CHAPTER TWO
"Good afternoon, Logan." Charles Xavier is eyeing my bloody and tattered shirt with a vaguely disapproving frown. "You're looking a bit worse for the wear. Eventful night?"
So much for staying under the radar. Who the hell am I kidding? Tough to do when the boss is a world-class telepath. I shrug. "No more'n usual."
That's a bit of a stretch considering it's not my habit to get plugged by a coked out pimp on a Friday night. But the mother was messing where he should'na been. Both thumbs and index fingers chopped to nubs, the cocksucker ain't ever gonna handle a Saturday Night Special again.
His weary, "Indeed," tells me he ain't happy with the peep inside my head. But, he plows ahead just the same, "Might I trouble you with a task this afternoon?"
There's no anxiety coming off him so it's a fair guess whatever he wants is gonna be the menial variety. Hope t'fuck it ain't babysitting again.
"No, it's not," he replies to my unspoken thought. "Doctor Harris has some personal effects she'd like moved from her home. I'd like you and Vic to assist her."
Oh ho! The curveliscious blonde? An opportunity to hit on her? I'm there. "Yeah, I guess so. Gimme a couple to get cleaned up."
"Much appreciated," He wheels away smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary.
xXx
Cruising down the boulevard, Vic interrupts my funk, "You're a man of few words."
"Huh?" I rub my eyeballs with my fists and explain, "Busy night."
"Losin' your edge, amigo?"
Snorting, I flip a friendly bird.
A hearty laugh booms in the cab of his truck, "Uh huh. That's what I figured. Bird doggin' the local talent wears on ya after a while."
No. Getting plugged in the liver with lead puts a crimp in my style but he don't need to know that.
"So, what's your take on the new doc?" he asks after a mile or so.
"Going by what I saw on her resume', I guess she's got the quals." It's what I didn't get to see that sticks in my craw. Citing privacy issues, Charles alone runs background checks on personnel. All Summers and I saw was a tidy little career history on the woman. That's nice but it's the personal stuff that needs independent investigation. I've told him it's fucked up and gonna bite him one of these days.
"Not what I'm talking about."
"Right. Dunno. I know she ain't Mutant. Not even latent."
"How'd ya get a handle on that so quick?"
"Nose knows, bub."
Vic laughs, "Think that'll make a difference."
"Dunno." What I do know is she ain't got a prejudiced bone in her body; 'least not for Mutants and she don't seem to be working any sort of angle.
"Si. Seems like a nice lady. Easy on the eyes, too."
"Mmm-hmm."
Vic parks his pickup in her driveway, "Nice place."
I just grunt. Nice place is an understatement. Ain't Xavier's mansion but it ain't no Hoboken row house either.
Suddenly I'm thinking my chances of scoring a successful hit might be somewhere around slim to none. She's gorgeous, educated and refined. Lives in a big old house, high-class neighborhood. She's way outta my league. It'll be the same old shit that Jean flung at me. I ain't the take-home type of guy.
Fuck it, she's probably a bitch on wheels once ya get to know her. "Let's git 'er done," I say and slam the trucks' door.
A minute or two later there's a gangly teenage boy gawking at us at the front door. Ah shit! A kid. Slim to none chance of scoring might be at zilch. Didn't smell it on her the other day but a kid probably means a husband.
Before the kid opens his mouth, we hear, "Who's at the door?" and she appears carrying a dishtowel.
The princess don't look so royal with her hair pinned up in a pony tail, in jeans, sneakers and a maroon sweatshirt with TAMU in gold letters across that rack of hers. I'm no fashion cop but maroon ain't her color. Still, the way those jeans hug her hips she rates up there on my fuckability scale. What the fuck is a TAMU?*
"Oh great," she says with a smile that makes me want to smile back. "Come on in, y'all. Matt this is Misters Marquez and Logan from the new place I'm working." Another boy, a little older, pokes his head up from the couch. "Guys, my sons, Matthew; and Travis is the couch potato over there."
