CHAPTER SIX

"Screw it," I chuck the brush into the sink. Despite a trim this afternoon, my hair defies all attempts taming two obnoxious tufts on either side of my head. Hair goop? Never.

Tonight is the night. I'm stoked, even a little nervous. When's the last time I took a nice lady out to a decent place?

She's still playing hard to get. Her latest trick is meeting me at the concert instead of me picking her up. Thought she was worried I'd come for her on my Harley but it didn't matter that I told her I'm borrowing one of Charles' cars. While not an outright lie, she pawned me off saying she couldn't be sure of her clinic schedule and didn't want me having to wait around. Pissed me off a little because I don't go for games like that. Don't care how hot a babe is. But, with her, I get a sense she's scared about something. I aim to find out what it is and fix it, if she'll let me.

Making my way down the back staircase, I'm accosted by triple trouble, namely Rogue, Shortstuff and Firecracker.

Rogue is the first to open her big mouth, "Whoa, Logan! You look awesome."

Attempting to keep off the gossip roster, I shrug and ease on past.

Firecracker cracks her bubble gum, "Whoooo, hot date 'r something Wolvie?"

Poking her with an elbow, Shortstuff says, "Gawd Jubes, you are so nosey."

Leveling the brat with an evil eye, I lash, "Wha'd I tell ya 'bout that Wolvie crap, Lee."

"Sooorrrreeee," she huffs.

Intimidated they ain't. Flapping their mouths with blatant speculation, they hang tight on my six as I make my way to the garage.

I get as far as the key rack before I turn on 'em. Thrusting my index finger, "You, you, and you," I laser 'em with my best death glare. "Shut yer yaps and beat it."

"Guys, I think he means it," Shortstuff squeaks. Rogue agrees with a nod and backs off.

Firecracker sasses, "Shit sake, Logan you're no fun at all."

Somebody ought to wash that kids mouth out with soap.

Grabbing Firecracker at each elbow, they scram. Peeking over her shoulder, Rogue prods a grin out of me getting the last word, "Whatever it is, hope ya have a nice time."

Feeling mighty fine pulling out of the garage in a midnight blue, nineteen eighty-eight Ferrari Testarossa, I lower the window and flash the brats a thumbs up. Bet your sweet buns I'm gonna have a nice time. If the date goes sour, at least I got a nice ride for the night.

xXx

Helping her on with her coat, I ask, "Ya hungry?"

"Starving. I haven't eaten since lunch."

"Izzat what all that rumbling's about? Thought somebody in the orchestra was getting a little too happy with the kettle drums."

Sue's cheeks flush pink, "Oh my gosh! Was it that obvious?"

Chuckling, I hook her arm in the crook of my elbow, "Prob'ly only to me."

"Oh, right. Heightened senses. Doesn't that make you crazy sometimes?"

I shrug. "Ain't so much noises that get to me as smells and tastes. Stuff most folks don't pay any attention to 'r notice at all."

"Hmm," she eases her arm out of my clutch. "How do you handle that or does you're healing…" She hesitates, scouts the territory, "Is it different for you?"

"No and yeah. One thing I can definitely smell is a good place to eat." I point to a small storefront across the street, "Into sushi?"

"Sure." She stops dead in her tracks, cutting me a scrutinizing look, "Are you sure the sushi place smells all that great or could the crowd waiting for service at this late hour have anything to do with it?"

I waggle my eyebrows and reach for her arm again. Clever rebuff, she switches her purse to the side I'm about to go for.

Fine! Have it your way, darlin', but these crazy, mixed up vibes you're throwing out are starting to piss me off. What gives? Frustrated and too chicken-shit, afraid I won't like the answer, to broach the subject, I shove my hands in my jacket pockets and clam up.

Waiting for a table, she's calmer. No doubt, space and a glass of wine help.

She muses, "Somehow, I didn't expect you to be the sushi type?"

"What's the sushi type?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. You just seem like a steak and potatoes kind of guy."

