Aftercare

The following is an excerpt from a developing novel, “Top Shelf Whiskey,” and includes details that refer to earlier story that may not be evident. For previous drafts of other chapters, visit the fiction section of this website, though please understand these samples remain unattached and have likely been revised since the their original posting. The promotional image was developed with the help of AI. However, all writing is excruciatingly original. Feedback via comments/messages very welcome. Thank you!

She spent too much time recalling the effects Wes Enberg had on her body. And when stuck on the notion, she reminded herself it wasn’t a two-way street — that he probably wasn’t thinking of her nearly as much. Logan hated how accustomed she’d become to the faint bruises left where he’d manhandled her when they had sex, or the areas of mild soreness over her scalp where he’d tugged on her hair. She didn’t know why she let it happen, and she didn’t know why she wanted it again. Because the only thing he’d been attentive to was her body. The only thing he spoke of in late-night texts was her body. 

It had been a few months after she first went home with him, and the balmy winter finally turned bitterly cold. She had hoped for memorable exchanges with him. Ones that’d be indicative they were headed somewhere other than to bed together. The newsroom was quiet, and the room settled as the ads staff was out at lunch. Todd wasn’t in yet. And Angela was off on assignment. But Wes was there, seeming to concentrate fervently on the agate page until the clicking of his keyboard stopped. His eyes wandered up toward the ceiling, deep in thought for a moment. And then, his eyebrows raised crookedly, and he took a breath before speaking.

“Where do birds—” he stopped. Turning his gaze straight at her, he tried again. “Where do birds actually go when they fly south for the winter?”

Logan guffawed but her smile sprung back. He was serious. They usually didn’t talk much at work, and if they did, she didn’t expect the subject matter to be so random. 

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“I mean where do birds go when they fly south? Like how far south is south?” He folded his hands and leaned over. 

“I don’t know. Never thought of it like that. It’s just something birds do.”

Wes wasn’t satisfied. “It’s just there’s this bird that is still chirping early in the morning outside my house, and it’s loud. And shouldn’t it be south by now? It’s February.”

The printer at the back was buzzing. She’d been working on the paper’s template page designs when he first spoke and stood up to get the copies being spat out. “I’ll get it,” Wes said, floating her pages out over the island of desks moments later. “So … birds.”

He was quick to keep her focused, and she nodded in thanks, sitting back down. “You’re concerned about the bird outside your window? I don’t really understand.”

“It’s really loud!” He laughed suddenly and exposed to her a glimpse of his molars at one side of his mouth. “Why is it still here!”

Wes pressed and curled his lips, seeming to enjoy her reaction. Logan buried her face in her hands, softly chuckling. “That is the weirdest thing a person could ask!”

“But don’t you ever wonder where they go and where they come from?”

“Not really. But we’re south of somewhere. Maybe that bird of yours came from somewhere really north of here. Maybe this is its south.” 

Wes sat looking at her. Their laughter quieted, but he held a smile a few more seconds before he shook his head. “Well, Corporate, looks like you’ve got all the answers.”

“Where did that even come from?”

Lounging back into his chair, he said, “I’m a deeply complicated man. I’m sure you’ve figured that out.” He’s fucking with me. Why is he fucking with me?

Just then, the bell rang as someone pushed through the office’s front door, and they held their gaze a moment before dropping it altogether and turning back toward their desks. Todd strode over and took his seat beside Wes, reaching to the back of his Mac to press the on button. It’d take nearly fifteen minutes before Todd broke the silence with a joke. 

***

Wes’ instructions had been clear, albeit brief. “I wanna c u in a tight dress … so I can tear it off,” the text said. Logan got it as she pulled her car up to her apartment. She’d even held her phone a moment in her hand, letting herself feel excited — he really wants to see me, she’d thought — before swiping to see the message’s contents. It filled her with a nervousness that both enthralled and riled her. She wanted to see him. And she needed to get that want out of her system. 

