Wednesday

Shirtless, I cook breakfast while Veronica sleeps.

Her fridge contained a cacophony of condiments and very few edible items. Thankfully there were eggs.

Scrambled it is.

She finally appears, roused by the smell and still in the same clothes I tucked her in with last night.

I tucked her tight.

Tight in my arms, in my nook, my spoons. I held on for dear life because it was the last night. It couldn't happen again. It was all too hard. The time had come for me to move on, I'd be at work tomorrow and I crossed my fingers that it would be the ultimate distraction.

Would it be more distracting than the way Veronica stretches, eyes half-open, raising her arms above her head, and a sliver of her flat stomach peeking out from under her shirt?

I strongly doubted it.

"Morning sleepyhead." I look away and keep stirring the eggs. Focus on the eggs.

Focus, Logan. Let's not burn the apartment down.

"Morning."

"Did you sleep better last night?" I ask.

She nods, staring at my bare chest with a look I suspect is quite similar to the one that just crossed my face. Did she just lick her lips? Her eyes dart around the kitchen and she finally focuses on the contents of the pan before me, "You?"

"Most definitely." Yes, the sleep was good, how could it not be, with you?

"I realized you're going to be a little late for work so I thought I'd make a good breakfast before you leave."

"I called in sick. No work today." Her voice is light and she gives me two thumbs up.

"Seriously?"

Don't fuck with me, Veronica.

"Seriously. If anyone asks I'm spending the day with my head over the toilet." As much as I was willing to make a clean break this morning I was more than happy to enjoy more time with my friend. I disguised my elatement with this news by spinning around on the spot.

I'm nothing if not subtle.

"So, I'm crashing your last day. What are we doing?"

"I was planning on going for a last surf, but I can be easily swayed. What do you want to do?" I spoon the scrambled eggs onto the plate and hand her one. She gets forks from the drawer and we sit at the table and start to eat.

Perfectly cooked, if I do say so myself.

"Can I come with you?"

Did Veronica Mars just ask me to enter water, willingly?

"You? Come to surf?"

"Yes. Well, I won't surf, but I could swim."

"Do you even own a bathing suit?" I ask, heaping a mouthful in.

"Yes, I do Mr. Echolls."

"Well then, by all means, let's go to the beach."

I glance at the clock, then glance away. Today is not a day for clockwatching; we were still in the single digits. It's a day for enjoying myself, enjoying the last day with my friend.

I remember I had to ditch Keith for our daily swim. I felt bad that I wouldn't get to say goodbye in person. But, Veronica just agreed to go to the beach with me, in a bikini, so we were going.

I text him while I wait for her to dress.

10.24am From Logan: Sorry Keith, can't make it today. Raincheck for approx 6 months?

10.25am From Keith: THATS QUITE THE RAINCHECK. NO PROBLEMS. ASSUMING ALL IS WELL?

What is it that everyone over 60 only knows how to text in all caps? Stop shouting at me, Keith!

10.25am From Logan: Veronica has taken the day off. We're going to hang before I leave.

10.27am From: ARE YOU SURE THAT'S MY DAUGHTER TAKING THE DAY OFF? WOW. ONLY FOR YOU, LOGAN. STAY SAFE.

How do I reply to that message?

10.27am From Logan: Will do. Bye.

10.28am From Keith: ENJOY ;);)

Annnd Keith Mars just winkey faced me…

Veronica pads out from the bedroom in a black string bikini, adjusting the fabric across her left breast.

"See, I do have a bikini!" She does a spin.

I say nothing, only blink.

I distinctly remember this bikini, for I have undone it's strings before. She swam with me one night, in this, when the pool had closed late one evening at the Neptune Grand. She let me graze her nipples with my teeth and slide my fingers inside her, pressed against the tiles in the dappled blue light.

I never forget a bikini.

She raises her eyebrows at me. I realize I'm staring, mouth slightly agape and she laughs out loud that, for once, she has silenced me.