"I'm definitely that. Guess you could call me a see-food kind o'guy."

She snickers, "Ba-dum-dum. You see food, you eat food. That is bad, really bad."

"Hey, with an opening like that how could I resist?"

There's a gleam in her eyes answering, "I'll watch what I ask next time."

"Mister Logan, table for two," cuts the conversation.

Settling in to secluded, high backed booth seats, she fiddles with a lime floating in the club soda she switched to, "Can I ask you something?"

Here we go with the negative vibes again. "Yeah."

"What was the deal in the coffee shop last Sunday?"

"Trust me, it wasn't about you."

"I'm relieved to hear it."

I ain't Neanderthal enough to misunderstand the expectant look on her face. She wants the whole story.

I chuckle into my sake glass and she asks, "What's funny?"

She shakes her head when I answer, "Ya ever notice the cop parked where Turkey Hill merges into Titicus?"

I gripe, "Lucky you." My turn to squirm, feeling pangs of….what? Guilt? Shame? Not over being busted but definitely over jumping down her throat the other day.

"Just before I pulled up to the café, the sonuvabitch busted me for not wearin' a helmet."

She claps a hand to her cheek, "Oh, poor baby. Not!"

Leaning forward, she flattens her palms on the table lecturing, "Do you know how many people come through the ER either DOA or with life altering traumatic brain injuries from not wearing head protection?"

"Yeah, well….got a helmet on the inside, ya know."

"Of course, and the cops know that, right?"

"Don't care whether they know 'r not. Go bust serious criminals and leave me the fuck alone."

"Helmets are the law and they're just doing their job."

"Yeah, whatever."

"So you were pissed because you got a ticket?"

I nod.

"I suppose I'd feel the same."

"Still didn't gimme the right to treat ya the way I did."

Snorting, I swallow more sake. No sense bullshitting the lady. Keeping my voice low, I explain, "Look, I know ya've probably read my psych profiles, so ya know I got a few quirks. Me not getting along with authority types ranks pretty high on the list. Sometimes all it takes is a word or gesture and…..and I get stupid."

"Okay, but I'm a little bit lost. Where do I fit into the puzzle?"

"Remember when ya asked me if Charles let me out to play, or something like that?"

Her jaw drops and I note a mix of incredulity and regret. "I'm sorry, Logan. I'll try to be more sensitive next time."

"Nah ah." Reaching across the table, I lift her chin and lock into her blue eyes, "There aren't many people in this world either dumb enough or gutsy enough to call me out when I need it. You're one of the gutsy ones and I don't want ya to change."

She makes me laugh out loud saying, "Glad you list me among the gutsy otherwise I might hafta flog you with a noodle."

The arrival of the waiter with our meals locks the conversation down. Once he's gone, it's my turn. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Of course."

"I'm sensing some seriously conflicted feelings from you. What's going on?"

Expected, her stress shoots through the ceiling. Eyes everywhere but on me, she picks at a finger nail. Even if I couldn't smell it, body language itself says I just hit bulls' eye.

She presses back into the seat cushion, "I didn't know telepathy was one of your mutations."

"It ain't."

"Then where'd you get such an idea?"

"Basic emotions have scent."

She mouths, "What?"

"I'm feral…."

The look on her face says she must've missed that part of my file. Damn, this ain't the place to go into this. Not in detail, anyway. Scanning, I realize the adjacent booths are empty and the couple at the closest table are making googly eyes bordering on porn. Somebody's getting lucky tonight.

"Keepin' it simple, fear, lies, guilt, joy, desire, they all have a scent. Most times I'm around you I get a snoot full of mixed up feelings, the strongest being fear. What are ya scared of?"

Please don't say me.

"Wow!" Picking at her fingernails gives way to drawing squiggles in the condensation beaded on her water glass. "Crap, if I didn't have to pick my car up from the park and ride and drive home, I could use another glass of wine."

With chopsticks, she stabs at an errant chunk of tuna on her plate before giving up and pinching it with her fingers. I wince at the glob of wasabi she scoops from the bowl.

