Chapter 28: Liar
An envie that wasn't going to be sated any time soon. Sitting in Cass's bed, the sheet tangled over his hips, waiting for her to return with the pizza being delivered, Remy thought of Rogue. These interludes with Cass were a fun distraction, but every time they rendezvoused it added weight to the guilt he carried between the two women in his life.
He was in love with Anna Marie. In love in the romantic-comedy, big-gesture, die-of-old-age-in-the-same-bed-at-the-same-time, could imagine having a tiny daughter with red hair and green eyes and eventually walking her down the aisle, really unfortunate kind of way. He didn't want to die for her, his Anna Marie, though he would if it came down to it; Remy Etienne LeBeau wanted to live for her.
But it was Cass with her blue-streaked hair and multi-pierced ears that strolled into the room with hot pizza and cold beer. It was Cass he smiled at, lying naked in sheets that smelled of them both. When he stretched his gloved hand out, Cass's skin was warm and smooth and posed no complications. Hell, Cass herself posed no complications.
"You should tell her." The Scot looked at him speculatively, then opened the box of pizza and pulled out a slice. The two cold beers she passed to him to open, actions speaking familiarly between them.
"I can't." Remy untwisted the tops and passed one back to his lover before pulling out a slice of pizza for himself.
"You're in love with her." Cass nudged his naked thigh with her bare toes. Remy leveled a look, then bit into his pizza in silence. "You are. You want a proper relationship with her. You want candles and flowers and to hold hands while walking down a moonlit beach. You worship the ground she walks on."
"An' here I thought I'd been worshippin' your very fine body, chere."
Cass's laugh was easy and appreciative. "You certainly have, Red Eyes. But we both know you're starting to feel guilty about it."
"For what? Havin' great sex with you? Mm. Non, chere. I just feel damn good about that." Lie. He knew it was a lie. Cass knew it was a lie. Somehow, in the weeks they'd known each other, they'd become friends. Remy had slowly told her about Anna Marie and Cass had told him about her fiancé, killed on an icy road, a no-fault car accident. Cass could talk about Cheryl without hurting Remy and Remy could finally say out loud all of his impossible feelings for his best friend.
"It doesn't hurt me, so why pretend?" Tossing her crust into the box, she slipped over Remy to straddle his hips. Almost automatically, his hands slid under the slim tee she'd donned to answer the door. "I'd miss this. I'd miss our conversations more. But, I know I'm not the only woman you're sleeping with to cope with the fact that you can't have the one woman you want. I also know you don't think of her when you're with me; don't pretend she's the one in this bed with you. But you don't think of much else otherwise."
Remy's hands played along her stomach, drifting idly upward. "You so sure, chere?"
"Oh, I am. Because I am a fantastic lover." Remy laughed and she kissed the curve of his sculpted mouth. "Because you like and respect me. But, mostly, because your Rogue is…sacred. What you have with her, you have only with her."
"Mmm."
Cass pressed her palms to his cheeks, rough from his skipped morning shave. "Convince her. Show her. Before it's too late and someone else does." There was a pause and the playful girl with the edge, with the ring of metal over her ear and blue-dipped hair was a woman with regret and pain. "Or worse, Remy."
Remy cupped Cass's breasts in his palms and took her mouth, ending the conversation and any thought between the two but pleasure. He left her sleeping in a slant of afternoon sunlight, but her words wouldn't leave his mind as he wound his way back to Muir Island and Anna Marie.
While Remy was being taken to task, Anna Marie herself was, perhaps, a little lost in thought and possibility. Trying to untangle her emotions privately—or as privately as a girl with a small gallery of psyches listening in on every thought could—she rounded a corner and smacked her face off of something sharp and hard. Bouncing back into the wall, she steadied whatever she'd about run over only to find herself face to face with The Chef. Remy's chef. Remy's I-will-stare-at-you-until-you-die cook who might at any moment resort to poisoning her. Or perhaps she'd brought one of those large chef axes. Chefs had axes, right? Rogue's hands tightened reflexively on the other woman's arms while rich dark eyes seemed to lacerate rather than look at her.
"Oh, I, now, goodness. I'm just so sorry." Rogue patted and straightened, babbling as her words got at once more Southern and more speedy. "You look a'right. You didn't hurt yourself none, did you? I was just not watchin' where I was goin'. All in my head, you know? But, I think you're just fine. I mean, you look real lovely today. That's a great shade of blue on you. And breakfast! Well, you just out did yourself. I wish I could make-"
"I didn't prepare your breakfast."
Rogue's hands dropped to her sides, fidgeted, then shoved into her pockets. "Oh, well, your breakfasts are always delicious." She trailed off, still standing entirely too close to the willowy chef. "Sorry about knockin' into you like that I was just-"
"In your head. Or maybe someone else was?" The sharp barb was completely unexpected. Rogue felt like a fish with a hook in its mouth; sure, this was bad, but it could get so much worse so fast. The chef, however, seemed satisfied with Rogue's silence—or unimpressed by it, at least—and marched away, leaving Anna Marie gawping after her.
"Hey, kid."
Rogue jumped about a foot, knocked her head on the wall again, and cursed. "Damn it, Logan! Why you sneakin' up on me?" Rubbing her head, green eyes cast daggers at the offending man.
