A/N: Logan's Roadhouse. Yes. Perfect. You've got to love it. The irony. Heh, I hope this makes you laugh, Machi. And Hono, you already know the jokes. So laugh just to humor me, please. There will be more chapters. This is just a start. It's short. Life's short. Dance in your underwear.

Disclaimer: I do not own James Howlett or Logan's Roadhouse. If I did, I'd be fat. Because I would eat steak all day long.

Eat. Pay. Then Leave.

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A happy young couple were hand-in-hand, grinning at each other excitedly. It was their two-year anniversary of dating, and the man, Mark, was going to propose to his beautiful girlfriend, Samantha. He told her that he was going to take her out to eat after she got home from work. They weren't the richest couple in the world, so a nice little restraunt wouldn't be hard to find. They lived right on the border of Canada, in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. They had never crossed the border for things other than shopping, so Mark opened the door of his burnt orange El Camino and let Samantha step inside, put the keys in the ignition, and drove straight north the border.

They drove along, watching the serene scenery pass by, before Samantha gleefully pointed at a little roadhouse called 'Logans'. Mark pulled into the parking lot and stepped out gracefully, opening the door once more for his girlfriend who looked absolutely stunning to him. They were hand-in-hand, and Mark could feel the ring inside his coat pocket bounce around.

The smell of spices and steak was thick in the air. Mark could also smell a strong scent of beer dancing in his nostrils. Samantha was smiling, so it didn't matter to him. The two were greeted by a scruffy looking man, his face animal-like, stubble on his face making him look quite a bit older than he really was. His uniform was a bit tacky and his facial expression was not a happy one. Mark watched the wolfy man pull out a cigar and light it right infront of them both. He huffed on it before speaking.

"Welcome to Logan's Roadhouse. We have steak and we have beer. What'll it be?" it was obvious he was trying to be polite, but that was an utter fail. Mark soon began to wonder if it was a joke...Samantha gave the man a puzzled look.

"What?"

"Here. Take a seat. It's not a tough decision, skinny," the man pointed to an empty booth where Mark pulled Samantha to. They both sat, looking at each other with the same expressions.

"Is this guy for real?" Samantha whispered, glancing over her shoulder to watch as her server huffed once more on the fat cigar.

"I think so. Steak and beer. That's it? Maybe we're on one of those hidden-camera shows," Mark muttered the last part to himself.

"Well, neither of those sound bad...salad sounds good too, but--" Samantha's speech was interruped when the tall, dark-haired man re-appeared infront of their table.

"Got an answer yet, kiddo?" he asked impatiently, holding a pad of paper and a chewed-up pencil. Samantha opened her mouth to speak, but Mark cut her to the chase, "Do you have salads here?" he asked kindly, finally noticing the name tag that the man was wearing. It said in bolded letters LOGAN. So he was the owner...? Logan chewed on his cigar before pulling it out, starring at Mark with an annoyed look.

"No, ya pansyass. We have steak. And we have beer," he answered in a deadpan voice. Samantha leaned in and looked up at Logan with a smile.

"I'll have a 16 ounce steak and a Bud Weiser," Logan gave her a wolfy grin and nodded to himself.

"See, skinny, you could learn a thing or two from her," he smacked Mark on the shoulder, a little harder than Mark was expecting. Logan stalked away back to the kitchen while Samantha grinned at her boyfriend proudly.

"Suck on that, Marky," she playfully remarked.