CHAPTER THREE
This new gym Charles built, its funding compliments of the hefty settlement from the government after Stryker's goons tore up the mansion, is perfect except for one thing. It's new. It'll take months for the place to quit reeking. Most folks relish that new car or fresh paint aroma. Me; I'd rather inhale carbolic acid.
This morning the gym is the lesser evil. Cold as a polar bears' ass and a fresh coating of sleet outside, I'm giving my morning combatives class a break. They've earned it, working their butts off and keeping complaints to a minimum when I push 'em to the breaking point.
Stink aside, this is a first rate set up. Weight room, Nautilus equipment, treadmills, rowers, you name it. A yoga and a dance studio put smiles on the ladies faces. True to form Charles spared no expense including customized equipment he trains on a couple times a week. Gotta give the guy serious cred for his taste in personal trainers. Dominique can work me over any time she wants.
Only thing missing is an indoor ice hockey rink. Eh, maybe it's in next year's construction budget
From my vantage point, I can look through a glass wall of windows down to the swimming pool. I hear furious splashing, Vic Marquez' whistle and his authoritarian bark as he rides herd on the swim team.
"Pay attention!" I demand of my class, progressing into another series of warm up stretches.
Movement below catches my eye. It's her. She sheds a pale blue warm up jacket revealing a matching swim suit. Modest, athletic cut that it is; it can't hide her fine hips and shapely thighs. She'd look good in a paper sack.
She strides across the deck, pauses poolside and sticks a toe into the water. Waving, her lips move to say hello to Vic.
I'm mesmerized watching her stretch and bend with feline grace. Christ! Those firm, high perched knockers are to die for. Her nipples tenting the fabric of her suit ain't the only thing hard. Down boy!
Wind milling toned arms, she glances up at the treadmills, smiles and waves. Electra and Storm return enthusiastic greetings. Her eyes track along the glass wall. Suddenly the broad smile turns guarded and her cheeks turn red. Spotted me, I guess.
Ok bub, after your colossal screw-ups the last couple encounters it wouldn't be real smart to add another. She responds to my slight nod with a visible rise of her chest, a sigh I guess, and dives into the water.
Damn! She's beautiful and fast. And damn! I better get my mind back on the class.
"Pair up," I tell them and repeat the command in Japanese.
The scent of the kid's joy over practicing basic throws is thick and stimulating and helps take my mind off another sort of stimulation; like ogling doctor delicious.
"Lee!" I holler at the capable but distractible imp. "Move like that and you're gonna end up with a busted neck."
Gutsier than most of the kids, except maybe Marie, Jubilation Lee sticks out her tongue and snips, "Oh, what now Wolv—um, coach?"
For what's gotta be the zillionth time, the kid maneuvers me into a one on one demonstration. It's our little game and so far no harm's come of it. I'll take her games over some other girls' misguided to occasionally down-right lewd attempts to attract my attention.
Don't do kids. Never did. Never will. And at my age, whatever the hell it is; kid to me is anything under thirty.
My class finishes before she's through with her swim. For a nanosecond I consider taking a swim myself then nix the urge. My adamantium bones render me more like a brick in the water and I'm hesitant to crowd her. Instead, I break for outdoors and a brisk, solitary run.
My minds running just as hard as my body. Can't get that woman outta my head. I'm fuckin' obsessed! Tail doesn't get to me like hers is. I really don't wanna think I've scared her off but can't shake the feeling my come-on the other night might've been strike three.
Maybe not! She's just come from the gym heading toward the mansion and a plan forms up in my head. What have I got to lose?
"Susan!" I holler.
Wind's blowing her scent away from me so I can't tell if she hears me or not but she keeps walking. I call her name once more and pick up the pace.
She hears and stops in her tracks, "Good morning." Her expression's cool but her pheromones ain't.
"Yeah, it is." Suddenly my plan seems lame as a school boy's.
"Is there something you need?" she asks in a professional tone.