Leading us through an expansive family room to the kitchen, she seems just as genuine and friendly as the other day in Charles' office, "Y'all want coffee?"
The inside's just as classy as the outside with polished wood floors, expensive carpets, quality furnishings. Yet, it feels comfortable and lived in with dirty dishes in the sink, discarded smelly sneakers piled in a corner, a ripe and stained athletic jersey draped over a chair. I smell a couple cats skulking somewhere. No dog.
She sets two gargantuan coffee mugs on the pass through between the kitchen and family room. Guess our answer to coffee's a yes.
xXx
Moving a couple boxes of personal effects turns out to be an all-afternoon gig of helping her re-arrange Jeans old clinic and office. Felt damn strange doin' it. Sorta like defacing somebody's personal space even if it is probably time. Move on, closure or whatever the hell. Once we got into it, her gentle, deferential way made it almost easy.
Not sure Scott feels the same and in his boots, I'd be just as torn up. I can't remember details to save my ass but something in my gut tells me I've lost the love of my life. At least he's got memories.
Now, cozying up at the local pizza joint, I watch her raise a wedge to those pouting lips and bite into it. Some of the sauce smears the corner of her mouth and she grins, delicately wiping it off with a deft touch of her index finger. I watch, hypnotised as her finger slips between said lips and she sucks off the sauce.
It is warm in here?
Talk about your contrasts. Next, she takes a sip of beer and I damn near bust a gut to keep from laughing at the foam mustache on her upper lip.
"Oh fudge!" she mocks herself and dabs the creamy foam away with a napkin. "Never could handle my beer."
Ain't exactly what I'm thinking imagining those lush lips giving me more than just a once over.
Didn't hear what the hell Vic just said but Sue's bulky sweatshirt can't hide the motion of those firm, high perched breasts as she laughs.
Down boy! Got the start of a major hard on.
She ain't gonna be easy but that's ok. Develop the right strategy, deploy tactics, I'll have her. Might take a little time but I ain't come across a woman I couldn't get to spread her legs — eventually.
"Enough about me," she says. Reaching across the table, her slender, neatly manicured fingers flutter against my forearm.
For an 'nth of a second I tense, instinct forcing me to recoil from uninvited contact. It's the scent of sincere curiosity that salvages the moment.
Violet eyes narrow speculatively, "Where do you call home, Logan?"
This is fuckin' stupid! My throat's dry and I feel like a tongue-tied school kid. Reaching for a draught of foaming, golden courage, I swallow half my beer and reply, "Where ever I park my bike."
Her eyes widen surprised and she laughs again, "That makes it convenient. No really, where do you come from?"
Nosy little broad. Don't like being reminded my memory's got more holes in it than a range target. My reply, "Ain't that what Charles hired you to find out?" comes out rough.
She shrinks back, eyes averted and I smell embarrassment all over her.
Damn! Tone it down asshole. "Truth is; I'm not sure. Canada, maybe."
Mollified, she smiles again "That seems right. Definitely sound like a northerner. What kind of bike?"
"Eighty nine Harley soft-tail," I boast.
From the look on her angel face, she's got no clue. But she's a trooper and wades right in, "You lost me on that one. Compare it to my boys' dirt bikes."
"What they got?"
"Umm, Suzuki's I think."
Fuckin' ricers. "That'd be like comparin' a Hummer to a Mini Cooper 'r somethin'."
"Oh! Never mind then."
"'S okay," I say between swills of brew. "Wanna ride mine, darlin'?"
Vic chokes on his beer. Pizza stops dead in the air on the path to Electra's mouth.
Aw shit! That didn't come out right. Double minor penalty, bub.
Slowly, Sue chews on a piece of crust. Looking me dead in the eye, her lips curve into a coy smirk, "Probably not."
She don't smell exactly amused and turns her attention to Electra. They start yapping something about their shared Texas roots.
