Page 85 of Here We Go Again
Logan blows a giant raspberry.
“Do you think maybe we could try to have a grown-up conversation for once?”
Logan doubts it, but for Rosemary’s sake, she tries. “When my mom left me, and I became so bitter and cynical. I’m so afraid of anyone ever leaving me again, so I always leave first. I walk away from friendships and girlfriends and anything remotely real.”
Rosemary threads her arm through Logan’s and pulls them closer together on the bed. “I know you do,” she whispers. “I was there, remember? I saw what your mom did to you.”
Logan closes her eyes and sees an image of eleven-year-old Rosemary, saving her from the grief and loneliness after her mom left. “I try so hard not to care too much about anything,” she confesses as she opens her eyes again. She looks down at the small woman clinging to her side. “But I’ve never been able to stop caring about you.”
Rosemary props her chin on Logan’s shoulder and glances up at her with so much cautious optimism in those blue eyes. “Never?”
Logan snorts unattractively. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been Prince Zuko–level obsessed with you for the better part of twenty years.”
Rosemary frowns. Logan wants to trace the unhappy lines of her face, brush them away like powdered sugar. “You’vehatedme for almost twenty years.”
“Exactly! I cared about every little thing you did! I couldn’t stop obsessing over you. You were always there, even when you weren’t. You… you’ve always been in my orbit, like the world’s most irritating moon. But I didn’t hate you. Not really.”
Rosemary sits up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and that sweet gesture is enough to push Logan to keep spilling all her secrets. “I love the way your mouth puckers like a cat butt when you’re thinking really hard, and the way you click your tongue when you’re trying to censor yourself. When we were apart, I missed your stories and the sound of your voice and the way you never mademe feel like I was too much. I missed dreaming with you. You’re so passionate, and you care so damn much, and you fight for what matters, and I never should’ve made fun of your binder, because that’s how you show people you love them. And Joe is so lucky to have your love.”
Rosemary’s mouth goes full cat’s asshole, and Logan has spent her entire life wanting to kiss that puckered mouth. “So… you’re saying you…likeme?”
Logan laughs at the utter disbelief in her voice. “Yes, Rosemary, I like you. I like you very much.”
Rosemary shakes her head like she can’t quite believe it, and Logan has a horrible thought. “Wait. Do youhateme?”
“I wanted to,” Rosemary confesses. “Itriedto. Hating you always seemed so much safer than the alternative.”
This small confession feels like a huge miracle. Logan has been such an ass, and still, Rosemary doesn’t hate her. Still, she finds room in that secretly huge heart to care.
“The sex last night… it felt different for me,” Logan tells her. “Or maybe it wasn’t even about the sex. It was all the non-sex parts. Talking to you and teasing you.Seeingyou and letting you see me. When you opened up to me about your romantic history. The intimacy of it, and the way you let yourself love your body in that tub.”
“I might be new to the whole concept,” Rosemary says nervously, “but I thought those things were all part of the sex?”
“They aren’t usually for me,” she says.
“Oh.” Rosemary’s mouth relaxes. Logan still wants to kiss it. “What did you mean earlier, at dinner? About trying?”
Logan’s stomach turns, and she’s not sure if it’s from excitement or in absolute horror over what she’s about to say. “I mean, I like you, and I think you like me. So maybe we should just… try to do this.”
“Do what, exactly?” Her eyelids flutter against her cheek, andLogan can’t believe she ever convinced herself she hated this lovely woman.
“Be in like with each other,” Logan tries. “And just… do things that people who like each other do. I know I’m a fuckboy, and that I have a history of hurting people, but maybe I want to try not to hurt you.”
Rosemary is still and silent, and the stomach flutter is definitely horror.
“I mean, if you’re even interested in something like that. I guess I don’t know if you even want a romantic relationship. Not that this would have to be arelationship, but, um—”
“Logan,” she says quietly. Rosemary reaches up and touches two fingers to Logan’s lips. And then she kisses her again. Their mouths meet, and a thousand feelings roar to life in Logan’s body. Longing and tenderness. Safety and security. Nostalgia. So much fuckinghope.
This kiss is pure sweetness, like an adolescent kiss in a garden.
When Rosemary pulls away, Logan feels like she’ll never be able to breathe. Rosemary reaches toward the stack of towels on the edge of the bed and grabs the mints on top. She pops one mint into her mouth and hands the other to Logan. “Eat this,” she orders. “You taste like beef brisket.”
Logan giggles hopelessly. She sort of loves it when Rosemary bosses her around, so she eats her mint, and Rosemary starts kissing her again with the same slow, steady sweetness. These aren’t the kind of kisses Logan is used to. Kisses as foreplay. Perfunctory kisses before the real action, Logan between some gorgeous, anonymous woman’s thighs.
But Rosemary might be the most gorgeous woman she’s ever seen. And she’s kissing Logan for kisses’ sake, kissing her like the kisses matter in and of themselves. As if she wants and needs nothing more than soft mouths and gentle tongues.
And Logan kisses Rosemary like she fucking cares.