"Um, no. I mean, yes." I take a breath to steady my thoughts. Don't smell anger. Irritation maybe and definitely confusion. "I was out of line the other night and..."
She cuts me off, her voice level and crisp, "Yes, you were."
"And I just want to say…"
Oh man! The words I'm sorry stick in my craw. "I, uh, …didn't mean anything by it."
Her cheeks redden as her expression turns to stone and I catch a whiff of barely checked humiliation and fury.
Oh geeze! Fucked up again. "No! Darlin'. . ."
"I'm not your darlin'," she hisses.
"Right . . . No . . . What I mean . . . Sue . . . I . . . don't mean any disrespect." Say it ya stupid loser, "I'm sorry."
By her scent I can tell the piss off meter goes down a couple notches and the tension drains from her face. "Apology accepted," she mutters and walks away. Humiliation ain't a pleasant perfume on her.
For a second I stand here like an idiot without a clue where to go with this; how to make things right. "Can I have a chance…." I trot alongside her like a puppy looking for a treat. "To back things up a little?"
She doesn't say anything for what seems like forever. It's givin' me a case of acid indigestion and I don't get heartburn. I can't believe I'm doing this. Crawling to a woman!
"Maybe," You could make ice from her tone. "What does backing things up mean?"
Oh hell! What's it mean? "Can I . . . take ya out sometime?"
"Maybe."
Didn't tell me to fuck off and die so let's shoot for the moon, "How about dinner Friday?"
"Hmm. Not sure. I'll have to check my schedule. Can I get back to you?"
I don't smell an outright lie on her but something tells me she knows her schedule. What the hell am I getting myself into? Forget it. I ain't playin' games. Sensibilities returning fast, I reply, "In your own sweet time, darlin'."
Scoring the last word, I leave her to decide the next move. I'll work on convincing myself I don't give a shit what her answer is.
xXx
It's four thirty and the clinic's quiet except for Electra. I hear shuffling and rustling and mild Spanish invectives drifting out from the storage closet. NPR's All Things Considered streaming from my computer nearly drowns it out.
It's been a smooth first day; almost boring at times. Not that I haven't kept busy familiarizing myself with students medical histories, the physical set up of the clinic itself and noting changes I want. All in all, most everything's shipshape and I'm still pinching myself over the good luck to practice medicine among a micro-community of X gene positives.
"You'll be in Wednesday afternoon?" Electra's question startles me but it's a welcome interruption.
The psych eval I'm poking through is disturbing and that's putting it mildly, "Yes. Probably around one thirty or two if past history is any guide."
"So what is it you do on Wednesday mornings?"
"Depends. If I'm very lucky and the weather is nice I get a round of golf or tennis match in. If I'm not so lucky it's grand rounds or teaching CEU's. And then there's staff meetings or committee meetings or seminars. You get the idea."
She nods and laughs, "And Vic keeps pushing me to go to medical school. No thank you." Locking the closet, she adds "I'm all through. Anything you need before I go?"
"No thanks. I'm going to finish reading and then I'm gone. Oh, before I forget; I've got one of those informational dinners tomorrow night. Merck is pushing a new vaccine for HPV. Wanna come along?"
She smiles broadly, "Si, si. This being a school, the drug reps don't come by and if one does they don't offer freebies. We don't order enough to be worth their time."
"I could go to those damn things seven nights a week and twice on Sunday. Since I don't have to attend for you to, I'll cut you in on the hospital invites. And," I wink, "most are open to spouses"
"Free meal or not, Vic would hate it and I'd never get him to dress up for it."
My turn to laugh, "I'll pick you up at six."
She leaves and I return to reading this psychological profile.
. . .these recollections take the form of dreams, visual and auditory hallucinations, and dissociative flashbacks and leave him in a state of heightened arousal, indicated by a racing heart, panting, sweating, headache, nausea and occasional psychosomatically induced vomiting. His attempts to avoid the memories and triggers are futile.
Given his history of repeated violent trauma and subsequent retrograde amnesia, avoidant behavior, hyper-vigilance bordering on paranoia and his experiences with intrusive symptoms and hyper-arousal, a diagnosis of PTSD is appropriate.