"I wouldn't describe it as fear…..but….maybe so. I mean, emotion comes in varying degrees. I guess I would call it caution. Just like you . . . well, everybody, I have my own issues. My divorce and the junk that went on before and, to some extent, still goes on, is a big part of it. Maybe more than I care to admit, I haven't had good luck with subsequent relationships. The most recent fell apart less than six months ago, so I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship right now."

Whoa! I almost choke on my drink. Who said anything about a relationship? I just want in your pants, babe. And you want in mine, if I have read some of your signals right.

Whom am I kidding? Yeah, I might. Do. But, hearing it out loud pounds between the eyes like a ball peen hammer.

"So, you saying you want me to back off?"

Flushing pink, she takes a swig of water and I don't think it's from the wasabi. "No. I like you but I want…. I need to go slow. It might not be fair to either of us but I've got to be in control. Can you understand that?"

I get a distinct scent of deception. Not a bald face lie. Something more subtle, a shading of a truth. Trouble is, I can't sort out the nuances and I don't wanna screw it up by jumping to a bum conclusion.

"Yeah, I think I do understand. I said it before and I'll tell ya again. We'll take things in your own sweet time."

Thinking we've beat this horse bloody enough for one night, I signal the waiter for the check. Sue doesn't surprise me asking if she can cover her share and she ain't surprised, inwardly or outwardly, when I say, "No way, darlin'."

"C'mon, I'll walk ya. Where'd ya park your car?" I'm careful this time not crowding her as we exit the restaurant.

"I left it at the White Plains Metro Station, so it might be kind of a hike."

"Whatcha do that for?"

"With traffic, it's actually faster riding the train."

And she thinks I'm letting her ride a train back to her car at quarter to midnight? "I'm parked a block over. I'll drop ya."

"You needn't bother."

"Lady…" About to screw up big time scolding her, I just shake my head. "You gonna turn down a warm car for a drafty, dirty train?"

She make a show of thinking about it then hooks her arm with mine, "Well, when you put it that way."

Halfway down the block, I sense another whiff of apprehension and she asks, "Are you sure it's not a bother?"

"Sue," I make a point of saying her name. "Even if it was clear out the opposite side of the county, there's no way in hell I'm gonna risk you taking the train this time of night."

She leans in, tiling her face towards mine, "You're sweet."

I snort, "Thanks." Been called many things but sweet ain't one of 'em. Ah well, if the foo shits.

We fill the half block stroll to the parking garage chitchatting about the concert. I can't help marveling how normal this is. How nice. How lovely she is. Am I lucky or what?

Close quartered in the garage elevator, I breathe her in. Gone is the heavy funk of earlier nerves, replaced by an aura of clean citrus and soft floral. She smells good. Wonderful. I'm fighting myself not to scoop her into my arms and kiss her supple, enticing lips.

The door slides open and I key the remote. There's a series of metallic bips as head and taillights flash, signaling the anti-theft system is disabled.

She stops dead in her tracks, "Holy crap! What kind of car is this?"

"Ferrari."

"Charles lets anybody borrow his cars?"

"Pretty much. One's he don't want messed with, he don't leave the keys on the rack."

"And the kids? He hasn't had any problems?"

"If a kid even thought about it, Charlie'd be on 'em like fly paper."

"Good point."

Paying the garage attendant a king's ransom, I can't help voicing my frustration by goosing the accelerator. Sue giggles, as the beast leaps to life with a brash squeal of rubber tires on smooth concrete.

Threading my way through traffic cones set out for pot hole repairs, I want to know, "How're ya settling in at Xavier's?"

"A breeze, so far. Everybody's been great."

She saves my conversationally inept ass elaborating, "I love the atmosphere of the place. The freedom the kids have to be who they are. The apparent commitment of the faculty and staff. I mean, it's more than just on a professional level. All y'all are family."

"Yeah, and I'm the black sheep."