With just a few minutes, she surmised, she briskly headed for her closet. It was half full of things she never wore, but she knew there was a dress that’d work. It was charcoal gray, cinched along the waist and under the bosom to tighten material around her body’s curves. She bought it for a wedding but picked something more weather appropriate one winter in college. Its straps were her favorite. They were strung with a thin band of lace over the shoulder, meeting at the back in a deep vee. Wes probably wouldn’t notice the straps, or how soft and stretchy the material was. But this one thing could be for her.

Dress on, she positioned herself before a mirror, briefly regretting canceling her Snap Fitness membership. Running her fingers through her hair, she shook out its tendrils before dabbing on some concealer and applying a lick of mascara. Wes usually knew she’d leave the door unlocked for him, so she continued. Nude but shiny eyeshadow, tasteless lipgloss, an old lipstick for blush to contour. She was spraying deodorant under her arms when he pulled her from it.

“Sexy,” Wes said, standing in her bedroom doorway. “Looks like you’re ready for me.”

Logan set the bottle down and folded her arms — unsure of his meaning. “What? I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

“I knocked, opened the door and came up the stairs,” he said. Slowly, he moved closer to her. “You were singing, though. Probably couldn’t hear me.”

Fuck. 

Threading his arms around her, Wes pressed Logan up against the open bathroom door and buried his face in her neck. He pinched a bit of skin between his teeth, and she stiffened, pulling away. Ouch, fuck face. He didn’t pause to notice her discomfort and trailed her toward the bedroom. It was late, and the orange glow of a bedside lamp overtook the space, refracting a pink warmness off their skin. Wes faced her at the end of the bed, peering slightly down with hooded eyes. His hands traced her body beneath her arms and up her back to loosen the straps of her dress slackily over her shoulders. Her breasts fell out clumsily — quickly caught in his eager hands. He lightly lifted each and traced his thumbs across her nipples, which puckered for him. 

“Yes,” he hissed, in a breath that buzzed across her skin. He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked hard. Normally, she’d tense up until he was done. She longed to be wanted. This time, she instinctively pulled back, slouching slightly and covering her chest with her arms. 

“What’s wrong?” Wes said flatly.

Logan pulled the dress back up to her armpits and left the straps dangling before sitting on the edge of the bed. She couldn’t look at him. As if flipping on a light switch, it suddenly occurred to her what they’d been doing. She’d been lost in a fog for several weeks, of loving the attention, of crushing on him, that she hadn’t noticed it was crushing her. She exhaled a deep breath and stayed silent. 

Wes stood motionless above her with his arms flaccidly at his sides. After a beat, he sunk into a squat before her. 

“What is wrong?” he repeated, instructionally.

Logan closed her eyes and searched for the words. “I don’t want to do it like this anymore.”

“Like what?” Her breath caught as a weighty hand fell over her shoulder and slid up to her face. 

“I dunno.” Logan shrugged. Something else screamed from inside her, coiling like a snake in the pit of her stomach, and she ignored it. “It just kinda hurts.”

Wes’ lips ticked up into a smirk. “I won’t bite you. That, okay?”

“No, I—” she started, shaking her head. “Maybe just ease up.” 

Wes shrugged off his button-down and gently inched himself closer to her. He lightly pressed his lips to hers and held it several seconds. Instead of pulling away or forcing his tongue into her mouth, he shifted to brush his stubble against her face, nuzzling slightly close to her ear. 

“This time, you call the shots,” he whispered. 

The anxiety in Logan’s abdomen lightened, as she stood to pull her dress all the way off. Wes followed, and she tugged at a belt loop on his pants. 

“Mind taking these off?” She was afraid she sounded more unsure than as inquisitive as she intended. It was difficult, changing pace. Because for all the hookups she’d racked up, she was used to taking cues from men — something that was never easy with Wes already. Now, with a suggested change in control, she wondered what kind of women Wes actually liked. It can’t be me, obviously, she thought. Then, why is he being so nice? Wes acquiesced her request without a word and was still again. 

