Page 90 of Meet Me in the Valley
“You’re going to regret that, minx.”
Tossing his phone on the bed, he cages me with both of his arms by my head, pinning my hips down into the mattress so I can’t escape. A fit of giggles flutter through me, and he swallows them all with a punishing kiss. I have at least three different maneuvers I can use to get out of this position, but I don’t care to use them.
I love the way he claims me with his mouth. I love the way he nips my lips and tickles my neck with his teeth, making me laugh harder than anyone else can.
I’ve never experienced happiness like this. The phrase “It’s too good to be true” lingers like an incessant mosquito buzzing around in my ear. I want to slap it away and shut it up for good.
This is Logan. Not the Logan everyone else knows. I have to believe he’s different with me, that the feelings he conjures in me are unique to us. Sex like thathasto be fueled by things greater than lust.
Is it so wrong that I believe it’s all driven by love? Love that Logan has for me? More than friends?
Maybe this is nothing more than a mirage — a fleeting dream in the Nevada heat, where we burn bright in Vegas, only to vanish the second we leave its spell. We can’t stay here forever, no matter how badly I wish we could.
I’ll deal with the fear of losing him tomorrow, because tonight?
I belong to him.
A faint rumbling stirs me from my deep sleep, waking me slowly as I feel each section of my body come to life. I wiggle my toes, stretch my legs, and flex my arms until my eyelids finally peel open. My mind trails slowly behind my body as consciousness hits me.
I smile inwardly at the delicious aches blooming over the entirety of me, reminding me of my night with Logan. Throbbing between my legs makes my face heat, and a soreness in my lower back has flashes of me arched in ecstasy at the way Logan claimed my body from behind.
Vibrations coming from my purse rip me away from my illicit thoughts as I swing my legs off the side of the bed. Four in the morning. Who the hell is calling me at this hour?
Panic immediately sets in, spiking my heart rate and pricking my skin like a thousand little needles. I do my best not to jostle Logan awake as I scramble to get to my phone.
Oh, god. What if it’s Mom? Or Dad? Or Nora?
It’s dark in the hotel room with only the light from the Strip filtering through the large windows. I stumble on the way toward my purse, tripping over piles of clothes. A loud whack sends sharp pain shooting through my knee and out from my heel, lighting my leg on fire from hitting the shit out of it on the corner of the couch.
“Shit fuck,” I mutter, hobbling and bent over while rubbing circles around my aching knee.
Finally, I dig my phone out and see my mother’s picture fill the screen. I’ve never answered a call so fast in my life as my hands tremble, clutching it to my ear.
“Mama? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” I try not to talk too loud, but Logan’s ocean sounds drown out the shrill in my voice. My hand splays over my naked chest, and I do my best to slow my breathing before I pass out.
“Nora? Oh, I’m so happy you answered. I miss you,sayang.”
Cold air washes over me in an instant. A gush of air escapes my lungs, leaving me breathless and stock-still. The hand not holding the phone flies over my mouth as I cover a sob, and I slowly fall to my knees.
It’s like I’m hearing Mom’s diagnosis all over again, but this time it’s so much worse. It’s real. More real than I could ever be prepared for.
Is she forgetting me? Deep in her subconscious, am I fading and the only child she seeks comfort from is my sister?
My mom called me Nora once before, and it tore me apart. My dad assured me he’d take care of her, and that associating me with familiar people in her life is a common symptom of her illness. It’s not anger I feel toward my mother over the fact that she calls me my sister’s name.
It’s the pain and sadness I feel for not being able to bring her daughter back to her.
I failed.
I came here to convince Nora to come home, and instead, I got myself tangled up in the webs of Logan and the whirlwind evolution of our relationship. I ignored the pain my sister has brought on my family—my mother—and fell into bed with my best friend to forget it all.
The guilt rising from my gut churns like rough waters within me. I swallow it down.
There are two options I’m left with: Indulge my mother, or correct her.
Both hurt and will leave me bleeding—a painful double-edged sword.
“Hi, Mama. I miss you, too. So, so much.” My voice falters, clogging in my throat with thick anguish.