Under the table something bangs my shin from Vic's direction. I've seen that mustache of his twitch before. Glaring back, I don't need him to rub my nose in it.
Small talk ain't my forte' and I'm thinking it's time to fold 'em and move along. One problem. Transportation's dependent on Vic and Electra. Damn if it ain't snowing again, too. What the hell? Since I'm stuck, might as well order another round of brew. Just gonna sit back, shut my mouth and hope to keep my dumb ass outta the penalty box.
xXx
Stretching my arms to the ceiling and groaning, if I have to peruse one more chart my eyeballs are going to melt. My backside is stuck to this chair and I can't help but glance uneasily before inelegantly picking a blue jean wedgie out of my derrière.
It's so quiet. Professor Xavier really puts the lid down on this place. Other than the hum of my computer and the soft melody from a piano coming from the adjacent music room, the place is quieter than a chapel.
Somebody's playing Moonlight Sonata and really knows their stuff. Me thinks I need to check it out. Padding in my socks down the dimly lit hall, I'm trying to guess the concertmaster's identity. I freeze just outside the music room's double wide entry. It's dark except for a dimmed chandelier suspended over the concert grand. Well I'll be!
Pausing, he lifts his chin. I can see his nostrils flare ever so slightly. He looks in my direction and quits playing, "Evenin'," Logan's voice rumbles deep and smooth. "Didn't mean to bother ya," he says pushing back from the piano.
"You weren't." Why am I blushing? Sure hope it's dim enough he can't see, "I...I needed a break and...That's lovely. Don't stop."
He shrugs, "Don't know if I remember the rest." Dark eyes, stare past me as he continues from where he left off.
Strolling closer and leaning against a nearby velvet settee: Wow! I realize there's no sheet music. He's playing by rote. How unexpected; particularly after being briefed by Charles and Electra.
My gosh! Scruffy and tough looking aside, he's handsome. And will ya look at those eyes! They smolder with mystery and intelligence; animal magnetism. Tranquil and graceful at the keyboard, he's got musician hands; long, strong, nimble fingers.
I feel a flutter in my breast imagining his hands –
I've lost my mind! He's not my type. He has a proclivity toward boorish innuendos. He's a borderline head case. It's my rule not to get involved with direct co-workers.
He's a hunk! I think I want to get to know this guy.
He finishes and I say, "You've got talent. Did you ever study music?"
He makes eye contact and shrugs. Oh, those eyes! Brimming with depth and soul; yet strangely, at this moment, pain and loss as well. Why am I so attuned to this man?
His truncated reply, "Maybe. Long time ago, in another life," echoes the despondency in his eyes. "Used to have a guitar but it got blown to hell with my truck. Ain't got another one since." He gestures, "The piano's handy."
"What happened to your truck?"
"Wrecked it; propane tank caught fire."
"Propane tank? What the heck kind of truck?"
"Old pickup with an attached camper."
I nod, intuition warning this isn't the time for details, "Can you play anything else?"
Again, there's that shrug. Mmm,mmm! He makes the gesture uncannily sensual.
"What do you teach again; music?" I ask teasing, just as he finishes another flawless performance, something bluesy, the title slips my mind.
He snorts and briefly grins, "Nah. But didn't ya say you studied piano in what? High school?"
Did I babble about that? Must've.
He's got a sly expression and pats the piano bench, "C'mere. You play."
I must be as red as the carpet beneath the piano, "No way! It's been ages since…"
"Whatcha scared of darlin'?"
"Making an idiot out of myself."
"Never happen." He reaches out and snags my sleeve, "Have a seat."
"Fine," I huff.
Plunking out a simple children's song I wonder what his game is. Why am I letting myself be manipulated?
"Hey, I'm impressed." He leans close just brushing my left shoulder, "Betcha even know this one," and plays out the harmony to Heart and Soul.
I laugh. Nudging his elbow I add the melody.
We manage to mangle it and he laughs; the warmth of it sends a shiver down my spine. And what an irresistible smile. The next thing I know, his arm wraps around my shoulder and he nuzzles my hair.