In addition, an extensive history of withdrawal, irritability, feral physical and behavioral/sociological manifestations, circumstance specific violent behavior and given the aforementioned trauma, a mood and/or personality disorder cannot be ruled out….
Date this guy! What the heck am I thinking?
…. Because he has articulated bouts of alternating moodiness and apathy with occasional suicidal thoughts, a major depressive disorder seems diagnostically appropriate. Because features of mania are……
"Hey doc . . ."
"Gah!" I spin my my chair. It's him. "Don't do that," I feel my cheeks burn.
"What?" He got that same shit-eating grin plastered on his face, "The Prof said to stick this new name plate on your door."
"Oh! Okay."
I shouldn't but I feel like the kid caught filching from the cookie jar. Minimizing the computer screen to conceal Logan's profile, I motion him inside and relieve him of the package, "Lemme see."
"Let me," he offers noticing my useless struggle with endless tape wrapped around the thing.
Ok! Knock me over with a feather! Emerging from the knuckle between his left index and middle fingers is the tip of what looks like a very fine, sharp knife.
I can't stifle a gasp, "I read it your record but honest to god, I . . . I"
He retracts it and stares at me like I'm a complete idiot.
"Does that hurt?" It's probably a stupid question but I can't stop myself from asking.
"Nah," he returns the cleanly sliced carton. "This doesn't but poppin' all six full out's a bitch."
I'm doing a crappy job disguising my shock and from the look on his face I think he's enjoying it. To save my dignity I make a careful study of the sturdy brass nameplate etched with Doctor Sue in bold lettering and a smaller , D.O., underneath.
Displaying it, I decree, "This is pretty neat, don't you think?"
He looks bored out of his tree, "So, where ya want it?"
"The door, of course."
"Right but…placement. C'mon darlin', if I know women and I do….."
"Impress me."
Hee-hee! What a vexatious mug. "Oh all right. Since it's faded from the old sign nail it there." I add a solicitous, "Please," because he looks like he sucked a lemon.
"So, ya really do go by Doctor Sue," he asks over the buzz of his battery-op screw driver?
"Sure do."
"How come?"
"Less intimidating."
Chewing on his bottom lip, he makes eyes between me and the task, "Makes sense."
How he cops a simultaneous squint and one raised eyebrow is beyond me, but it's cute. Sexy, too.
Polishing the plaque with his shirtsleeve, he stands back admiring his handy work, "Howzzis?"
Leaning back in my chair, I affect meticulous scrutiny before declaring, "Perfection."
I think he gets that I'm teasing and returns, "Damn straight," with a superior expression.
In a mood to wrap up my day, I thank him and go back to reading. It takes too long before I realize he's still standing there.
Arms crossed, leaning against the door, his lips curved in a rakish smirk, I get the feeling he's undressing me in his mind again.
Blushing again, I'm relieved he's not positioned to read over my shoulder, "Is there something else?"
"Yeah. Are we on for Friday night?"
He's either a complete asshole or really doesn't get it. "Not if you're going to size me up like the main course!"
Two deep lines form a V across the bridge of his nose and the smirk falls from his lips. He starts to say something, stops abruptly then exhales. Mister hot-to-trot looks like somebody dumped a bucket of ice water down his britches. Staring at each other for a long, awkward moment, I witness him transform from a hawk to eating crow. I guess he must possess some level of empathy.
Turning away, he moves stiffly toward the door muttering, "Guess we ain't on for Friday."
My point seemingly taken, I toss him a bone, "I haven't had a chance to check my schedule."
Glancing over his shoulder, that mischievous grin's back on his face – a bit restrained this time. He turns, positions himself just inside the door and waits like an eager pup for a ball to be tossed his way.
If I say sit, will he? Oohh, naughty Sue! Be nice.
Situation as it is, I'm still of two minds about his invitation. I'd welcome the chance to beg a rain check. "Hmm, you're in luck…."
