Friday. Dreaded Friday.
The Friday she was supposed to go out with Logan.
The date that Betsy was now getting ready for in her bedroom.
Usually, Jean would be sitting on Bety's bed, picking through the vast makeup arsenal while Betsy studied a different shoe on each foot like a Cosmo flamingo. But here Jean sat, grading papers in her comfy shorts and jonesing for the ice cream hidden in the back of the freezer. Cherry Garcia, all hers as soon as Betsy would make up her mind and just…go.
She heard Betsy's door close, because there was a distinct self-centeredness in the way she slammed the door. Jean realized she was sitting up in bed, listening. The front door closed.
"Finally, I can widen my ass in peace," she muttered to herself, grabbing her laundry basket as she left her own room.
With only three steps left, she looked up from her concentration on making sure she didn't skip a step and give herself that horrible jolt as one's heel slips on the forgotten stair, and looked right into Logan's eyes. She could never really 'read' him like she could others, but his frustration at seeing Jean as he waited for Betsy to find her jacket in the closet was plain as him telling her out loud. Frustration, as he took in her charcoal t-shirt and red cheerleader shorts that made her butt look good. (The ones she stole from Kitty.)
Feeling her cheeks growing hot, her mouth open. Logan cleared his throat a breath before Betsy emerged from the closet. Jean leaned against the laundry room wall, wishing she could have had the spine to tell Logan that…that she…
"Ready?"
Logan opened the door for Betsy, and Jean looked around the corner to see Logan waiting to catch a glimpse of Jean again.