E. Montes - Perfectly Damaged

“You’re right, I wouldn’t harm you,” I say. “I like you too. A lot.” I smile.

“Why?”

I shrug. “I’m curious about what goes on in that beautiful mind of yours.”

Jenna rips her stare away, the corner of her lips twisting down into a frown. “Trust me, there’s nothing beautiful hidden inside my mind. Nothing worth telling and nothing worth knowing.”

“I disagree.”

She blows out a long, heavy breath, as if fighting back an urge to argue with me. “Well, let’s just agree to disagree, shall we?”

“Okay.” I don’t push her. “So how was your date?” I had to fucking ask. It’s been killing me the past hour.

She chuckles. “My lunch date with my father didn’t go as well as I’d planned.”

“With your father, eh?” I can’t lie; this news makes my ears ring with happiness. “That bad?”

“Here’s the thing: I’m close with my father. I have a bad relationship with my mother, ‘mommy issues’ you could say. What I thought was going to be a great lunch with my dad turned into a lecture about my relationship with my mother. So yeah, that bad.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Thanks.”

I wet my lips, hesitant to ask this next question, but decide to go for the plunge anyway. “That morning I found you by the street corner in your pajamas, was that about your mother too?”

“Yeah. Something like that,” she whispers.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’d rather not. Thoughts about my mother put me in a bad place. I don’t want to go there, especially not right now.” Jenna looks over, a delicate smile etched along her beautiful, pale face. “I’m having a good time. I don’t want it to be ruined.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Huh?”

Fuck.

Did I just say that out loud? Yeah, I did. Oh screw it; I might as well own up to it. “You’re beautiful, Jenna. I’m a man and I’m not afraid to admit when I’m lucky enough to look at someone as beautiful as you.”

She doesn’t say anything, just stares back at me, her expression unreadable. Did I cross a boundary here? Should I not have said anything?

Jenna

My mouth has gone dry. Logan thinks I’m beautiful. Great. Just great. Exactly what I don’t need. He’s a great guy; I can really tell.

You know how there’s that one person who stumbles into your life and you instantly have a connection with them? Someone who’s a genuinely good person. Someone you just know you can build a great bond with, and it doesn’t have to be in a romantic way either. It can be with someone you have no attraction to whatsoever, you just instantly recognize something in them and they in you. Like in another realm, in another life, you were meant to be together in some way. Whether with a mother, daughter, sibling, best friend, or romantic partner, it’s a strong, unexplainable connection between two individuals.

That’s how I feel with Logan. But instead of being platonic, the attraction between us is undeniable, which makes it that much more difficult to ignore. The pull, the tug, the electric current charging the air between us… It’s constant. And I don’t need it. Not now, maybe not ever.

“Logan,” I start.

“Wait. Don’t say anything. I get it. I just wanted you to know you’re beautiful. I wanted you to hear it for yourself. I understand you just want to be friends. I understand this isn’t a date, and I understand you don’t care to ever go on one with me.”

“That’s not true. It’s just…” I sigh and shake my head. This is so frustrating. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Yeah. I want you to be.”

“I’m not exactly dating material.” I laugh at how ridiculous I sound. “It’s me. Seriously, it’s not you.”

“Oh no, not the good ole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ spiel. I’m kind of shocked, Jersey. Usually that talk comes after people have started dating. You just like being ahead of the game?” He chuckles.

I don’t find it funny. “It’s not a spiel—I’m serious. And it’s not just you—it’s anyone. I’m not dating material for anyone. I’m—God, this is so hard to say.”

“Then don’t say it. I get it.”

“No, you don’t.” I shake my head, fiddling with my fingers as a way to distract my thoughts. How would he look at me if I told him the truth? Could he handle it? “I have issues, Logan. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Just plain old emotional issues.” I settle for that because he’s not ready to know about me and I’m not ready to tell him.

“I can handle issues, Jenna.”

My head twists to look up at him, and I smile softly. It’s nice for him to say that, but I know the truth. “Not my issues. Just trust me on that.”