Bzzzt! My phone snatches my attention, "Sorry, gotta get this. My son…"
"Hey Matt! What's up?"
My blood pressure rises a notch hearing my ex-husbands elitist tone. He always does this; uses the boys' phone because he thinks I won't answer him right away. He's right. Most of the time he calls it's going to be something to muck up my schedule.
My date wanna-be doesn't make himself scarce but at least has the courtesy to turn away, making careful study of the walls.
"I see . . . I suppose . . ." I roll my eyes to the ceiling over Allen's latest life crisis. "Is it that the boys don't want to come along or is it Christine who doesn't want them along? . . . How can I say that? . . . Oh c'mon. This isn't the first time you've pulled a switcheroo on me. . . Fine! Whatever . . . Pick them up at five? . . . No . . . Yes, I said no. . . . Allen, just because you're changing the arrangement there's no reason Travis and Matt can bring their lil' selves just like any other weekend . . . Uh huh. . . yes. . . settled as far as I see it. . . Bye, Allen"
Logan chuckles as I click off the phone muttering, "Donkey brains!"
"Sounds like I really am outta luck for Friday," he says.
Well, got my rain check but it's not the one I expected, "I'm sorry. Another time, maybe?"
He looks frustrated and maybe puzzled. It's an expression I get a lot from potential dates when they realize my boys come first. Time to explain the facts of life and if he can handle it, great. If not, oh well, "I make it a rule not to mix my kids with my . . . um…dating life." Not that it's all that active lately but he doesn't need to know that.
I'm not sure but I think I detect a flicker of disappointment on his face before he shrugs, "Okay. See ya around, doc."
He's gone before I have a chance make a counter suggestion—not that I would. Oh well. Cross another one off the list.
xXx
I'm outta my friggin' mind. She's divorced; at least once maybe more for all I know. It sounds like her ex is a piece of work and to top it off, she's seriously wrapped up in those two kids. Then there's the mixed up signals she's throwing at me. One minute she's playing me – or thinks she is. The next minute she's running chicken. A piece of her tail is looking less and less worth the aggravation. Think I'll scram outta here for the night; chase me up some tail without all the baggage and strings attached.
An hour and a half later, I'm sucking down my second cold one, keeping half an eye on patron comings and goings and a hockey game on the TV mounted above a sticky, beat-up bar.
I catch a scent, familiar and safe, just ahead of a throaty purr, "Long time, no see." She wastes no time sliding an arm around my middle and slipping a manicured hand between my thighs.
"What's yer pleasure, darlin'?"
"Same as you but let's head for the booth," she tilts her head, "over there."
Karen's the whole package; independent, street smart and then some. It don't hurt she's one hot piece of ass with long, glossy black hair that sways with her hips. Her body's sleek and fit and the sweater and skirt, so short it could be a belt, showcases curves in all the right places. Long, tan legs beg a man to trail his fingers their length to see if her skin feels as silky as it looks. It does.
Seated opposite me, her index finger traces the rim of her beer bottle and her lips tilt up in a sly half smile, "It really has been a while. Where've you been lately?"
I shrug, "Here 'n there. No place special."
Her foot rubs against my shin, "No place special seems to do right by you."
I tip my beer in her direction, "Looking fine yerself."
There's a requisite amount of small talk that always goes with situations like this. It's a skill I haven't mastered. Fortunately, my other skills make up for it. "Still part owner of this joint?"
"Mm-mm. You're looking at the one and only owner."
Impressed, I grin and nod.
"You know Logan, last time we talked you were thinking about a new line of work. I could seriously use a guy like you tending bar."
I laugh, "Nah, never work. I don't do umbrella drinks."
She sighs, "Truer words were never spoken. Well, if you ever find yourself in need, the offer's there."
"How 'bout the other one?" She knows what I'm asking.
Under the table, she tangles her leg with mine, "Hang around 'til last call."
"I can do that."
She slides out of the booth. Leaning over she teases me with a demanding kiss and a nice view of the goods barely hidden beneath the V-neck of her sweater.
