I've got to get out of here. It's been eight months, two weeks, and four days since I last had sex, and I can't hold out any longer. I need to go downtown, find some guy, and have a very interesting night.
I make some excuse to the boys, but I really don't care if they know or not. It's none of their business, anyway.
I look on it as a form of exercise, that's all. There's no emotional involvement in it for me. I won't make that mistake again. It's just an itch that needs scratching.
So I go to the best pick-up bar in town, the Hustle. Nice name, huh? They must have decided, the hell with being subtle. The fact that there's a "no-tell" hotel down the block only adds to its charm.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not easy or anything. I don't do this on a regular basis, just when I need . . . some special attention.
And I always go in disguise, so no one knows me. Don't want it getting around town that the high school principal sleeps around. Or even worse, run into one of the other teachers. There are a few who drop in here from time to time, and one who's a regular, but I've never been with him. He doesn't like girls, if you know what I mean.
I get to the bar, after parking a few blocks away, and assess the place as I walk in. Nope, no good ones yet. I sit down at the bar and order a drink.
Hey, maybe if I get really hammered, anyone will look good.
Okay, I've been here an hour, and none of these losers looks approachable. The guy by the door is cute, but there's a ghost of a wedding ring on his finger. I'm not going down that road again.
It never fails. When I'm on the street, minding my own business, every man within a ten-block radius has a comment, or just a look. But when I go looking for it, they all disappear. Am I being too aggressive? Is my body language saying "desperate"?
Hold on, something interesting just came through the door. Cowboy hat and denim jacket, but on him they look rugged, not posey. He's giving off a vibe that makes that secret place inside me ache with anticipation.
He's the one, then. I try to think of a way to approach him . . .
. . . and then he turns and looks my way.
Oh God, it's Wolverine. Of all people . . .
Does he know who I am? Can he see through the disguise? Right now I look, to everyone else, like a twenty-five-year-old blonde, but what is he seeing?
Is this too weird, for either of us?
Oh well, I guess there's only one way to find out.
I signal the bartender. "Give me a gin and tonic, and whatever the gentleman wants."
The bartender nods and goes to prepare the drinks. Time to turn on the charm.
"I'm Michelle."
"Just call me Logan." He looks me up and down, and again I wonder if he can see right through me.
"That your first name or your last name?"
"Does it matter?"
"It does if I'll be screaming it at the ceiling in a little while," I say, before I can stop myself. Then I want to kick myself for letting such a stupid line past my lips. Oh, great, now he'll be turned off . . .
"We got time for that drink first?"
My mouth drops open. He must have come here looking for the same thing. "Sure."
"The hotel, right?"
"So who pays?" I ask, trying to act like I know the first thing about flirting.
"Since you were kind enough to pay for the drinks," Logan says, "I'll spring for the room."
"Ah, you are a gentleman. You really know how to treat a lady."
"Depends on the lady."
Our drinks come, and we sip and stare at each other in silence. The tension is
killing me. I may not be able to wait till we get to the hotel—up against the
wall in the alley will do for me.
Eight months. Eight freaking months. Forget the alley, how about right here on the bar?
Logan's looking at me funny. "You okay, darlin'?"
"Yes, just a little . . . excited," I say, trying not to let him see how excited.
He smiles, and we finish our drinks.
Oh. My. God.
It's better than I thought it would be.
So far we've done just about everything I've ever heard of, sometimes two or three at a time, sometimes taking turns. Nothing too kinky, of course, not to start out with, but we've already had to send down to Room Service three times for . . . supplies, so to speak.
He's a lot gentler than I thought he might be. He takes his time, and touches me exactly where I need to be touched. With different parts of his body.
Despite his code name and manner, he's not an animal. He is very much a man. I could get to like this. Except this isn't going to be a regular thing, is it? That's the only bad thing about all of this. We will most likely never touch each other this way again.
We've played around long enough. He does what he came here for, and oh, God, I needed this.
His hands are around my waist, pushing himself deeper and deeper. Mine are on his shoulders.
And then . . .
I have never felt like this in my life. I feel so incredibly good, there is nothing in the world like it. I can't believe I could ever feel like this ever again, not since . . . well, never mind about that. Here and now is so much more important. Our bodies melt together as we become one unit, one flesh, one . . .
There's a pounding at the door. Damn, I forgot this place rents rooms by the hour.
"Your time's up," the manager calls through the crack in the door. "I got people waiting for the room."
Logan disentangles himself from me. "Yeah, yeah, we're comin'."
"I thought we already did," I say, my lame attempt at a joke.
He picks up his clothes off the floor and throws me mine. "Sorry it had to end like this."
"Oh, it was good for me."
"What'd you say your name was again?"
I freeze. He does know who I am. He's trying to catch me out. Luckily I'm too smart for him.
"Michelle."
He nods and puts his hat on. "See you around, Michelle."
Outside the front door, he goes his way, I go mine . . . and that's that.