She pulls at the top again, uncomfortably. "It's about a size too small and I'm pretty sure the last time I wore it phones only had number buttons."

It was fall 2006, to be precise.

"You could always take it off?" My mouth suddenly finds words, completely inappropriate ones for a friendship I've resolved to keep that way.

Shut up, Logan.

I feel like I'm going to be saying that a lot today.

Veronica lays her head on my surfboard and we float in the waves, the sun beating down on us hot and clear. I can feel the movement of her legs beneath the surface, kicking back and forth, shifting the water. Her blonde hair, darkened by the wet, sticks to her temple. An errant black string from her bikini falls over her shoulder and drips onto the board.

It was as if we were in a bubble. The ocean, the sand, surfers, walkers surrounded us, but they were all a peripheral blur. Inconsequential. We rest on the surfboard, focused, completely alone, inches apart. The water bobbing and slapping against the underside of the board. The perfect lazy last day.

"Do you ever wonder how things would be different?" she ponders, thoughtfully.

"Like?"

"What if Carrie never died? It set off a chain reaction of things that might not have happened otherwise. I wouldn't have come here. We might never have spoken again. You and Carrie might still be together."

I can't imagine a world where we didn't speak again. Don't want to.

"And you would still be with Piz," I say, eyebrow raised.

Fucking Piz.

She shakes her head, dismissing the idea. Then silently raises her hand and begins absentmindedly tracing her finger in circles on the back of my hand.

I swallow, hard, watching it.

"I wouldn't be with Carrie," I reply, honestly. Carrie and I were done long before Veronica came back onto the scene.

Her finger starts to continue its path up and down my arm. From my hand all the way to my shoulder, slowly, she turns and takes it back down again.

I have no idea what in the world this is.

But I like it.

We both continue talking like it's nothing at all.

But it's not nothing.

"What if we weren't friends at all? Seems weird now to even imagine it."

Both our eyes stare at her finger, following its path.

"We don't need to imagine it, Mars. It happened. You were forced to be my friend again," I meet her eyes and smirk, "against your better judgment."

She nods, agreeing.

"But we were never really just friends before, were we? This is the first time we've actually been proper friends."

Her hand retracts and it plunges into the water. I instantly miss the touch.

Okay, so you touched me, now I get to reciprocate right? In a distinctly platonic way. I convince myself that this is just being silly, with my friend.

I put out my index finger and run it down her face, slowly, just like she did. The pressure is light, like a feather traversing the skin. Her eyes, bemused and a little dreamy flutter closed as I skate the bridge of her nose, to her upper lip. Then, her lips, pink and full. This takes a little longer to get past, as my finger seems to apply the brakes. To her chin. When it reaches there, her lips part and she expels a breath, soft and deep, and I feel her legs flutter again underwater.

I also exhale, slightly ragged.

"Let's be honest Logan. I tolerate you," she tries to make light of this increasingly heavy moment.

This entire exercise is a terrible plan.

I should paddle away and float to shore. This is not something you do when you've resolved to keep things platonic.

But my finger raises again and, starting at her chin, makes its way back up, like it's the logical path. But, really, that fingertip just craves the touch, the skin beneath it. I keep my face as emotionless as possible, evoking casual, but watching her expressions intently.

There is something in her eyes, something dark.

I reach her lips again and her tongue slips out, licking my fingertip, almost sucking it, with a kiss. The entire time, her eyes lock with mine, I'm hypnotized. The space between us, suddenly tremulous.

Holy shit.

Despite the cool of the water, all the blood rushes to my groin and I'm hard in seconds. I didn't realize a fingertip and a tongue together could be so erotic.

My eyes search hers, seeking answers, explanations, but I only see lust, mirrored in her blue depths.

Is this a test?

If I can hold myself back, deny my feelings, do I get a prize?

Only one prize I want.

I snap my finger down and let my body and face follow into the water with a crash. Under the surface, I hold my breath for as long as I can, because I don't want to surface again and address what just transpired.

