Pistol Whipped - Ashley Bostock Page 0,12
causing what little of the beer remained, to foam up. “Back to my idea.”
Logan wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her idea…all that it may be. He could feel something stirring in the pit of his stomach as he considered it. She was pretty lit at this point and he, more than anyone, knew of the crazy-assed ideas she could come up with.
One being, when they went down to New Mexico and she insisted they try Salsa Night Out. They had taken the night’s beginner lessons and had done a pretty good job of dancing. Until she thought they should join the performance dancers up on the bar like Coyote Ugly. She had taken off her shoes but the minute she tried crawling on top of the bar, bouncers had escorted them out. When she went for her shoes, she could only find one shoe. The next morning at their hotel, he had gone to find them breakfast, well it had been lunchtime when he rolled out to find them food. He had pressed the button for the elevator and once it finally got to their floor and dinged open, low and behold, her lost shoe was sitting all alone inside the elevator. It was the strangest thing ever. Like, someone had set it there on purpose and knew that he would be the one to find it.
“What’s your idea?” He cringed guzzling a long swallow from his beer.
“You have sex with me.”
Chapter Seven
Logan spewed his beer all over his couch. “What?”
“Now hear me out, Logan Anthony Reeves. You would be the perfect choice. I trust you. I know you wouldn’t get me pregnant.” Gabbie set her beer down and looked at Logan. Yes, she was buzzed—but this would solve all of her problems. It really would. She liked Logan, he was hot—everyone knew it—she trusted him with her life. What could be better? They could have sex, just once, and she would feel like a new woman again. Not to mention the fact it would hold her over for another few years. “Don’t look at me that way. I’m not so drunk to know this could work for me.”
“I don’t even know what to say. I’m shocked.”
“Don’t be. Friends have sex with each other all the time. Sober friends, drunken friends…don’t they? Yeah, friends with benefits! I knew there was a name for it. We could be friends with benefits for just one night. No one would even have to know except us.”
He sat there in silent contemplation. His brow was furrowed, which meant he was actually thinking about it. “Why, Gabbie? Don't give me this bullshit about how you trust me, you don't want to get pregnant. What’s the real deal?”
The real deal? She could never tell him where her real fear came from. He would never think of her the same.
Aside from that issue, there was so much pressure involving sex when it came to two people who were attracted to each other—she should know—she did marketing for this for her store—what to wear, how you smelled, smiled, if you shaved, and those were only superficial aspects. There was most definitely the trust issue, whether he really believed that or not. What else was there? She couldn't very well tell him that he made her feel like a million bucks when he saw her in the red get-up. But there was that. And there was the simple fact that if she were honest with herself, she could admit that she was scared of the fact that she had no idea what she was doing.
Logan could teach her.
“The entire truth,” well most of it, anyway, “is I’m scared to have sex because I'm afraid that I'm not very good at it. And I need someone to teach me.” She hung her head in shame.
“Gabriella, listen to me. Please listen.”
She looked up at him then. She could see the pity in his eyes. Beautiful. Just what she needed. Her best friend feeling sorry for her. She could see the no and the but coming.
“Hey, listen to me.” He grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers between hers. “I'm flattered that you would even consider me. You are drunk. The Gabbie I know would never ask me this. Ever. I know you’ve had too much to drink. Maybe you just haven't met the right man yet. Trust me, you won't be afraid when you know it's right and you will be good at it.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, my