"I don't believe that. Rebellious big brother, maybe."

"There's a difference?"

"I think so. Black sheep connotes willful misdeeds. You know, out to get them. I don't get that from you. You seem more like the my-way-or-the-highway type."

Look deeper, darlin'. My motto's get 'em before they get me.

"And there is no denying," she continues, "You've got a way with the kids. Your conduct when Ty broke his arm is a testament to that."

"Anybody'd done that."

"Don't be so modest."

Dunno what to say to that without possibly coming down with acute foot in mouth syndrome, so I zip it. Once free of city driving obstacles, I rummage through a stack of CD's and settle on John Coltrane. Let's see what the lady thinks about jazz.

Lost for a few miles in smooth riffs, I sense she's tired. The contagious yawn she stifles confirms it. We both laugh, simultaneously declaring, "Long day."

She goes quiet again but I get a strong sense curiosity's about to make her break out. Sure enough, after a bit, she says, "Can I ask you something personal?"

I nod.

"What's the friction between you and Scott Summers?"

"Eh, it started out bad but now….let's just say both 'us are more bark than bite. I like givin' him shit and he gives it back."

"Is that all?"

"Scott's got his ways. I got mine and we don't exactly jive a lot o'times. Didn't help back in the beginning I hit on his girlfriend."

"Jean Gray? Weren't they engaged?"

"Yeah."

"So then, is it just female docs or all the ladies you come on to?"

"Touché, darlin'. Lemme put it this way. They gotta be legal. Lookers are nice but I've known some baggers that'd rival Venus and Aphrodite on the inside. Go where ya want with that."

"No, I think I'll leave that right where it is. But, can I ask about something else?"

I reach across and trace my finger over her freckled, upturned nose, "Nosey little broad, ain't ya."

"Uh…oh. Never mind. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Go on. Ask your question."

"Well….okay." Pausing, she huffs and licks her lips, "Admittedly, I got a bunch for your medical records, purely professional need to know, of course…"

"Of course," I parrot.

"Besides super-keen senses, what else goes with feral?"

"Instincts. Temperament. And ya know about the claws. There's times when I'm more animal than man. Most o'the time I'm in control but when it gets loose, I ain't safe to be around."

"What do you mean?"

"Something sets me off. Serious pain, threat, danger. You know, flight or fight instinct? Well, I fight. And with these…" Three metal tips peek from between my right knuckles. "Full out and the metal on my bones, I win."

"I guess so." The toss of her head says casual but her scent says otherwise.

Her mouth dips into a deep frown, "How was the metal fused to your bones?"

Chrissake, she can't come up with a more original question.

"They strapped me down, stuck my hide with a bunch o'big ass needles attached to hoses and pumped me full o'the stuff."

She looks like she doesn't believe me. Don't blame her. I wouldn't believe me.

"Molten metal? My god, how could anyone fathom doing that to another human being?"

"Because they could. Because they wanted to make me into a weapon. . ."

To kill my own kind but I can't make myself say it out loud.

"And if that wasn't enough, they brain-wiped me. That's why prior to nineteen eighty-eight, I've got no memories. Don't know who I am, how old, where I come from."

"I read in your record about the memory loss. I understand the role of traumatic injury and it's no stretch to think having molten metal fused to your skeleton qualifies as major trauma but selective memory deletion. Is that even possible?"

"Darlin', all I know is my memories start sixteen years ago when I woke up naked in a snowdrift somewhere in the wilds of northern British Columbia."

We'll leave the part out where I was covered in blood, most of it not mine.

"And that's when the symptoms of PTSD emerged?"

"Don't know anything 'bout PT-whatever but if you're talking about all that psycho-medical crap Charles and Jean wrote in my files, then I guess so."

"Who did this to you?"

I shrug, wishing I'd put a lid on it when she started in with can I ask something personal. "Don't matter. He's dead."

Slamming the steering wheel with my palm, my voice rough with hostility I say, "We're done with this."

She shakes her head, "I'm sorry."