When I finally come up for air, she's still perched on the surfboard, looking shell shocked. "I'm hungry, should we head in and get some lunch?" I say.

"Sure, let's go."

The ride home from the beach is silent and uncomfortable.

While I drive I make a pointed effort not to look at her, but I'm acutely aware of her presence beside me. She has a towel wrapped around her waist and a wet t-shirt on top of her bikini. The cold of the air-conditioning blowing on her face, she stares out the tinted windows. I grip the steering wheel and dare to glance down at the index finger that was just in her mouth.

It twitches.

I feel a rising panic, trying to process what has happened, the signs that point to reciprocated feelings. All of it, of course, culminating the day after I've vowed to leave well enough alone.

I park the car, we walk the stairs, entering her apartment in silence.

"Feel free to take a shower," she offers, the first words spoken since we left the beach.

"Thanks."

I open her fridge and take out two soda cans, passing her one. I look towards the front door, I really should leave, this all feels too much, too highly charged. I don't trust myself. But tomorrow I have to leave, and I don't want this stilted awkwardness to be our goodbye.

I can hear a tap dripping in her bathroom, the gentle hum of the refrigerator, the fan circulating the warm air around the room. Why is it so fucking hot in here? I put the cold can against my neck.

"Is everything okay?" she breaks the silence.

Nothing is okay.

"No, it's not Veronica," I reply, defeated. Everything feels so final and loaded that I can't concentrate, I can't think straight.

"I'm sorry," she holds her arm nervously, placing the can on the table.

"You have nothing to be sorry for!"

"Is it because you're leaving?"

"Yes."

"Is it because of this?" she motions between us, her eyes searching mine. It throws me a little, while this thing between us is hard to dismiss, it's the first time it's been verbally acknowledged by her.

Anticipatory hairs stick up on the back of my neck.

"Yes."

She runs her fingers through her damp hair, "I'm scared too."

"I'm not scared Veronica, I'm fucking terrified." As the words leave my mouth my voice cracks.

Her eyes fall to the floor, her lashes fluttering, she bites her lip.

I realize that this is the moment, whether I wanted it to be or not. The crack of opportunity had come, it was time to speak my truth.

My voice falters, "All this week, hell, all this year I've been fighting this constant battle. I desperately want you, Veronica, I want you so bad it fucking hurts, but I don't think I'm right for you."

Her hand goes over her heart and she takes shallow breaths. Her eyes seem to cloud, the start of tears forming.

My chest constricts as I continue, "You deserve the best V," I pause, wrenching the next words from deep inside, they are the most difficult to say, "and it's not me."

"Logan!" she cries.

I squeeze my eyes closed and hold up my hand, continuing, "I'm sorry I let things go too far this week, it was the wedding, and the close contact and I started to lose my head and my focus." I claw at my scalp nervously, "We tried before, and I ruined it again and again. You are my best friend, I need you in my life. I can't live without you. You know that, right?"

"Logan, before it was different. That was over ten years ago. We were young and stupid and going through shit most people don't experience in their entire lifetime."

I shake my head, resigned to my fate.

"Don't you feel it?" she asks, voice low, pleading with me from under her lashes.

"Of course I feel it."

Everything about us, is epic somehow.

"That, we're … we're..." she can't find the word, but I know it instantly. The word haunts me.

"Unfinished," I whisper.

I feel exposed, vulnerable, but at the same time, relieved. It was out there. My love for her was out there, and she could decide what it was she wanted to do with it.

"V. You are the smartest, funniest, most beautiful… you're the best person I know. I'm just a damaged movie-stars son—numerous false murder charges under my belt. I can't escape the chaos; it follows me everywhere I go. You've made something amazing of yourself, worked so hard through college, and you're in this great place in your career. I do one fucked up thing, and it can bring your whole world down."

Breathe Logan.

In, out.

In, out.

In, out.

Don't love me, Veronica, you're smarter than that.

"Logan," Tiny feet stalk towards me, barefooted, silent and stealthy on the orange tiles.