“Those, too,” Logan said, motioning at his black boxer briefs. 

When the material hit the floor, Logan stepped aside and playfully pushed Wes onto the bed. He landed with a bounce and let out a laugh, coming to rest in a recline with his hands behind his head. Logan crawled over him. He smiled wryly up at her with a stare that flipped something solid in her chest. His eyes, usually dark and drunk on desire, were open wide and curious. 

“Well, how will you have it?”

Logan straddled him and reached for a condom, intending to guide him inside her. But she paused and looked shyly off to the side. 

“You want something else, don’t you?” He placed a hand at each of her hips, and with a slight tug forward, he guessed. “Let me taste you.”

Wes had never performed oral sex on her, and she would have sooner died than ask. A bit embarrassed, she walked on her knees over his face until his arms gently positioned her. He hummed with every lap of his tongue and slowly quickened the pace, occasionally jerking his head side to side. She’d never felt anything like it. 

The tension built for several minutes. Lifting herself up a bit, Logan called down to him. “You better ease up, or I’m gonna’ come.”

She felt him smirk beneath her, his response muffled in the side of her thigh. “I don’t mind. Come on my face, baby.”

“No.” Logan huffed out a few hurried, insistent breaths. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

Wes didn’t hesitate to nudge her off a minute and pull himself to a seated position against the headboard. He slapped his thighs to invite her back, his dick still erect and newly covered. He correctly assumed she wanted to stay on top. Eagerly, Logan slid down and opened up for him, slightly tighter than expected. 

“Oh, fucking Jesus, God,” Wes belted out. “You … you feel fucking incredible.”

She basked in the initial pleasure before moving and noticed Wes gently tracing her spine with his fingers. With her eyes leveled over his, he looked up at her with a relaxed but certain expression. Like much of this encounter, she’d never seen him like that before — his lips parted as tiny breaths expelled in soft moans. Logan rocked her hips back and forth, rolling over Wes’ pelvis. She felt him leave and re-enter her with every slow thrust, and she waited for him to react again before allowing herself to make a sound. 

He pulled her closer and pressed his face beneath the clavicle, moving down to one breast. She nearly braced for another sharp nibble, but it didn’t come, and she quietly whimpered when he placed open-mouth kisses on the nipple.

“Is this what you wanted?” Wes asked, moving across her chest and neck. Her lungs tightened, trapping her response. He let his head fall back, brushing her hair from her face. “Look at you. Fucking beautiful.”

Logan’s face squished with embarrassment. “Stop it.”

“What? You ought to know.”

She rolled her eyes, as he tightened his embrace to still her.

“How well can you feel me?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Feel you, like your penis?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “‘Cause the sensation, it’s … throbbing. In a good way, I mean. And with the condom, I wasn’t sure … if you could tell.”

She let herself laugh, too. “I guess, I really can’t. Only how big it is.”

A smile grew, cutting Wes’ face in half. He’s so damn pleased with himself, Logan thought.

“Why?” she asked. 

His expression loosened, and he shrugged. “I guess I just wondered if it’s worth taking off.”

“No! Are you crazy?” An unplanned pregnancy would be the worst possible scenario. And children always seemed to hate her even when she was one.

“Well! You said you want to feel me come. And I don’t think it’s going to take that long for me. But you just …” Wes trailed off. 

“I just what?”

Logan felt at ease in his arms, somehow, and the sudden candor surprised her. He was starting to squirm. “I thought you’d react a little more. You know? Make more sounds.”

In retrospect, she knew all their other rendezvous had been performative — that she moaned at higher volumes and asked for more through gritted teeth. Because she had assumed it would keep his attention. Without responding, she delicately placed her hands on his shoulders digging her nails slightly into the skin. She began to ride him again, squeezing him between her legs. His head wandered up to kiss her. 

