We took our time finishing that next round, but my head was still spinning when we got up to leave. The little redhead at the bar glared at me. Elsa grinned and waved. I barely noticed. Logan had his hand on the small of my back and that was all I could think about, how it felt pressing through my thin blouse. I could feel the heat of his skin as he rubbed his thumb in small, slow circles.
We slipped outside. It was still pretty early and the street was full of people, strings of twinkling lights, and the sound of mariachi music spilling out of other establishments. The humid air smelled strange, like hot sidewalk and spicy food and the tangy brine of the sea.
He lounged against the wall and pulled me in close, half nuzzling my throat and half swaying to the beat of some faraway song. He didn't try to kiss me but his hands were on my hips, possessive and familiar. Like how a man holds a woman when he's thinking about how she's going to feel under him. I liked it.
Logan nodded to some nearby steps leading up to a second floor. There was a long walkway and doors with numbers and peeling turquoise paint. The feel of his breath against my ear made me shiver. "I have a room up there." I could hear him swallow and I liked that he wasn't so certain of my response that he'd take me there without at least asking. "You wanna come up?"
I shook my head 'no' and felt him sigh against me. His breath was warm and smelled good, like smoke and desire.
"You sure?"
The touch of hopefulness in his voice made me smile. I nodded.
His breath came out in slow heave. But he still didn't let me go. "You want me to walk ya back to your room?" There was no more hopefulness now. I could tell by the slight sag of his body that he was disappointed - and still aroused - but he wasn't petulant or pushy. His thumb was still rubbing circles on my skin. Neither of us was quite ready to give the other up just yet.
I shook my head 'no' for the second time.
This time he huffed frustration. "What the hell do ya want then?" I almost laughed. Red or white... all men have that same look when they are exasperated and trying to work out exactly what a woman wants.
"A walk on the beach." I was twenty before I first saw the ocean. The power and grandeur of it still affects me profoundly. I wanted to clear my head a little. And I also wanted to just be a woman walking alone in the dark with a man like Logan.
He tipped his hat to me and offered his arm with a slow smile. He still wanted to spend time with me even after I'd turned him down? How many men do you know like that these days? He really was something else. Looking back, I think it was that exact moment I changed my mind about waking up alone.
His phone trilled while we walked the last few blocks to the beach. He fumbled with it a moment and then grimaced when he saw the display, cursing softly under his breath as he turned it off and pushed it deep into his pocket.
"Work?" I ventured, hoping some crisis wasn't going to call him away just when I'd changed my mind about how I wanted this night to end. At least, I think I had. I was starting to feel more and more like maybe this was one memory I wasn't ready to walk away from quite so quickly. One night might not be enough. I sighed. Damned Musquash... they can't ever stop that busy part of their mind, always planning, saving, wanting more when they're not even through with what they have already.
He shook his head. "No."
"Girlfriend?" I asked, thinking a man like him was bound to have a long trail of broken hearts behind him. I suddenly felt uneasy for having asked, but I'd rather know now than later. I make a good lover— but a lousy mistress. And I hadn't said 'yes' yet. I suppose a lot depended on his answer.
He sighed and shook his head. "Old ghosts, you know?"
"I do." I breathed in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Your ex?"
"Not exactly. It's... complicated."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You ever have that one where it's never really done no matter how fucked up things get?"
"Kinda." I nodded. "Noah Cutknife. I was nineteen. He used to park on the road to my house and sit on his tailgate playing mournful songs on his old guitar after we broke up." He also took a knife and dug out the heart we'd carved into the old bridge that we used to make love under— but I didn't tell Logan that. A little bit about your past is good in the beginning. Too much is just... too much sometimes.
Logan winced and chuckled. "That's pretty bad."
I squeezed his hand and rolled my eyes. "You should have heard the songs!" Or seen what he carved into that old bridge after he'd cut out the heart and initials we'd scratched in it with and old car key. It was the first time I'd ever been afraid of a man.
We were high school sweethearts. He was my first love. Ten years had passed since then, but we'd never really let all of each other go. You never do with first loves. They always own a piece of you.
He laughed again but soon fell quiet as we took off our boots and walked along the edge of the water. I liked that he wasn't embarrassed about looking silly as he took off his flannel shirt and rolled up his jeans to join me in the sea as it swirled around my knees. The bottom of my peasant skirt got a little wet but I didn't care. The damp cloth felt good against my skin when the warm breeze blew.
We played in the waves for a while and then went back to walking along the hard packed sand, just at the water's edge. Logan was walking ahead of me. The stark white of his tank made his shoulders seem impossibly wide against the starry night sky. He had a beautiful body, strong and solid. He stopped and looked out at the sea, bending to pick up a stranded starfish before throwing it absently back into the deeper water. My grandfather would have approved. He stood there for a long time afterwards, still and quiet. Alert. He seemed to me to be both powerful and yet somehow alone. Timeless.
Mahihkanak.
The wolf.
I am not so arrogant to think I knew what spirits were guiding him. But he seemed like a lone wolf to me then. And I knew what whatever spirits he heard just then were speaking loudly. Perhaps the call had stirred them. Or perhaps it was something more. I didn't know him well enough to guess.
I touched his arm. "What are they saying?"
Logan gave me a funny look. "Who?" He shrugged and scoffed. "The voices in my head?"
The tone of his voice made me feel bad for him. White men had a more difficult time listening than most. I just shrugged. "If you want to call them that."
He huffed and looked back over the water, turning a smooth black pebble over in his fingers. "I was thinkin' about fate."
I smiled into the darkness. "I don't believe in fate."
"Me either."
The set of his shoulders was stiff. Defiant. I felt like he was daring me to contradict him. Foolish man. Real answers never come that way. But somehow I think he knew that.
"What do you believe in then?"
I heard an old man's words coming out of my mouth; words someone had said to me once. Was this growing up? I had a sudden longing for home that even the grandeur of the sea couldn't quell. Just what did a man like him believe in?
"Love."
His answer surprised me. I think it surprised him too. It was one of those moments that was almost too honest; somewhere between painful and awkward. That place where real truth lives. I was not so foolish as to imagine it was a reference to me— but it filled my heart with a warm glow all the same. How many men in this jaded world believe in that kind of love anymore? Fewer still can speak of it so candidly, without embarrassment and with genuine emotion.
He turned to look at me. His green-gold eyes glittered in the moonlight. "What do you believe in, honey?"
"Spirits. Circles. Walking a good road."
His arms slipped around me. "You sure you're on a good road now?"
I rested my hands on his shoulders and looked up into his face. "I think there must be a string of broken hearts on your road."
He shrugged. "Nope. Just one."
Just one heart cut over and over.
His.
It suddenly all made sense. The way he was with the women at the bar. The flash vulnerability I'd seen in his eyes. He didn't want to get hurt again. He had a tenderness underneath that rough, masculine shell. And it seemed once he let someone in, once they touched him, he felt things profoundly and was easily moved. I wondered about the woman who'd cut such a strong man so deeply.
There was a story there.
History.
I could see the weight of it on him. He carried it in the lines in his face and the heaviness in his spirit. It was considerable, but it hadn't broken him. He stood against it resolutely, defiant to the end. It resonated with my own streak of stubborn pride. Imagine that? The wolf and the muskrat finding common ground? I felt a smile rise as I turned my face into the wind.
His eyes were on me, missing nothing. He liked what he saw. So did I.
The smile touched his mouth now, too.
Our fingers touched. I took his hand in mine and pulled him towards the dunes.
Up next: The Sand. Ya'll know what's comin' next. (Do you even need a teaser?) Alrighty, then: Stars, sweat, salt and sand under the Strawberry Moon...