I'm trapped.

Gloriously trapped in a hot kitchen between a counter and a woman almost a foot shorter than me.

Our bodies have not yet connected, but like always, I feel the electricity surging out of me, out of her, joining between us in zaps. She reaches out and my skin tingles before it makes contact. Ten years after the fact, it still remembers her and I feel it in anticipation.

The muscle memory of her.

Of Veronica, my Veronica.

The lids of my eyes close at her approach.

"I cannot stand any other person on the planet except you. You are my best friend, my worst enemy, you challenge me and drive me fucking crazy Logan. And I am going to kiss you. I am not going to let you leave tomorrow without me kissing you."

"Veronica," I warn.

My body and heart scream YES, a thousand times, YES! They shout it from the rooftops. But my head says no. Don't love me, Veronica, I will inevitably disappoint you, then lose you.

And I cannot lose you.

I won't.

"Shut up!" She snaps, as if reading my thoughts. Taking the final step towards me, closing the gap. Palms spread on my chest, crystalline eyes gaze up to mine. I shiver when I feel the heat coming off her skin. Her hands are the only thing holding me vertical, I feel like I'm falling into the floor, through my own feet.

I make the decision to obey her order, to shut up. Mainly because speech has escaped me.

And she's so fucking close.

"I'm going to kiss you now, and if you don't want me to, you're going to have to stop me," she whispers.

This time, I stop breathing entirely.

Veronica stands on her tiptoes, eyes like fire, and kisses me, softly, her lips taste of lemonade. The kiss is so brief it physically hurts. She pulls back, gauging my reaction.

Is that it?

Hell no!

I take her face in my hands and bring it toward me, crashing her lips into mine. Tasting her, reliving her, like ten years of lost time, like I've got one night left. There is not a soul in the world I'd prefer to spend it with and I intend to show her.

Her lips part hungrily, her tongue meeting my own. Our heads angle to meet each other closer, breathy and hot. Her hand wraps around my neck, tugging me towards her. Bodies pressed against each other, flush and craving.

Panting, we pull away, heads resting together, assessing, I'm searching for the composure I lost long ago.

My lips already miss hers.

"Kiss me again," comes from my mouth in a growl.

She obeys, willingly, our lips reconciling hungrily.

I delight in the exquisite pleasure of finally having her, after all this time, I want to savor it. Like an ice-cream, melting in the summer sun. It would be gone before I knew it, I didn't want to miss one drip.

I slide my hands under her backside and lift her from the floor, her legs wrap around me squeezing me tight, lips refusing to break from mine. Her core radiates heat into my crotch. I'm already hard, but somehow, this makes me harder. I pull back a little, worried that my obvious reaction to her might scare her off, but she seems drawn into it, she presses herself against me enthusiastically.

It's fucking divine.

My body responds by bucking against her, nothing between my cock and her heat but a black bikini bottom and blue boardshorts.

That is two layers too many, it needs to come off, everything needs to come off.

I need skin, on skin.

Now!

I stagger, Veronica still attached to me, towards the bedroom. All the while her lips pressed against mine, tongues tasting. Lust rages between us uncontrolled.

Years of pent up sexual tension and frustration are begging to exit my body. My legs hit the bed and I place her onto the covers, laying my weight onto her, my lips on her neck, her throat, her lips, everywhere. Her hands rake up my shirt and claw at my back, legs still wrapped around me.

Those legs.

I run my hands down them, spreading my palms across her milky thighs. So fucking soft. My fingers dig into the skin, leaving white marks in their wake.

Those thighs will be the death of me.

Veronica groans into my neck, before pulling back and nibbling on the skin under my ear.

"We need to slow down," I pull back, panting, "Or this isn't going to last long."

She snorts, gripping my shirt and pulling it roughly over my head, "Logan, NOW!" I laugh, shocked that she is just as desperate as I am. I never thought it possible.

