Wiggling on his lap I take hold of his phone to better see Mary-Gene George. She looks quite formally dressed, with prominent makeup and bright-blonde hair which, though clearly dyed, suits her well. She’s frowning like Logan, tapping her phone or tablet or whatever device she’s using in an attempt to get the camera to work once again. A moment later her shrill shriek of joy alerts both Logan and I that it is live once more.

Again, I wave into the camera.

“Gemima,” she cries, “it’s so wonderful to see you, darlin’!”

I smile, partly at her words and partly because I cannot get enough of her thick Carolina accent. It’s so charming. “It’s wonderful to see you, too, Mrs. Leary,” I say. “I mean, George,” I correct myself immediately. Great one, Gem, I think sarcastically.

“Oh, now, we’ll have none of that,” Logan’s mother says, peering intently at the screen, apparently checking me out. “You call me Mary-Gene, sweetheart, and you don’t think twice about it,” she tells me. Then turning around she practically screams, “Rupert, come here!” She’s silent for a second, before she yells, “No, now!”

Logan chuckles behind me, burying his face into my neck, his lips on my skin, out of sight of the camera.

Mary-Gene looks at the camera once more, leaning forward as if trying to get closer to us. “Gemima,” she says, her accent very heavy, “you are gorgeous! Just like Logan told me.”

“Thank you,” I grin bashfully. Then looking at Logan, I whisper, “Have you been boasting about me?”

He laughs. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

I give him a quick peck on the lips and then look at the phone again. A man appears over Mary-Gene’s shoulder and it takes a moment for him to come into focus.

“This is Rupey,” Mary-Gene points at him.

There’s no way I’m calling him that, I think immediately. “Hello,” I wave once more.

“I’m Rupert, Logan’s father, role model, and all-round idol,” he smiles at me, waving back. I suddenly see where Logan’s dimples come from. He looks a lot like his son, just double his age. What a silver fox!

“Hey, dad,” Logan laughs again, tucking his chin onto my shoulder.

“Loges,” he nods at the camera.

“Don’t they look precious together?” Mary-Gene says to her husband, causing a broad smile to spread across my face.

“They sure do,” Rupert agrees.

Looking at the little window in the very corner of the screen where Logan and I are reflected, I can’t help but agree with their sentiments. We do look cute.

“How’s your post surgery recovery going, son?” his father asks him.

“Perfectly,” Logan tells him quickly. “Everything’s fine; Gemima’s been instrumental in that,” he compliments, his arms tightening around me as he kisses my cheek.

“Yes, I’ve been keeping an eye on him,” I say. I also gave him a remedial blow job, I don’t say.

“Lucky Logan,” Mary-Gene smiles, showing off perfect white teeth. Dentures probably, I think absentmindedly.

“That’s good to hear,” Rupert nods.

“What are you kids up to this weekend?” Mary-Gene asks.

“We’re on holiday,” Logan says quickly, eyeing the bath which is nearly full. “Mom, was there a specific reason you called?” he asks tactfully.

“Oh, yes, dear,” she says, suddenly looking sheepish. “Well, I, uh…I was rather hoping that Gemima could help me with something,” she says.

Oh? “Of course,” I say. It’s my natural instinct to want to help, but I tell myself, I should really only agree after I know what it is that she wants.

“I called Barbara-Anne’s salon this afternoon,” she says slowly, before a dramatic torrent bursts from her, “and they can’t fit me in anytime this week and I need to have my hair done before your party next weekend,” she blurts out, exasperatedly.

In the screen reflection I see Logan roll his eyes. “You should’ve booked in earlier then, shouldn’t you?” he tells me. “What do you expect Gemima to do for you?”

“Pull some strings,” she says openly, making me smile.

Logan laughs. “She’s a real politician’s wife,” he whispers to me. “Never takes no for an answer.”

“It’s OK,” I smile at him. “I’ll get you an appointment before the party,” I tell Mary-Gene. I know my mom will accommodate an extra client, and besides that, it’ll mean I’m in her good books before we’ve even met. Well played, Gem, I congratulate myself. “With Barbara-Anne herself,” I add for good measure.

Mary-Gene squeals in glee. “Thank you, darlin’!” she smiles broadly. Then she sighs, “Disaster averted!”

She must lead a charmed life, I note, if a bad hair day constitutes a disaster.

“You’re welcome,” I tell her.

“We’ve got to go now,” Logan says, leaning over to turn off the bath taps. He’s clearly eager to get into it.

“Bye, kids,” Rupert waves. “See you soon.”

“Bye,” we echo.

“Enjoy your getaway,” Mary-Gene says. “I have to go and start packing.”

Logan and I exchange a look as if to say: already?

We all mumble several more goodbyes, before Logan ends the call and starts chuckling.

“They are adorable,” I say to him. “Your mom’s accent is amazing!” I stand up and drop my robe, ready to step into the tub, but Logan’s roving eyes stop me where I stand. His eyes scan my naked body and narrow. “What?” I ask him.

Looking me in the eyes, he says, “The Moulin Rouge.”

I look down at my body. “No, I’ve never worked there,” I jest.

Smiling, he stands up as well and begins madly tapping away on his phone. “I’m going to book tickets for my parents to go to a show next Thursday night,” he tells me. “Buddy will go with them,” he says to himself.

“And me dropping my robe gave you that idea?” I grin.

“Not exactly,” he smiles back. “You dropping your robe reminded me that I want to be with you on my birthday evening. Only you. These tickets will ensure that happens,” he explains.

“Excellent plan, Logan,” I nod my approval, stepping into the piping hot bathtub.

Logan quickly books his tickets and then puts his phone on the desk outside, perhaps to ensure that no more naked video chats are possible, before joining me in the water. We sit with our backs at either end, our feet entangled in the middle.

I sigh in relaxation, and with a smile on my face, I giggle, “So, you told your parents that I’m gorgeous?” I put on my best attempt at a South Carolina accent.

He smirks. “Oh, I said a lot more than that, baby.”

“What else?” I ask in amusement.

“I told them about our lunch date and about seeing you later that evening before I went home and indulged in a healthy amount of onanism,” he grins, and I laugh, immediately knowing that he’s joking.

“Even spaced out on painkillers, you wouldn’t tell them that,” I say confidently.

“True,” he concedes, “but that is what happened,” he reveals slowly.

My curiosity is piqued. “You went home after your meeting with the complex manager and pleasured yourself?” I ask, adding, “After seeing me?”

He nods, and a moment later I erupt into laughter.

“Oh, Logan, how alike we are,” I tell him.

“You too?” he asks, surprised.

“Yes,” I confess. I place my foot on his stomach and as I talk I slowly glide it upwards over his broad chest. “When I got home I had a cold shower to cool the fire you lit in me, but it didn’t help at all. And knowing you were in the complex somewhere…so close…it did things to me,” I trail off, leaving him wanting more.

“Tell me,” he pleads.

I recall the feelings that were coursing through my body only a few weeks ago. “I was aching for you, even then, and I couldn’t not touch myself to relieve that ache.”

He stares across the tub at me, his gaze filled with both love and longing. “Oh, the aching feeling,” he smiles. “I know that feeling well. It’s been my constant companion for two years,” he says.