I feel it. Rage. Bearing down like a runaway freight train. "I don't want a fuckin' pity party. Not from you. Not from anybody."

She reacts like I've slapped her, "Oh, no. That's not what I meant."

I jerk away as she reaches to touch my arm, "Logan, I'm sorry I didn't intend dredging up…..I should've known. I should mind my own p's and q's."

My rage eases and it's my turn for regrets. "Don't be. If we're gonna get to know each other, try on a . . .um . . . relationship, then . . . um . . .you gotta right to ask."

"Looking at it that way, I guess so. I'm still sorry."

"Shh." I take her hand, raise it to my lips and press a kiss into her palm, "No worries."

Murmuring, "Thank you," she looks for a minute like she's gonna bust into tears, then suddenly shifts gears. "Fair is fair. It's your turn to ask me something tough."

"What's a nice lady like you doing with a fucked up loser like me?"

She laughs and levels, "Maybe I'm not as nice a lady as you think."

"Your words, not mine, darlin'. But okay, since we're playing twenty questions, what's the story with you and bum relationships?"

Bam! Did I just push the red button or what? A freeway lamp flashes past, illuminating a face turned to stone. She gonna go nuclear on my ass?

Nope. Holding it back, she shifts in her seat, angling to stare out of passenger-side window and starts picking at a non-existent hang-nail.

Sighing, she presses her head against the seat back, her voice is heavy with regret, "Bad luck. Stupid choices. Unrealistic expectations. I wish I knew."

Not looking to dig myself in deeper, I just nod.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You're obviously single. What's your story?"

"Man livin' like I do. . . did ain't exactly conducive to anything long-term. And, uh, old habits 're tough to break."

"What did you do before Xavier's?"

"Whatever odd jobs came along."

"Nothing ever appealed to make you want to settle any where?"

"Sure. A couple times. But, the itch to move on got too strong 'r somebody'd get wise to my mutation, ya know."

"I can't imagine anybody with the guts to run you out of town."

"Hey, I bleed like anybody else. Naw, truth is it ain't worth it. Up there…"

"Up where?"

"North. Canada. There's plenty of places a man can just be."

"Yet, you're living in one of the most densely populated regions on the continent."

"Yeah," I chuckle. "Haven't quite figured out how that happened. B'sides, Charles pays good and so far, nobody's run me out."

She points to the right, "That's my exit. The lot's about two miles on the left." Chuckling softly, she says, "How did we spend the last half hour raking over such heavy stuff?"

"I think ya asked."

"Hmm. I think you're right." She rubs here hands together and grins, "So. how 'bout those Mets?"

I laugh, "Dunno about the Mets. Ask me about the 'Leafs or the Oilers and I'll bend your ear for a spell."

"Leafs? Oh right, hockey team. You're a fan?"

"Darlin', in my opinion, there's four things necessary to a man's survival."

"And they are?"

Pointing a corresponding finger, I recite, "Beer. Food. Sex. And hockey. Not necessarily in that order."

She laughs. "Uh, huh. Hockey, football, whatever. You're such a guy."

"I'll take that for a compliment."

"You do that. And now I know what to do with those game passes I get every now and then. Unless, of course, you're a nationalistic snob."

"Da hell that mean?"

"You only support Canadian teams."

"Hey, I'm equal opportunity. One US team 'r another's got just as much chance at losin'."

She pokes me on the shoulder. "You think so? Please explain how the Stars are on top this year?"

"Dallas? You're into them?"

"You betcha."

"Oh yeah, you're from there, aren't ya. Okay, I explain it to ya. Lucky break."

"Horse manure. Modano, Zubov and Turco are smokin'."

"I still say luck. Yeah, they earned the Stanley Cup in ninety-nine but they ain't done squat since. Shit! Last year they didn't even qualify."

"That was last year. You have to admit they look strong this year. Stronger than any Canadian team in any conference."

Goddamn. So much for blowing smoke up her skirt. "Maybe."