I willingly peel her shirt off, but I don't rush. Inch by inch I pull it over her head, leaving a trail of kisses where her shirt was. Veronica clutches my hair in her hands, writhing impatiently. Her damp black bikini still underneath and I get to undo the ties that I thought about for hours. I lick her taut nipple, swirling around it and she moans and pleads to God.

It's not God, it's me.

And I get you.

Her bikini bottoms follow the trail of clothing to the floor and I stand, pulling off my board shorts and kicking them to the wall. She lays on the bed, naked, legs splayed and I blink twice.

She points to her dresser "top draw," and I bound across the room, pulling out a condom and putting it on with lightning speed.

I'm back, above her. Her arms reach up and pull me back down, nestling me towards her, legs open, waiting at her core. It's so fucking hot. So fucking wet.

But, I stop, resting at her entrance, hovering, slipping back and forth just slightly in her warm folds. She purrs.

An actual fucking purr.

My eyes meet hers, we're both drawing ragged breaths, but remarkably calm.

"Veronica, I love you," she needs to know this.

I am hers.

"I love you," she smiles, eyes clear and sincere, boring back into my own.

She arches against me and I slip inside, slowly making my way in before dragging myself out, only to plunge back, slower, savoring the feeling of her tight walls around me.

Missionary - nothing made me so hard. Something about her beneath me, pulling me into her, arching her back to encourage further depth, sucking me into her vortex.

I succumb. I'm only a man.

The thrusts become deeper, more rapid, more desperate, I'm so close, her moans tell me she is too. The rhythm sets and I can feel myself hitting the spot, the spot she loves best. I slip my hand between us, my thumb gliding back and forth across her clit.

Her eyes roll back into her head.

The best kind of eye-roll Veronica Mars can give, and she gives many.

Say my name.

Her heat, her desperation clamps around me, over and over again.

"Logan," she stutters her orgasm into my ear and it sets me over the edge. The colors in the room fuzz and brighten, synapses fire uncontained, a shiver races down my spine. I'm done. I come hard, spilling inside her, collapsing onto the beautiful woman beneath me.

I pull my torso back and prop myself above her, resting on my arm. Our bodies still stuck together with sweat, I stay inside. I'm not ready to leave yet.

"Fuck," is the only thing I can think of to say.

Veronica chuckles and says, "Yep," laying back on the bed and resting her hand beneath her naked breast.

"That was unexpected," I muse. Because despite the fact that I wanted it with every molecule of my being, I was convinced I had the willpower to fight it.

I was wrong.

Again.

Veronica kissing me, Veronica naked beneath me, robbed me mercilessly of any willpower.

"Did we just have sex?" she giggles in a spurt and covers her eyes.

"If you have to ask..."

"I'm just convincing myself that this is reality, checking I'm not actually dreaming it," she turns her head a little, shyly.

"Oh, it's reality baby," I wink mischievously.

She looks so god-damn delicious that I could do it all over again.

Can I do it all over again?

Please… I'm already inside. It just makes logical sense.

She raises her hand and runs it down my hairline, featherlight. "We need to do that again," she whispers, "we're on borrowed time."

Great minds.

My mouth drags across hers, she nibbles at my bottom lip, they're flush and bruised from her onslaught. I pulse inside her.

I pull out, still ferociously hard, like a goddamn teenager, and remove the condom.

"Give me five minutes," I wink.

I did get to do it again, many times.

As many times as my body would physically allow. Who needs to sleep? Bon Jovi said it best, I'd sleep when I was dead. I had to be out the door at 6.30 am tomorrow. Somehow, I had to walk myself out that door, away from this.

I had no idea how on earth I was going to do that.

But, that was a problem for tomorrow.

So I lost myself in Veronica for one night, a Veronica who said she loved me, who said she wanted me, despite all my flaws. I pushed thoughts of anything beyond tonight out of my mind. Nothing would ruin this.

The friendzone walls had been obliterated.

*** You've all waited very patiently through an epic amount of pining. You all deserve the sex above and the kudos for bearing with me! Let me know what you think :)