Their moans grew louder with every grind of their hips. “This is how I’ve always wanted you.”

Wes pulled away, momentarily gasping for air. “Always?”

“From the second I saw you.” Logan felt Wes against that spot inside her, and she yelped. 

He drew long breaths against her skin as she moved. “You mean, after we ran into each other at Desperado’s?” 

“No.” Logan sighed deeply into him. 

Wes didn’t reply or ask anymore questions. He’d begun to buck against her, urgently looking for his climax. Simultaneously, their hips frozen, the sensation pooled in Logan and spilled rapidly over her body. She let out a clipped expletive, shivering uncontrollably. Wes exclaimed a quick burst of nonsense. 

“Oh, baby! You just … I can’t … fuck, that felt … my fucking God!” He turned his face away, and she could see the tendons in his face retract and pull as he clenched his jaw. 

“What’s happening?”

Wes shook his head abruptly, guiding her off him. He stood up quickly, yanking the condom off and starting for the hall and bathroom door. Uh, what the fuck, buddy? For several minutes, Logan was left to clean herself up in her bedroom, and she reached into her closet for a silky robe to cover up with. She was leaning against the window, looking outside, when Wes emerged from the bathroom, wordlessly rushing to pick up his clothes. Logan tried to inspect his expression, spotting only shiny glints of what she thought was water from splashing his face. He didn’t speak as he dressed. 

“What’s the rush?” She walked to him and held him still at the shoulders. He ceased movement but kept looking about the room. She took hold of his face with a hand at each cheek. It wasn’t water but streaks from tears. “Hey, hey, hey, wait a second.”

“Look, I gotta’ go. I can’t do this right now.” He bristled against her touch. 

After an apprehensive beat, he let her usher him to sit on the bed. “Can’t what? Have sex?”

He shook his head. “It’s a mindfuck.”

“What mindfuck? And why were you crying?”

“I didn’t expect …” He stopped, running the back of his hand under his nose. He thought for a moment. “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?” 

Wes’ head fell forward, and she caught him. He whispered, “Always.”

“Oh.”

“How you always wanted me,” he repeated. 

The nervousness Logan once felt was gone. The welling anxiety, the agitated anticipation every time her phone lit up, craving his attention — vanished. And a wholeness enveloped her until she realized the tension she expelled must have needed somewhere new to go.

“I did,” she admitted. He looked uncomfortably at her, so she added, “In the manner of how I wanted to fuck you anyway.” The shift didn’t seem to help. 

“So …” he started. “That’s all you meant, then?”

“To have sex in a different way? Yes.”

“No.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know how to ask this.”

Logan shifted her seat beside him. Wes had managed to get his pants on, though nothing else, and she drew affectionate circles on his back with her fingertips. He straightened up, and she stopped. 

“You mean the sex being more personal?” she said. “What did you expect if I took the reins, for me to say, ‘Yes, sir, please leave bruises all over my body. Take me from behind.’?”

His face fell into a white, helpless expression at her sarcasm.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she insisted. “I should’ve said something all those times before. I was probably afraid to say anything or to ask you to eat me out, I guess. Which you’re really good at, by the way!”

Wes shifted his gaze back to the floor.

“What did you think I meant?”

“I don’t know!” Wes clapped both hands over his face and quietly sobbed. No, no, no. Buddy, what is wrong? No, no, no! He lifted his head up and looked at her, a tear rolling over his nose. “Was it only the sex, or was it …”

“Yes.”

He sniffled. “Yes?”

“It’s you.” She reached over to take his hand. 

“Me,” he replied, the mechanics still in motion in his mind.

“I really fucking like you, Wesley. I don’t think I could say that before.”

Wes gripped hard at hearing his full name. “I liked it better like that, too. And I like you.”

“Yeah?” Logan climbed into his lap and held his head. “And the tears?” 

“You never let me show you how much before, either.”

“No?”

