Cuffing and Tree Trimming Page 2

  “Give me a second to finish up, yeah?”

  My headache blazes hot across my forehead. I don’t have time for this. I have a shit ton of work to do, a ring to report lost, and now a…a…what? What the hell is Logan except for a giant pain in my ass?

  Did I call him over last night and don’t remember?

  Shit, Max, how much did you drink?

  I replay the facts in my head – I woke up alone, and my bedroom door was closed. I think it was locked, even. My en suite was empty.

  I leave the bathroom behind, then step back inside to make sure he’s got towels. I’ve already seen pretty much everything I’m going to see, but I also don’t need him traipsing around my home buck naked, leaking water all over the place.

  “If you use all of the hot water, you’re dead,” I mumble, throwing a towel down onto the closed lid of the toilet seat. “Hurry up so you can leave.”

  Logan laughs, and yeah, it’s still a great laugh. The kind of laugh that invites you to join in, always.

  I groan in despair, head out of the main bathroom, and take some minor refuge in my bedroom. I lock the door for good measure and scramble to put my room to rights.

  I run around to fix everything, and then finally take the time to take care of my face, and my morning skincare routine. I pull on sweats, a bra, and a clean t-shirt before hiking my dark hair up into a giant bun.

  I add fuzzy socks for strength and then shove my feet into the reindeer-shaped slippers I use specifically for this time of year.

  The water’s still running when I exit my bedroom and head to the kitchen.

  Logan’s coat is draped over my couch, and the pillows are all out of place, so it stands to reason that he slept there last night.

  I frown at the bathroom door, the water still running in there.

  So he’s purposely trying to steal my hot water and ensure that I kick his ass out of here as soon as he comes out. Typical.

  I make a giant pot of coffee that should get me through the day and open my fridge to check my energy drink supply. Today’s going to be a long day of work, I just know it.

  Once I get Logan out of here.

  The bathroom door opens behind me, and I’m not stupid enough to turn around. I’ve watched all the movies, and I have a romance novel collection that if it weren’t for my eReader, would have felled an entire forest. I’m not falling for that trap.

  “Am I supposed to talk to your back, or do you want to do this like adults?” Logan asks. Even his tone of voice irritates me.

  Logan Porter was nothing more than a series of bad dates, and a one-night stand that never should have been. I had my fun, and he was supposed to be someone I forgot.

  Then why is his number still in your phone, Max? Why did you call him last night? Why can’t you stop thinking about him?

  I wish I knew what happened last night. It’s all grainy and fuzzy, and nothing wants to come into focus.

  I ignore him in favor of grabbing some water and washing down a couple of ibuprofen tablets. That done, I whirl around to look at him.

  He’s running the towel through his long, dark hair, droplets falling onto the shoulders of what looks like a thermal shirt that’s pretty much hanging onto his body for dear life it’s so tight.

  Ah, one of my weaknesses. Men in thermals.

  I don’t stand a chance.

  I cross my arms over my chest, bite my inner cheek. I sigh. “What are you doing here?”

  Logan moves slowly as if he doesn’t want to spook me. He moves to one of the stools at my kitchen island and makes himself at home. I grind my back teeth together, praying that the pain meds I just took start to take effect real soon.

  “Max, you invited me here,” Logan says, his dark eyes wide and maybe something like sincerity, but I’m still hungover and I don’t trust my judgment just yet.

  I shake my head. “Why would I go do a stupid thing like that?”

  Logan frowns, then drops the towel on his lap, one hand splayed on my counter. He looks at me for a few seconds too long, long enough to make something twist in my chest.

  “You called me to the bar you were at last night,” he says, keeping his voice low, his tone careful. In contrast to his calm demeanor, I’m the one that’s starting to freak out. I even take a step backward and hit my fridge.

  “Did we… did we have sex last night?” I stammer, heart, beating triple time.

  Logan groans in annoyance and shakes his head. “Of course not. You were drunk. I slept on the couch, Max.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, pointing in the direction of the couch.

  I raise my eyebrows at him, at his reaction. I rub at my forehead, then pull on my earlobes.

  “When did I call you last night?”

  “Hold on, you’re telling me you don’t remember anything?”

  I nod slowly, squinting at him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Logan looked disappointed. I guess he was waiting to score some kind of jackpot this morning, but all I want is my greasy food and to watch V for Vendetta until I feel better.

  Logan laughs. He laughs, and I hold myself tighter. “Well, I can’t say you’re not at least partially clairvoyant or some shit,” he says, leaving the kitchen stool behind and grabbing something off my couch. He resumes his seat and places his phone on the counter between us.

  Logan accesses his voicemail and I hear my voice, clear as day, if a little spacey, coming over the speaker.

  “Max, Max,” I hear my own name, in my own voice. There’s no music in the background, so there’s no mistaking anything I’m going to say.

  “We – well, I – called Logan here, and Max, this is the dumbest idea in the world, but who cares, who cares?

  Mom and Dad are already pissed about everything we do – I do – so like, what have we got to lose, huh? Vick and Amber, they’re happy, and we’re…It’s our only chance, Max, seriously.

  I can’t go through another Christmas with Mom and Dad being dicks. I can’t do it.”