After countless beers, games of pool and darts, I'm finally following Karen up the narrow staircase leading to her apartment over the bar. Mesmerized by the swing of her perfect firm ass, I've got more than half a hard on recalling our last encounter.
I stand behind her as she opens the door, inhaling the soft sexy scent surrounding her. A spicy, vanilla-scented perfume mingled with the fresh smell of shampoo and underneath is the smell of bare smooth skin and the musk of a woman.
Barely inside, she launches herself at me, her hands unbuttoning my shirt. Her mouth, hot and slick pressing against each new patch of newly exposed flesh until she is sliding kisses along my waistband and nimbly unfastening my belt buckle.
"Ahhhhh!" It's sweet relief as she frees me from the confines of denim.
Her eyes are open, staring into mine as she kneels submissively. Smooth and warm, her fingers fondle and tease, stoking the fire in my belly. "You like?" she coo's.
My dick answers with a potent twitch.
She's so goddamn good. The pace, the touch; it's almost like masturbating. Except when it's just me I don't have the agonizingly erotic vision of myself squeezed between her delicate, practiced hands.
It gets better.
Her soft tongue steals out, lapping and tracing warm, liquid swirls setting sensitive nerves on fire. Our mingling scents, the sight of her lascivious ministrations, the sensation of her expert tongue play is sweet torture.
My hips rock with rising need. Blood pounds at my temples. Damn! I'm getting close. Struggling for control, I softly clasp her head in my hands, "Slow down."
My protests die as her soft, full lips close over me, sliding down almost to the base. Working it faster, harder, I can't stifle a moan and I can't stop from thrusting hard into her mouth.
Unfazed, she pushes me on, punishing me with her lips and hands. Flesh on flesh, she rouses savage heat trapping me in an expanding firestorm of raw animal lust. Desperate to reach that indefinable summit, I groan, "Finish it." She obeys, pressing her fingers on the spot guaranteed to do just that.
Inside, spasms, one more powerful than the next, surge forward burying me, drowning me in waves of overpowering ecstasy. Climaxing fast and hard, a guttural growl pours from my throat as I mindlessly buck like a rutting beast.
When my heart slows to mere double-time I look down at her. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand and there's no disguising the pleased expression on her face. With a sly grin, she straightens and sashays over to the couch peeling sweater and skirt as she goes. Primed and more than ready, she drapes her body over the cushions, splays her legs and declares, "Payback time."
High as a kite on her pheromones I hop across the floor like a spastic rabbit, shucking off my jeans and boots.
She relieves me of my shirt, drops her gaze and smiles wickedly, "Looking studly there, hon!"
I follow her gaze, notice my dick standing proud and below it my socks are also at full mast. Ah shit!
She cracks a giggle and I follow up with a raucous chuckle of my own.
xXx
About five a.m. I finally untangle my legs from hers. Karen's dead to the world asleep, no doubt worn out. Me? A triple play keeps the itch down to a manageable level. Ain't come a across a woman, Mutant or not, who can wear me out. She sighs as I brush a strand of hair off her forehead and tuck the covers around her shoulders. She's a good lady, a friend with benefits and like me, attachment shy.
Time to get back to campus and make like a respectable whatever it is I am. There's a heap of bullshit for ya.
The road back to Xavier's takes me through Salem Center with its quaint row of shops. A favorite, Havana Harry's Cigars, ain't open yet. Though it's illegal in the US, the proprietor keeps a special stash of Cubans for select customers. I scared the shit out of him the first time I set foot in the place. Though kept in a hidden basement humidor, I could still smell those fat beauties. When I pushed to buy a few, I think he thought I was a Fed 'r something. Took a while to build up trust but now I even make an occasional run to Cuba for him.
Another shop in particular, a pastry and coffee joint, almost always sidetracks me. Hungry from last night's activity and a mostly liquid supper, my stomach rumbles and my mouth waters just thinking about fresh from the ovens muffins chased with a triple shot espresso. Snapping the kickstand of my bike into place, I chuckle to myself. How different things are from a year ago when it was a treat sucking down a greasy, stale doughnut and coffee that'd rival battery acid. Yeah, civilisation's got its perks.