"No maybe about it. Check the stats."

"Okay. the lady a gold star for knowin' her stuff."

The provocative curve of her lips is damn cute as she offers a fat carrott, "It's not my Stars but the Devils play Ottawa next Wednesday night. I'm pretty sure I can get my hands on a couple passes. Are you interested?"

"I think ya could twist my arm."

"Shall we wager on the winner? Loser buys dinner?"

"Senators' and Devils' record is damn close. Sure ya wanna do that darlin'? Don't wanna take advantage."

"I'll start figuring out where I want you to take me for dinner."

Clutching the pants pocket with my wallet, I mime severe pain. "You do that," I say and hop out of the car. "Stay put," I tell her as she makes to get out herself.

She stays put but her cars' lights flash and I hear the locks disengage.

"It was a wonderful evening," she says emerging from the Ferrari. Her scent says she's sincere.

Suddenly, I'm at a loss for words. What the heck am I s'posed to do? Follow yer instincts, bub.

The wind blows a lock of hair across her face. Brushing it aside, I let my fingers trace the line of her cheekbone and jaw. As our eyes lock, I hear her heartbeat hammering inside her breast.

Taking her face in my hands, I say, "I'm gonna kiss ya goodnight."

Starting slow, the barest flutter of a touch, I test her scent and body language. Soft, warm lips reciprocate with mine as I feel her arms wrap around my waist. Giving her the lead, she closes the gap between our bodies, molding hers to mine. Despite the heat between us, she shivers as I tangle my fingers through her hair and challenge her with my tongue. As the kiss deepens, her pheromones react with mine. Close as we are, she knows what she's doing to me.

Breathing her in, I have the same effect on her but…damn. Something's off. She's fighting it but she going rabbit on me….again.

Lip lock broken, she nuzzles my 'chops, "And that's wonderful, too."

"There's more, if you want it."

"Don't I know it."

Palms on my chest, she takes a step back, "And that's the issue." She wrings her hands, "A little while ago you asked me what I'm afraid of. Maybe it is you."

She bows her head, "Please don't take this wrong," then traps my gaze again. "It's not the feral thing or. . ." she trails her fingers over the back of my hand, ". . . the claws. It's not your psych profile, though it probably should be if I have any sense. I… like you….I'm ….attracted to you. Maybe too much and that's what scares me. It's crazy. Maybe I'm crazy but my head says no. My heart says maybe and I guess there's no hiding from you what my body says."

"Sorry about that."

Her expression hollers, no you're not.

"And you know, try as I have, I just can't play by men's rules."

"What are you talking about?"

She puckers and blows a puff of air. "Casual intimacy. What's the jargon? Friends with benefits. I can't live like that and having been second fiddle when I thought I was first, I'll never put myself there again."

I think I'm the one with trust issues? "I think I figured that out a while back."

"I…I'm the whole package kind of gal. . . Understand what I'm saying?"

"You're saying ya don't sleep around."

"Exactly! Yes, but it's more than that. There's got to be a firm foundation, a strong relationship before I'll risk… it….intimacy. I don't give my body without giving my heart. And if I do, it's exclusively and I expect the same from my lover."

She looks me dead in the eye, "I guess the bottom line is this, Logan. Don't waste your energy and time on me unless you're willing to go along with who I am."

Hesitating, lost for words, the solitary predator inside my head howls warning. Run the hell away bub, before she's got ya roped, branded and a brass ring through yer snout. It doesn't get it that the man is fed up with running and the lone-ranger gig's worn thin.

"Fair enough, darlin'. You gotta be true to yourself and I respect that. It's gotta go both ways, though."

"Of course."

"Hold on. Lemme finish. You're looking for a noble knight on a white steed. That ain't me."

I'm a sleezeball drivin' a Harley won beating the shit outta some guy in a cage. I drink, I brawl and I screw around.

"I'm the guy your momma warned ya about and your daddy kept his shotgun oiled and loaded for."