Whoa! Hold on sec, cowboy. Might want to get to know you but I'm a slow mover.
His sweet, warm breath raises goose bumps on the back of my neck. Strange for me, I can't distance myself; mentally or physically, "Hey, gimme some space."
He does; taking up the spot where I'd been standing. I play my old school-day recital standby, Canon in D. The music comes easily but I find myself needing to concentrate on the keyboard.
He's looking at me again; the same way he did in Charles' office the other day. Wonder if I should break into a piano version of Strip Tease?
"There ya go," I say while holding out the last notes.
His mouth curves in a casual grin and he gestures thumbs up.
"Why thank you, kind sir," I reply with a goofy curtsy that earns me a chuckle. "But for now the show's over. It's late and I've got early rounds tomorrow."
His smile persists, "How 'bout I walk ya to your car?"
"No bother," I reply heading for my office.
He trots alongside, "Not a bother. 'Sides," he wiggles his brow menacingly, "Ya never know what dangers lurk in the parking lot."
I think I'm in more danger alone with you. "Suit yourself," I answer smartly.
While I shut down my computer and slip on my shoes he doesn't say a word. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, casually observing my every move. There's a weird tension building and it's making me nervous.
He helps me with my coat. "So what do ya do at rounds?" he asks, slightly easing my jitters.
"Follow up with my patients."
"Ain't there clinic for that?"
"Yes… and no. I've got two little ones hospitalized. Plus, I'm on call starting at seven a.m. That usually means I'll have at least a couple newborns to check on."
He nods and we walk in silence toward the parking area, our breath steaming in the cold winter air.
"Keeps ya hoppin', eh?" he finally comments.
"You have no idea."
Flashing the most intriguing lopsided grin, he shoves his hands into his pockets, "Where's the Jag?"
"Oh! Now I know why the escort," My offense isn't real. "Don't fret," My tone's conciliatory as I rummage through my purse for the keys to my trusty mom-mobile, a late eighties Volvo station wagon. "She's tucked safe and warm in my garage."
He leans in close. Before I know it, the softest, warmest hand caresses my cheek. Before I can react, I feel my chin tenderly raised. My eyes lock into compelling brown eyes as his lips brushing mine like a whisper. He slips his arm around my waist and pulls me close. My backbone turns to iron while my knees turn to rubber.
He doesn't back down. Before I can take a breath, push back, I'm snug in his arms. His mouth closes over mine, his lips molding, exploring, his tongue prying.
Trembling and ignoring frantic signals from the rational portion of my brain to stop before this goes too far, I nip at his lower lip, tracing the moist softness with my own tongue then gently suck it.
With a low growl, he seizes an advantage and plunges in. He's persuasive; carnal yet tender. Why I'm not frightened out of my wits, I don't know. He tastes delicious. His arms feel protective.
Convinced and aroused, I melt into his broad chest. "Mmmm," I sigh into his mouth. My arms encircle his neck and my fingers tangle in silken, thick curls at the nape of his neck.
His strong hands smooth up and down my back, cup my posterior, grinding my pelvis against the solid, thick bulge in his jeans.
My god, he's gotta be huge!
Cramininny! What's next? Drop onto the hood of my car and do it like horny high-school kids?
No!
Adult practicality comes knocking. It's cold. It's not exactly private. I don't know this guy from Adam.
This isn't me. I DON'T OPERATE THIS WAY.
Eep. Eep. Eep. Eep. Praise be my pager service!
Pushing against his chest with the flat of my palm, our mouths separate with a wet pop, "I hafta get that."
xXx
He shoots … and … buzz. Time out! What the fuck?
I had her. Right here. In my arms. Warm, definitely interested if the sweet musk radiating from her ripe body was any clue. Another minute or two and instead of watching her drive away we'd be hand in hand going through the back entrance to my room.