“But I didn’t know I wanted to,” he admitted.

“We really should’ve just … used our words.” Logan let reality sink in — Wes Engberg likes me? — as they fell back onto the bed, entangled. They laid that way for a long time. Until they ran out of words, out of kisses. Until sleep overtook them and the darkness outside brightened into soft blue.

***

The chirping outside seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Those fucking birds,” Wes said, stetching out beside her. 

Logan had been awake a minute or two cautiously watching him rise from his slumber. Not fully morning, it was as close as they’d come to spending the night together, and she adjusted her robe to cover up the bits peaking through. 

“It’s not daylight yet, but do you need to go?” She nudged him. 

“Not unless you want me to.” Wes rolled toward her and languorously relaxed his body against hers. “Do you have to work at all today?”

It was now Saturday, and Logan knew Angela would be covering a local Polar Plunge, a fundraiser at BSU to raise money for the Special Olympics, but she wouldn’t have to go into the office to ensure the resulting stories and photos made it on to the JC’s website. The Tuesday-to-Saturday print schedule meant it wouldn’t appear in print until the following Tuesday.

“Not particularly.”

Wes drooped an arm around her. “Well, maybe we can sleep in a little.” 

“No plans?” A jolt of paranoia punctured Logan’s chest. Admitting any kind of feelings was a giant step. Still, she didn’t risk pushing him too far. 

“Nuh-uh.” He shook his head. 

“No school work?” Logan searched for something to fill the void. “You must be strapped academically. You complete the program this semester, right?”

Wes ran a hand up her side, dipping a hand beneath her robe to caress her upper back. The few seconds he waited to reply made her hold her breath. “

Finally, he nodded. “I think so. I’ve been going part time since …”

“A few years, right?”

“Yeah, in between work and stuff. Since before I met Todd and picked up some sports reporting.”

“Has it been really different since you were at the station?” Logan inwardly rolled her eyes at the idea of the corporate AM station with a small legion of unpaid freelancers and, since Wes left, a single full-time broadcaster, seemingly directing sports and news coverage at random. 

“Oh yeah, totally different,” Wes said, expectantly. “First of all, Todd is a totally chill boss — if you haven’t noticed — compared to Doug at the station. Not even sure they bother broadcasting most high school sports now.”

 “You mean without their whipping boy.”

Wes smiled. “Exactly.”

“But what is the degree work like?” Wes had returned to laying on his back, and Logan, nestled herself in the crook of his chest. 

“I’ve done all the marketing, applied business and accounting type of coursework that the MBA program at BSU has, so this last few months is just like …” Logan wrapped her arm across his torso and lightly squeezed. He continued. “Like multidisciplinary.”

She waited for him to say more before asking. With just a bachelor’s degree, she hardly grasped the breadth of work people trying to get any sort of master’s had to deal with. “What does that mean? Like a final degree thesis or like some type of field work?”

“Bit of both, actually,” Wes quickly replied. After a long sigh, he laid still, breathing in laboriously. Logan could feel his body release back into sleep. 

She stared out the window, picking up flashes of flapping bird wings and wind-swept tree branches. And the hollow woosh of the outside noise clashed with the busy clatter rolling around in her head. She had so many more questions for him — now, with each finally moored in the other’s presence. Without her suffocating apprehension, without the gaudy production being close physically, without Wes’ presumably walled-in emotions, their limits on intimacy were left squarely in the open to die. For so long, they’d never truly communicated, and communicating with their bodies appeared to deconstruct that scaffolding. 

Yet, with the end of his graduate work, Logan felt a little worried what they were deconstructing that scaffolding for. Will he really want to be with me? she worried. Is that even what I really want? And a quick flash of Alec appeared at the back of her mind, running his thumb up the fleshy arch of her bare foot. After what felt like an eternity, Logan’s stream of consciousness ended. It wouldn’t be until lunchtime when the stunning brightness of daylight rouse them both once more.