Her laughter's restrained as she looks me up and down. "You nailed that one. Especially my dad. He wasn't keen on hippies or Mutants."

"Here's the thing. I like you too. I dunno…..maybe for the right reasons... maybe some of that nice of yours'll rub off and I can curb some o'those bad habits."

"That's the flip side, isn't it? When you get right down to it, I've got no right to impose my values on you. So, I guess we shake hands and say let's be friends."

"Or, we keep going like this. Talking. Enjoyin' each other's company. Then, when here," I tap her forehead. "And here," I lay my hand just above her breast, "Are synched and feelin' safe, we take it to the next level."

"When? You talk as if the next level is inevitable."

Don't understand why, but god, I hope so.

Lifing her chin, I plant a chaste and hopefully reassuring kiss on her lips, "It's all up to you, darlin' but even if it don't work out, I sure don't consider any time spent with ya a waste."

xXx

"What happened to you?" Paula Wellbourne, my colleague grills.

No make-up, shower damp hair whipped into a hurried ponytail, I'm a mess. Shapeless, drab hospital green scrubs do nothing to perk up my sleep deprived complexion.

"Overslept," I tell her after another swill of liquid life, my morning coffee.

"Wow. That's a rarity for you."

I nod as we make our way from the underground parking garage to the elevators. "I had tickets to Carnegie Hall last night. Got home way later than I planned."

"Nice. Who performed?"

"Nobody I've ever heard of but he was good."

A pair of nurses greet, "Good morning, doctors," as we emerge from the elevators at the nursery nurses station.

Paula and I smile our hello without breaking our conversation.

"You didn't go by yourself, did you?"

"Believe it or not, I had a date."

"Reeaalllly?"

"Really, really."

"Anyone I know?"

"Nobody from around here, so probably not."

"Glad to hear that. Anybody around here and I'd have to set you up for a psych eval."

"Oy! You are cold, so cold."

We laugh, no doubt both of us thinking about the dateable material here at the clinic.

What dateable men? Egos, baggage, neuroses, gender identity issues, players, interns and they're the nice ones. Anybody you'd want to date is already taken. Of course, give it time and they cycle back to the available list. Been married to a doctor, dated doctors so I know I do not want to be involved with another doctor ever again.

While scrubbing, she probes, "So this date, think they'll be another?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe from whose perspective?"

"If he asks me, I'll go out with him."

"But you won't ask him?"

"Already have," I motion to tie her steri-gown.

"Oh, thanks. Do tell."

"Just a hockey game."

"That can get expensive."

"Passes from the Asta Zeneca rep."

"Right. Smart. Where'd you meet him?"

"He coaches for the private school I'm practicing at."

"Ooohhh." Glancing around for busy bodies, Paula whispers, "Is he?"

"I don't believe you just ask me that!"

Her expression tells me she doesn't mean it like that but, I'm still surprised by the question coming from one of my dearest friends.

"Am I?" is my calculated reply.

Her face turns pink as she splutters, "No. I don't think so. Are you? Oh gosh, Sue, good point. I'm sorry."

Relenting, "Don't worry about it," I lighten the vibes. "At the risk of sounding hopelessly clichéd, I will tell you that he is definitely tall, devilishly dark and devastatingly handsome."

"Can ya throw on any more cheesy adjectives, girlfriend?"

Recalling that exhibition he put on in the danger room the other day, I add, "Built like a god!"

She winks, "Marry him."

Laughing, I suggest, "When pigs sprout wings and fly."

xXx

Charles has a guy who keeps his collection of cars in shape but I figure if I borrow one, it's my job to leave it like I found it. Ain't no job about it, though. No better way to kill an afternoon and indulge in some heavy thinking than tinkering with and polishing a beauty like this.

Been doing a lot of thinking since last night trying to figure out if Sue's giving me a nice brush off. Scent says not quite, but lotsa ways to take her words. Ultimatum's one, buzzing my brain like a thirsty mosquito.

How'd this go from me scouting a new fuck buddy to….what? Not a goddamn thing is what.

