IN THE DARK

XI. Logan

I gotta go out. I've been locked up in here too long, and certain needs are making themselves known. Well, the kids are asleep, and 'Ro's . . . otherwise occupied. I should go in there and offer, but . . . I dunno. It just wouldn't be right. I have too much respect for her.

Time for me to go find a woman I don't have to respect myself with.

What kind of an idiot calls a bar the Hustle? Either they built it during the Disco Era, or else they aren't big on subtlety. It's cheap. It's sleazy. It's perfect. No one I know would hang out in a place like this. So I'm safe.

Or am I? When I step inside, I catch a familiar scent. I track it to its source right away.

She's camouflaged herself to look like a little blonde thing, but I'd know Mystique's scent anywhere.

What is she up to? She sees me, but she doesn't make a move. Is she waiting for someone?

Suddenly she's behind me. "Buy you a drink, cowboy?"

I turn and look at her. I usually go for redheads, but . . . I'll play along and see where she's going. She wouldn't try anything with all these people around, I know that.

We sit down at the bar and wait for our drinks.

"I'm Michelle," she says. She's still playing this game; why, I don't know. Maybe I can find out.

"Just call me Logan."

"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."

She's got to be kidding. But no, I can smell it on her. She came here for the same reason I did: a little action. And I'm not talking about fighting.

"We got time for that drink first?"

She looks pleased.

I agree to pay for the hotel, and just like that, the deal's done. She is a desperate woman. What's wrong, Mags won't let her play with him?

It doesn't matter now. We leave the bar and walk over to the hotel, practically holding hands. Her skin is warm against mine—and we haven't even started yet.

I'm trying not to think too much about this. She's pretty, in this disguise, but I can't help picturing what she really looks like underneath. It doesn't kill the desire at all. Funny, I always wanted to know if she was blue all over . . .

There's an awkward moment when the door closes. I look at her, she looks at me. Neither of us wants to be the first to make a move. Don't want to look too desperate. Finally I come up with an idea.

"We'll both undress at the same time."

"On the count of three," she agrees.

We count together. On three, the clothes come off.

I look her over. If that's her real body, it's pretty impressive.

"Are you just gonna look," she says, "or are we getting down to business?"

"Business sounds good."

Very good.

I have never touched anyone, or been touched, the way we are right now. I've never been with anyone so . . . responsive to my touch. Once she got over the fear that I would rip her apart like an animal, she got into it. She's enjoying this, too. That's good. I wouldn't want her not to have a good time, after going to all this trouble.

All too soon, it ends. But it ends at the best part—we both climax at the same time. I'm so busy I forget to check if she changes back into her usual self. But it doesn't matter now.

Before we've even had a minute to recover, there's a pounding on the door. Our time's up.

The clothes go back on. I look at her . . . and I can't believe I did this. At the same time, I'm glad I did. She looks like she feels the same way.

We split up at the front door. I start to walk back to where I parked the bike—

And then I see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I reach out, and grab a handful of white hair.

"Ow! Ow ow ow! Leggoleggo!"

"You're out past your bedtime."

"I just got here!" Pietro whines.

I let go of his hair. "Sure you did."

"No, really! I just happened to come by here . . ."

I'm not buying it. "Look, kid, it's none of your business what goes on here. Now go home and go to bed."

"Where's Mystique?"

"How should I know? Probably went back to her car. You better get home before she does."

"Ah, I'm just getting started."

This kid's getting on my nerves. I grab him by the front of the shirt and pull him closer. "Look, Road Runner, you get out of here right now or you'll be running home on two broken legs."

I can see the fear in his eyes. He knows I'll do it, too.

"And if you mention one word of this to Daddy—" Now there's surprise as well as fear. "Oh, yeah, I knew all about that. Anyway, Junior, it's past your bedtime. Go on home, and it ends here. But if you want to make it hard on yourself—"

I hold an arm up to his throat. If I'm lucky, and he's smart, I won't even have to use the claws.

There's a tense moment.

"All right," he says. "I'm going."

He's off like greased lightning. I hope Mystique catches him and beats the crap out of him. Kid's got more guts than brains.

Thinking of Mystique makes me stiffen up again. God, she was good. I can still feel her all over . . .

Don't be stupid, says a little voice in my head. Get a move on, cowboy, it's late.

I reach the bike at last. I can't help one look back over my shoulder, even though I know she's long gone.

Funny how the last person in the world I expected to meet tonight, turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

I kick the bike into gear and head for home.