  I roll my eyes. Drunk Max is super dramatic.

  “So I’m telling you this because we agreed to it, Max. We’re not drunk yet, we’ve had two glasses of wine. We’re fine. We did this with sound mind and body, okay? Give Logan a chance. At least until Christmas is over.”

  The voicemail recording ends, and I’m left looking at Logan with about a million questions, but I don’t know where to start.

  I breathe in deeply. “What the hell happened last night?”

  Logan slides his other hand across the counter, but I keep my arms crossed. I’m in the middle of a fight-or-flight response. I’m stuck between running away or putting my fists up.

  “I honestly thought you would remember,” he says, keeping his voice calm and soothing, but I don’t want to be soothed. I want answers.

  My stomach hurts, and there’s a heavy weight on my chest as I wait for the other shoe to drop. He’s going to tell me something horrific, I just know it.

  “If I don’t get answers soon, I’m going to start chucking all my candles at your head. Explain.” I glare at him, grinding my teeth.

  “We talked you and I, last night. We talked about everything.” Is that hope in his eyes? And why is he looking at me like that?

  I squint at him. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Why would I call you? Why would even talk? There was nothing left to say. We went on, like, three dates,” I sigh at Logan’s silence. “Remind me what we said, then.” I look around for one of my candles just in case I don’t like what I’m about to hear.

  Logan drops his eyes to the counter, dances his fingers across the surface.

  I rub my forehead again, trying to stop the headache.

  “Do you remember when we went on those few dates, earlier in the fall?”

  I roll my eyes, and shit, that hurts, too. “Yeah. I remember that. We didn’t mesh, but we had our fun.”

  Logan nods, like he agrees with me, not like he’s trying to placate me.

  “I like your place,” he say
s, glancing around. “It looks like a Christmas Town threw up all over.”

  “Stop trying to change the subject, would you? My brain hurts, I’m hungry but also nauseated enough to yak everything up. What has any of this got to do with what happened over the short period we dated and last night?”

  Logan blinks at me, looking almost…hurt. “You really don’t remember anything about last night?”

  I shake my head. “I remember getting to the bar. The music was shit until they started playing that 90s stuff, and the night got better after that.”

  “What about me? Do you remember me showing up?”

  “Are you telling me that I called you and you just appeared?”

  Logan coughs into a fist, looking away.

  Well, shit, I’ll be damned. Logan Porter looks uncomfortable.

  Huh.

  I panic again, stomach rolling. “We didn’t have sex, right?” I ask again, needing to make sure.

  Logan shakes his head. “No, no. I promise you we didn’t. I stayed out here, and you pretty much locked your bedroom door.”

  I nod, because yeah, that sounds right.

  Everything is so fuzzy this morning, and now with Logan here, I don’t know what’s up or down. Have I skipped timelines or something? Have I slipped into an alternate reality?

  Who freaking knows?

  “So you showed up for a booty call,” I say, waving a hand around. “What happened next?”

  “We were talking,” he says, eyes tracking over the back of his hands instead of looking at me. I look down at them, too, trying to figure out what’s so interesting about his hands, and the rings he’s wearing.

  I groan. “Seriously, Logan, this is bullshit. Just tell me already.”

  Logan glances up at me, dark eyes intense. I stay rooted to my spot, unease trickling icy cold in my chest, an invisible fist gripping it tightly. I don’t even want to breathe in case I miss what he’s going to say next.

  Logan licks his lips, lifts his head, and straightens his posture, making himself look bigger. “I’m the reason why that ring is on your finger.”

  It takes a second to sink in, for me to connect the dots, but when it does, all I can say is one word. “No.”

  Logan nods. “Yes.”

  I shake my head, feel the world tilt on its axis until I can catch myself with my hands on the counter. “No. No way. I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

  “I don’t think it was stupid,” he says, and I glare at him.

  “I’m not asking for your opinion.” When I can stand up straight on my own, I clap both hands to my face, shame and embarrassment burning hot in my belly. I pace the kitchen, then pivot to pace it again. “There’s no way I did this. This is a next-level fuck up, even for me. Oh my god, what will my parents say?!” I groan.

  My mind’s starting to buzz with thoughts, and questions, and possible solutions on how to fix this problem, how to make it go away.

  “We can get it annulled, right? Pretty sure that’s a thing. Shit, I didn’t think I would have to know that, what the reasons are valid for a marriage annulment.”

  “Max, Max,” Logan calls, and I turn to him. He pushes his stool back and stands up, towering over me.

  Did he really have to be so big? And would it kill him to crouch so I feel like I have the upper hand?

  “We’re not married,” I tell him, cutting a hand across the air. “We’re not.”

  Logan raises his eyebrows, and there’s a tilt to his mouth that could almost be a smile. “I’ve got court documents that say we are.”

  Pressure builds in my head. I clap my hands over my ears, trying to stop myself from listening. “We can’t be married. We can’t. I don’t even love you or believe in marriage.”

  “What?” Logan asks, but I wave off his question.

  “I can’t deal with this right now, I really can’t. You need to go, Logan. Seriously, you need to leave.”