Amusement curled his lips as he regarded the petite would-be assassin. "You were staring after the chef like you wanted to take a bite out of her."
"I think she took a bite out of me."
"You put yourself in snapping distance by pretending to be Gumbo's Girl Friday."
As he wasn't wrong, she simply tipped her head, still rubbing at the sore spot. Which, of course, only made it sting worse. "Were you just creepin' up to say hi or was there something else going on?"
"The Cajun Kid is off-island. Thought we could order pizza, watch a movie."
A smile tugged one side of her mouth. "McClintock! again?" The Wolverine, he liked his westerns.
"I was thinkin' The Canadians."
Rogue bounced on her toes. "Oh! I love that one!"
"You seen it?"
"Not exactly." Green eyes peered up at him through a fringe of cinnamon lash. "You have."
Logan's laugh rumbled, vibrating against her as he slung an arm over slim shoulders and headed her in the direction of the sitting room. But she twisted, looking back down the deserted hall. "Remy an' I are the only ones down this way."
"I know, kid. Moira figures you like your privacy."
"No. I mean, yes, we do. I do." The best mutation would be to delete the last ten seconds of her life and reboot. This was hardly the first situation she'd have used it on. "Remy and I are the only occupied rooms down here. So what was the chef doin'?"
"Maybe she was going to surprise Gumbo. Crazy women seem to gravitate to him." A pause and a sidelong look to his companion. "He got a vibrating penis or something?"
Rogue's elbow slammed into an adamantium rib. Wolverine grunted for her benefit, then grinned down at the dual-haired spitfire as she scowled and rubbed her elbow. She snarled at his smile, though Logan was probably not wrong about the chef's motivation. Apparently the fact that she and Remy had reconstructed their relationship wasn't putting a dint in the hope renewed by their falling out.
"Or we could watch Billy Jack."
Anna-Marie leaned into the solid warmth beside her, letting thoughts of Fatal Attraction: Chef Edition fade. "Only if we can say the best lines along with the movie."
"'Course, kid."
Which is how Gambit heard the Wolverine singing "They Call the Wind Mariah." The Canadians had turned into Billy Jack which finally turned into Paint Your Wagon! Rogue, using a latent power she had in regards only to the hairy Canadian, had conned the beast into singing for her and Remy was now faced with a serious conundrum: He wanted to interrupt and mock Merry Old Claws, but Rogue was smiling-all bright eyed and easy, no shadows mucking around the edges. Her joy washed out and over him, practically made him buoyant; even the embarrassment he could cause the Wolverine wasn't worth interrupting that.
Once Logan stopped singing and reached one of his brawler's hands out to brush a strand of curling white back from her face, though, Remy slipped into the room. "Pizza? I could eat."
Rogue glanced up, her nose wrinkling. "That was lunch, sugar. We ain't made dinner plans yet."
"Could order more. Watch another movie. What's that one you like, Rogue, the one with the music?"
Remy caught the sharpening of Wolverine's gaze and knew the older man understood him perfectly. Rogue, on the other hand, was regarding him with suspicion in her muddy green eyes. "You wanna watch a musical?"
"Ah, petite, I jus' want t'make you happy, oui? And you, you like musicals." Slipping his arm over her shoulder, he skimmed a couple of gloved fingertips along the sensitive skin just below her ear.
"I've had about all the layin' around I can take." Wolverine shoved up. "I'll find my own dinner."
When he was gone, well and truly gone, Rogue swatted Remy's thigh. "Why cain't you two get along?"
"We used t'get along, chere." Rogue snorted and Remy's smile curled slowly. "Now, now, ange, we did, me an' him. Bumped into each other from time t'time and ain't had no cause to fight."
Anna Marie crossed her arms and angled her stubborn chin upwards. "Then what changed?"
Remy leaned towards her, using the arm curled at her strong shoulders to draw her in. Excitement was a live wire between them, sparking and dancing wildly. "Everything, Anna Marie."
"But why?" Her sassy southern voice was more whisper as she struggled to keep her eyes on his and not drifting to his mouth.
Remy's knuckles brushed against her cheek and for once his devil may care gaze, aglow, seemed somber. "Ah, chere, that's one of them things I don't know you wanna hear."
Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't, all Rogue could think was: Kiss me. If he did, she wasn't taking a risk. If he did, then—
"Hey, heard there was pizza?" Shane's voice cut through the quiet, through the anticipation.
At least, one of them thought it did, the other not so much."There ain't. Go away."
Less certain, Rogue dipped her chin, broke eye contact. "We had that for lunch. Why don't we make tacos?" She was up and away in seconds, but Remy had other ideas.
"Not without me, petite. Me, I love tacos."
Rogue hid her smile by not looking at the Cajun. Still, when he joined her side and laced their fingers together, Remy felt the buzz, his and hers, not quite at equal frequency. Not yet.
Author's Note: Hey, again. Hope you enjoyed this little interlude. And confession. Well, self-confession anyway. Remy has known how he's felt for awhile. Rogue, eh, not so much. Thanks, as always, for the likes, follows, reads, and reviews!
P.S. I have not forgotten that Remy still has a chit to call-in, lest you thought I had. Or he had. Rogue maybe has. But the rest of us? Nah.
