His expression turned to one of fascination as he grinned.  “Oh…I’m sorry…is this funny to you?” he joked. 

“Come on, you have to admit, it’s a little funny.”  I held up my thumb and pointer finger in reference to the ‘little’ as I continued to laugh.  “I must’ve looked like a fool with all that sneezing.” 

He took my hand and pulled me into a hug.  “I don’t think you could ever look like a fool, Liv.  Adorable, yes.  Fool, no.”

“So, do you want to stay or not?”

He paused.  “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a chick flick.  If you still want me to stay, I’d be happy to watch one with you.”

I looked up at him with a smile and nodded, then we went to the couch.  He took his jacket off and sat down while I sifted through DVDs.  “You say ‘fuck’ a lot,” I informed him, not really sure why I felt the need to blurt that out in that particular moment.

He let out a single laugh.  “Well, you sound like a frog,” he retorted.

After inserting
Dirty Dancing
into the DVD player, I went to my room to get dressed, deciding on an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants.  I slicked my damp hair back into a bun.  When I came back, I stopped and inwardly chuckled.  Logan’s expression as he watched the beginning credits of the movie was one of annoyance mixed with boredom.  He clearly was not the chick-flick type, and it warmed my heart to know that he would watch one with me.

I sat down on the couch next to a TV tray that had been set up with the box of tissues, the chicken soup, no longer in the Styrofoam bowl but a regular one, and a glass of white soda.  Logan must’ve set it up while I changed into my clothes. 

He was taking care of me.

“Hey, Logan?”

He turned to look at me.  Afraid to say the next thing, I hesitated.

“You…you mean a lot to me.  You know that, right?” I asked.

His piercing eyes looked into my soul in that moment.  He could look at me in a way nobody else ever could.  Words were irrelevant.  It didn’t matter what I said, he knew what I needed, what
we
needed.  And we needed to keep our friendship intact at all costs.  It was too important to screw up.  Simply nodding, he said nothing.

“Thank you for this.”  I motioned to the soup and the TV, but I meant much, much more. 

Chapter Fourteen

The freezing winter wind burned my ears as I walked to my car.  Relieved that school was over for the day, I collapsed into the driver’s seat of my car and threw my backpack on the passenger seat, quickly closing the door.  I turned the ignition, but the only thing I heard was a click.  I tried again, and nothing. 

What the hell?

I pondered what could possibly be wrong for a few minutes, but nothing came to me.  Logan would know what to do.  I texted him.

Car won’t start.  What do I do?

After a moment, the B.B. King song played on my phone with Logan’s picture lit up on it.

“I’m stranded!” I answered.

“I thought you were a car expert.” 

“I knew one thing about one car!  That’s it!  Help me!”

What happens when you turn the key?” 

“Nothing.  It clicked once, then after that, nothing…”  Then, as I looked at the little knob attached to the left side of the steering wheel, I realized what the problem was.  “Oh, SHIT!”