Gripping the chains of the swing, he stomps his foot to the ground and pushes, slightly lifting his feet and leaning back to gain momentum. “You know, if this were a date, I’d feed you this long line of cliché bullshit about how everyone has issues and there’s someone out there, regardless of what you may think, who can handle anything you’re dealing with—because maybe that person needs you just as much as you need them. And then, my cliché bullshit would probably touch you somehow, make you feel some type of emotional connection with me, and possibly make you swoon, which would only allow me to go in for the kill and kiss you. But like I said, that’s if this were a date. Since it’s not, you’re not so lucky.”

I let out a hard laugh, rolling my eyes playfully. “Thank God this isn’t a date. You saved me from your long line of cliché bullshit.”

He chuckles. The corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly when his mouth spreads into a white, toothy grin. Those strong, chiseled features…they’re kind of gorgeous.

God.

I like him. Logan. I like that he’s not so intense. I like that he knows when to stop asking questions. I like how he turns a serious situation around and finds humor in it. I like his silly personality. I like that he’s funny. I like that he makes me laugh. I like the crooked grin he gives me when he’s being cocky. I even admit that I like that stupid Phillies baseball cap he wears all the time. It looks good on him.

Dammit.

I just like…him.

“Have I told you I was the fucking king of the monkey bars back in preschool?” he asks.

You see what I mean?

I bite my lip, resisting the urge to just melt for this man. He makes me feel young. I know that may sound ridiculous because I’m only twenty-one, but the past few years have aged me in inexplicable ways. But Logan, he makes me feel my age. I feel vibrant and alive when I’m with him.

I shake my head to answer his monkey bar question.

“Well, allow me to show you the moves that earned me the title.”

He stands from the swing, reaching his hand out to me. I look up, smile, and grab it. The palm of my hand meeting his is a welcome sensation, and our fingers lock between one another’s. We walk and I silently note how small my hand is in his large, calloused one. It feels perfect. It feels so right. It feels like they belong together.

Two lost pieces of a puzzle, finally meeting their match.

I’m so screwed.

* * *

Logan’s truck slowly approaches my house. It was getting dark out, so we decided to call it a night. I’ve learned a bit more about him this evening, which only makes him that much more appealing to me. It’s scary how two people can so easily fall into the get-to-know-you process, where they confess all these things they’ve never told anyone else. Except there’s one tiny issue—a secret one of them is afraid the other might be turned off by. That’s my reality. And I’m sure Logan has a secret too. He has to, there’s no way he’s the perfect guy he portrays himself to be. There’s no way he’s this open and honest about himself. He must be holding something back, just like I am.

Rocks crunch under slowing tires, truck shifts into park, a seatbelt clicks.

I look over at Logan. He twists in his seat to face me, a smile set on his face. “So, I had fun.”

I match his grin. “Me too.”

“What are your plans for tomorrow? I’d like to hang out with you again. Like around five, since that’s when my shift ends. It’s not like I have a far drive to pick you up or anything.”

Laughing, I unbuckle my seatbelt, eyes still on him. “Well, if you were paying any attention over the past three hours, you’d remember that I have no life since I don’t work or go to school. So yeah, my plans for tomorrow will probably be sitting by the pool or hanging in my room, watching awful reality television.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Yikes. Bad reality TV is a waste of life if you ask me. Why do that when you can be doing something much more fun?”

“As in?”

“As in hanging out with me tomorrow. Same time. What do you say?”

I hold back a smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.” God, he’s so damn good-looking.

I tear my stare away, my eyes focusing on a small photo hanging from the rearview mirror. I didn’t see it before. Then again, I wasn’t really paying attention. I reach out and grab it, leaning in to have a better look. It’s a picture of a younger Logan with his arms posed wide open and a big goofball grin on his face. I can tell it’s him. He looks slimmer and shorter, but it’s definitely him with those same vibrant blue eyes. Beside him, posing the exact same way, is a guy a bit taller and more muscular than Logan. The unknown guy is wearing a Phillies baseball cap—an exact replica of Logan’s. “Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at the guy in the picture.

“That’s my brother, Sean, wearing his favorite stupid hat.” My stomach sinks. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I feel like an ass. Pushing down my fear of making a fool out of myself, I look back at Logan. His smile is still there, just a bit wider. Reaching up, he tugs the rim of the cap. “Which is now my favorite,” he adds.