Yeah, well maybe. Underneath her lady-like veneer is a simmering cauldron of passion. Stirred her up for sure but she ain't gonna let me have a taste; not yet anyway.
I shove my hands in my pockets, adjust myself to relieve the pressure and make my way back to the mansion. Debating with myself what to do about the rest of the evening, one thing is certain; a cold shower ain't gonna cut it tonight. Might be pushing too fast if I hop on my bike and follow doc hottie so I guess it's plan B.
xXx
Oh my gosh! I'm shaking. I don't believe that guy.
Oh shut up! Be honest. It's not like he wasn't throwing out signals. The time to cut and run was in the music room when he got cozy.
Did I?
Noooo.
And so I drive down the road playing devil's advocate with myself.
He's a good kisser.
Delicious but that's not the point. It was inappropriate.
Why? We're both adults.
Who are going to be working together. There's a 'scrip for a big mess.
And who got to drooling and said to herself I want to get to know this guy?
Yeah. Well---slower.
Oh wah! Admit it; I'm flattered.
And turned on.
So, what to do?
Go home. Grab a glass of wine and take a bubble bath.
With the vibrator.
This is crazy; debating my own conscience. I really need to get a personal life again but it's been so long. I just don't know if I'm ready for the roller coaster. Well, if this guy thinks he's gonna get anywhere with me he's gonna play by my rules.
xXx
Forty five minutes later, I'm sidled up to a greasy bar in a working class part of town swilling down my first frosty long neck. Being a Sunday night the crowd is thin, fairly quiet and inclined to mind their own business and that suits me fine. Even the tunes are mellow with nothing harder than the Grateful Dead sounding like they are dying over the shitty sound system.
Damn! That woman's got me turned inside out and tied up in knots. Between the other afternoon's colossal flame out with my big mouth and now coming onto her like a sex-starved dog, I'm pitching a no-hitter.
My usual spot opens up; a booth near a row of dart boards. Easing into the worn and cracked vinyl bench, generous Ginger cruises by, "The usual?" she greets with her customary warm smile.
Returning a grin, I nod and put up two fingers.
She returns with a pair of amber colored bottles and sets them in front of me then throws a curve by not settling into the seat opposite me.
Takes a while to catch her eye, "Shift almost over, darlin'?"
She replies, "Half an hour," hands me the tab and make her way to another table.
"Want company tonight?" I ask as she glides by and picks up a wad of cash.
She returns with change, "Already got a date."
"So, dump him."
"Don't wanna do that, Logan. I've been seeing this guy on and off for a while; though mostly on." With that, she's off, tending another table.
I shrug. It's a free country. She can hook up with whoever she wants whenever she wants.
She mops up a table next to me, "He's a nice guy and a lot more predictable then another guy I know." I can't miss that jab or the emotions spewing from her pores.
Nice? Predictable? Collared and whipped is more like it. I raise my bottle in mock salute, "Whatever floats your boat, Gin."
Swilling down the last dregs, Gingers' words bobble uneasy in my mind. Nice guy….predictable…. Haven't I heard those words before? Yeah, well last time I tried that what'd it get me?
The aged vinyl creaks as I slide out of the booth. Ambling toward the exit, I sidle up to Ginger working a cash register at the end of the bar. "See ya, darlin'," I murmur in her ear while sliding my hand across her trim ass.
She stiffens for a second, her scent mildly indignant but then she cranes her head sideways and wistful smile on her lips, "Uh huh. Next blue moon, right Logan?"
"Sure thing."
Laterizing the bar and the broad, I straddle my bike, roll my shoulders and take stock. Ok, do I wanna chance strike three tonight checking out another bar? No, not really. Truthfully, I ain't all that disappointed Ginger has other plans. Besides, considering who's really on my mind, anybody else is just sloppy seconds.
I kick start my Harley and put it in gear. Time for plan C; Danger Room session followed by a shower and a close encounter with rosy palm and her sisters.
XXX
*TAMU- initials for Texas A&M University