Should've shook her hand and gone along with just being friends. Did I? Hell no! I bit down hard on the bait she dangled and now I'm swimming upstream with a hook stuck in my gullet. So what's it gonna be, Logan ol' man? Reeled in or cut loose?

My usual advice is trust your instincts. Trouble is, when it comes to this, instinct's had me on a losing streak that'd make the old Winnipeg Jets seem like playoff contenders. Sue ain't the only one who's crashed and burned. Difference between us is some of my lovers get hurt or worse because of me.

Naiomi. Now there was a woman. Half Cherokee and half Cajun equaled a hundred percent ball bustin' wild and wonderful. We'd hooked up fighting wildfires. Both of us caught on the steep slopes of Storm King Mountain, we suffocated in a sudden windswept firestorm. I'd have given everything to've given her – hell, the whole crew, my healing factor.

Jeannie never belonged to me but I loved her anyway. I'll never scrub away the image of her crushed by a mountain of water and nothing will ever cleanse me of guilt.

Ro was a rare gift. Instead of a storm, she was a comforting port after Jean died but we—hell, who am I kidding? Weren't no we. Just two grieving souls trying to survive. It ended the minute Elf came off his retreat 'r pilgrimage 'r whatever.

Then, there was Jessica*. Fire and honey wrapped up in one beautiful package. We didn't just crash and burn, we went supernova.

I have nightmares of others. Can't tell if the memories were put there by Stryker and his goons. But, they suffered ugly deaths by my hand or by association with me.

Who should cut who loose?

"Hola, miho," Electra's melodic Spanish accent cuts through Pink Floyd blaring out of wall mounted speakers in the four corners of the garage.

"Back at ya, darlin'."

She strides within an arm's length and plants both hands on her hips. "Aren't you the secret Don Juan."

I quit polishing and fumble for the stereo remote. "Say what?" Pretty sure I know what she's getting at, just don't know how much she and Sue gabbed.

"You surprised me, that's all. Flowers, the symphony."

"Piano concerto," I correct.

"Right. I saw you leave, all gussied up. And this," she gestures to the car.

"Hey, I come outta my cave every now and then."

She laughs, "Who are you and what have you done with that hombre malo, Wolverine?"

I grin and go back to buffing paint.

"Hmmph!" She's clearly irritated at my clam imitation.

Deal with it, chica.

"I'm heading for Costco. Need anything?"

I dig out my wallet and produce a tattered green and white picture of Ulysses Grant, "Couple cases of Moosehead."

"Sorry, Logan. It's Bud, Miller or Coors."

I'll never be that desperate. Shuddering, I stash the cash back into my wallet. "Nah thanks. I'll jack one of the jeeps later and forage for m'self."

Easing one of the panel vans past me, she rolls down the window and says, "I think she's good for you, miho."

I play dumb. "Who?"

Laughing, Electra gets my aversion to gossip, "Okay, okay. I know nada," and drives away.

Two fingers angled to the side of my fore head, hope she reads the gesture as a salute of appreciation.

Wadding up and tossing the chamois cloth into a bin, I zone out on my reflection in the ink-blue shine. Electra's prob'ly right about one thing. Susan Harris is good for me.

But as everything my psych profile says and worse, am I good enough for her?

XXX

*Jessica belongs to RhiannonUK. Theirs is such an epic love story I couldn't resist borrowing her for a moment. Read A Force of Nature or Full Metal Anarchy.

A/N Allright, people. I know I don't post as prolifically as others but a lack of detailed reviews does contribute to my lax efforts. C'mon, like everyone, I do need feedback. Believe it or don't, negative feedback lights a fire under my posterior as much as positive ones do. Gr. Chap. does NOT count. I particularly would like to hear from a few author's I regularly provide feedback to. SJ, C-C and W, you know who you are. I TRULY WANT TO KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU THINK. The only critique I'll disregard is profanity-laden flaming. Fair flaming is exactly that-fair.