  “We need to talk about this. We said so much the other night, and you told me things, and I told you things. That’s why we did this, Max. We talked about it.”

  I drop my hands, clench them into fists at my sides. My whole body aches, and I’m not at a hundred percent to fight this fight.

  “We talked about it?! For what, like an hour? You don’t make this kind of decision in an hour, Logan! I don’t even like you,” I hiss, scowling at him, hoping he can’t tell that I’m lying my face off. “And I don’t know why you’re here.”

  “You invited me in last night after we got married, and then you might have barricaded your door,” he says, crossing his impressive arms across an equally impressive chest.

  Now is not the time to notice that shit, Max. Focus. You have to focus.

  “I honestly can’t do this right now. You need to go.” I wave my hands towards the door, shooing Logan in that general direction.

  “I think I’d rather stick around with my wife.”

  I gasp so loudly and quickly that I start choking on air, practically coughing up a lung. “Don’t call me that! Don’t ever call me that!”

  “I’ve got a fancy government paper that says I can,” he grins at me, showing off the single dimple he has.

  I wave my hands in front of him, shake my head. “Nope. I’m not your wife. I’m going to fix this. This never happened. I’ll get it annulled; you’ll see.”

  Logan grins, and icy fear slithers and slides across my heart. “Yeah, good luck with that.” He takes his time glancing down at a simple white gold band on his left ring finger, admiring it.

  I bite my inner cheeks, trying to keep myself from screeching.

  “I guess I’ll see you later, wife,” he says, and I do yell this time, pretending to Sparta-kick him from all the way in my kitchen as he makes his way over to my living room.

  What’s worse? The asshole just laughs at my rage, like I’m being cute.

  I’ll show him cute when I launch a candle at his head.

  But first, I have to figure out how to annul this marriage, preferably before my cousins get here, before they find out about the worst mistake I’ve ever made in my entire life.

  And I’ve made mistakes — I didn’t blend out my loose powder under my eyes once and walked around outside like that. I looked like I had a wad of snow sitting on my face for no good reason, or that I fell face-first into some powdered doughnuts or other illegal substances.

  I fume as Logan grabs his coat from the couch, pulling it on glacially slow, smiling at me as I stand there, keeping my hands clenched tightly into fists. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’m liable to tackle him to the ground and start throttling him.

  Then you’d have a dead husband on your hands and a police investigation. That will ruin Christmas for sure.

  Logan checks his pockets slowly, double-checking that his wallet is where it’s supposed to be. He picks up his phone with his left hand, the wedding band glinting in the light, a constant reminder of what I’ve done.

  What we did.

  I want to go hide under the covers and go back to sleep. I want to pretend that none of this has happened. I want to pretend that I have my shit together and that I didn’t take a hard right off the path in the direction my life was going.

  “I’ll call you later,” he says, flashing another grin as he pulls on his boots. I stand at a safe distance and watch him open my front door. “Wife.”

  I start running but end up colliding with the door, practically bouncing off it while I can totally hear Logan laughing on the other side.

  Why did I go and marry a guy like him? Why did I do that?

  I flop down on my couch, then spring back up as if encountering boiling water. The blankets I usually snuggle in smell like him, the woodsy cologne that I always loved if it didn’t come with Logan’s personality.

  I work the rest of the afternoon to get rid of all traces that Logan was in my home – I wash my sheets and pillowcases, along with my nesting blankets that sit on the couch. I clean my kitchen counter, making sure that whatever sur
faces he touched are clean and proper.

  To soothe myself, I light all my candles, and soon my home smells like a peppermint sugar cookie, and my world feels a little bit brighter, happier.

  I flop back onto my couch, twisting the ring on my left hand, turning it and turning it, tugging at it gently every time only to find that it’s not budging.

  I research how to remove a ring that doesn’t want to be removed, mounting panic sitting in my chest like an inflating balloon, expanding and expanding until it gets hard to breathe.

  I bounce on my toes when my phone rings later that evening, appalled that my cousins are going to find me tonight with this stupid fucking ring on my finger and demand explanations that I don’t have.

  Explanations that I, too, would like, but Logan’s being an obstinate asshole, and I can’t deal with any more confrontation today.

  Plus, I’m hungry and irritated, and the world feels like it’s falling apart.

  What in hell would possess me to marry a guy like Logan?

  Did Logan offer me money to marry him? I don’t need it.

  Was I duped by his wonderful companionship? I’d rather run through a wall at full speed and be smushed cartoon-style because I need Logan in my life like I need a hole in the head.

  I buzz my cousins in, my left hand wrapped in a tea towel, hiding that it’s slicked up with butter.

  I grin nervously at the pair of them, wave awkwardly.

  Vick points at my left hand, toeing off her sneakers. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

  I hide my left hand behind my back, squeeze my eyes shut. I shake off the nerves and embarrassment as much as I can.

  “I’m trying to get that ring off,” I say, the whole truth wanting to come out. I snap my mouth shut, keeping it locked inside.

  Amber and Vick share a look, and I die a little on the inside, knowing I’m already caught. I can’t keep a secret to save my life.

  “Please. You’re lying about something, Max. Spill it,” Amber says.

  THREE