Well, lookee here! Forest green Volvo station wagon. Don't even have to get close enough to parse the scent to know whose car. Sure enough, I spot her through the plate glass window and don't she look nice in trim grey slacks, form fitting turtleneck and blazer. A red scarf draped around her shoulders adds a classy touch.
The place isn't busy yet so she's standing at the counter in a three way gab fest with the waitress and another babe I don't know. Sue and the other woman aren't paying attention but recognizing me, the waitress disengages from the conversation.
"Maple walnut's the special today," she tells me with a welcoming smile.
"Sounds good. Make it two, darlin'."
"Oh gosh!" Sue glances over her shoulder. "'Morning!" She turns to face me, fiddling with the shoulder strap of her purse. I get a whiff of nervous and surprise.
Weird! Why am I feeling the same? "'Mornin' yerself."
She beats me to it asking, "Come here often?"
"Couple times a week. You?" I know the answer cuz I ain't noticed her here before now.
"No, not really. I noticed it on my way to," as her voice drops her eyes roam the shop, "um. . .the school. Thought I'd try it out."
"Got time?" I motion to two cozy chairs by the window as the waitress sets out or order.
"A few minutes," she says glancing at her watch.
She reaches for her ticket but I get it first. She blushes, "You don't have to."
I reply, "You're welcome." It's hard not to laugh as her cheeks go from soft pink to bright red.
"On your way to work?" she asks settling into the faux velvet lounger.
Sipping my coffee, I do the same nodding yes to the question.
She makes peeling a muffin paper seem erotic.
"I dunno why but I thought you live at Xavier's."
"Charles assigns a room to me."
"Oh. So you have your own place?"
Hell no. That implies roots, permanence, responsibility. I shake my head and shove half a muffin in my mouth.
We munch in silence. Both of our eyes follow the comings and goings of customers.
Fidgeting, a soft aura of uncertainty swirls around her, "How did you end up coaching and so forth?"
"Good. . ." I swill a mouthful of coffee to wash down to big a bite, " . . .question."
And a loaded one too, from the hesitation in her phrasing. Bet money she almost said a guy like you. "Long story." And territory off limits.
Hell! Here I go with the paranoia. There's no condescension in her; just honest curiosity. When - if the time's ever right I'll give her the low down, "Had to do something in between. . . the uh . . . other stuff."
She sucks in a breath as if to speak. Catching herself, she beams a quizzical smirk and nods, "Do you like it?"
"What? Coaching?" Swirling the last dregs of my coffee with a wood stir, I consider my answer carefully, "For the most part, yeah. It's the kids, ya know. Watching them . . . when they seem to get it . . . feels kinda satisfying."
Her gentle smile vanishes at the buzzing sound coming from her jacket pocket. "Excuse me," is directed at me.
"This is Doctor Harris…..Repeat that, please." She's got a look of focused determination on her face. "Advise they go straight to the ER."
She clicks off the call and initiates something else on her phone, "Oh bugs! It's going to be one of those days." She answers my unspoken question with, "This ER thing is most likely going to be an admit and is going to screw up all my morning appointments."
"Can't ya change your schedule?"
"Some but it's still an inconvenient pain. Anyway," she gently squeezes my forearm, "thanks for the coffee. I've got to fly."
I watch her sprint out the door with the phone glued to her ear.
Damn! She's got baggage. She throws mixed signals. She's complicated. But just now; her face, her moves, the scent of adrenalin as she shifted into professional mode — she's fascinating.
XXX
A/N This is the last of the re-written chapters of the previously titled More Than Yesterday Less Than Tomorrow. I am s-l-o-w-l-y working on the rest. It's not as easy as one might think converting everything to first person point of view, turning boring exposition into action and dialog and correcting glaring characterisation mistakes. Please review either positively or not. All is appreciated. MLC