So obviously, I turned up to meet him. I'd obsessed over my outfit, not wanting him to think I'd made a special effort. I went for dark jeans, combat boots and a leather jacket, leaving my hair disheveled but making sure my signature kick-ass eyeliner was intact. As long as I had my armor, I could take anything to world threw at me.
What in the hell was I doing here? I didn't want to hear him out. In fact, I didn't even want to be in the same room as him. But was it better than being at home by myself, wishing I'd turned up and spoken my mind? Marginally.
The speakeasy-style bar was crowded, it being a Saturday night, and all. In the mix of hipsters, millennials, and older folk trying to hold on to threads of their youth, Logan stood out like a hammer in a haystack, face set in its usual scowl.
I saw him as soon as I entered, stomping over to the table where he sat alone. To where everyone else was giving him a wide berth. Back to the wall. Exits scouted out. Of course, he was never off-guard.
"Marie…" he greeted cordially.
"You don't get to call me that anymore!" I spat back, not sitting.
"…What changed?"
"I did."
"…okay?"
He seemed to know this wasn't going to be easy. I was too mad. He was too stubborn.
"I just wanted to know how you are."
"Fucking fantastic," I muttered, finally taking a seat and pulling his Molson's towards me for a fortifying sip.
He frowned, pulling the beer back from my grasp.
I wasn't going to start talking. I'd surpassed that. Fuck, but didn't I come here to give him a piece of my mind? I'd forgotten.
"So, you're back?" I asked, throwing his earlier words back at him in parody.
"Yep," he threw back, stressing the P.
"And just like that, you're going to try and pick up where we left off?"
He grunted into his drink, trumped.
I wasn't going to be his obligation anymore. Something he needed to fix. We'd tried that before, and it didn't work. Not when he'd take off whenever the fancy took him.
When I roll my eyes back to him, he's eyeing up a leggy brunette at the bar. Unwittingly, a spike of jealousy bolted through me. She'd noticed him too, flashing him a coy smile.
"You ever thought about what they really want, Logan?" I jabbed, my intention to wound.
His attention snapped back to me. Then he shrugged, "They're normally just happy to come along for the ride."
"You don't think they have an ulterior motive? Not looking for something more?"
"Ain't ever had any complaints." Smug bastard. He was right, of course. The women flocked to him because of what he offered. His unique brand. They'd get what they craved on the way to satisfying his own needs. It incensed me. That arrogant presence. But it's what made the lure so tempting. The confidence. The power. The Alpha.
That and he had a big dick. Not that I was an eyewitness or anything, but I'd happened to graze Jean's hand after a mission once. My guard was down because of the adrenaline and I suppose that had made us both careless. She'd just come out of the showers, and as I was impatiently waiting my turn, already peeling off my glove when it happened. It was more an impression of a feeling than an explicit visual but it was enough to fuel my fantasies from that moment on.
I felt my cheeks bloom with color, annoyed that my mind went down that avenue while in his presence. Knowing he'd be able to smell my reaction to a memory, however distant, made me livid.
The svelte woman, soft brown bangs and eyes the color of honey, hummed appreciably into her drink. It made me wonder if she was a mutant also.
My eyes avert themselves, searching for distraction, then fix on his long fingers, curled in loose grip around the bottle of Molson, the rigidity of his wrists. Thick, dark hair on forearms still holding onto their summer tan, sleeves forever rolled, no matter the season. I couldn't stop, my eyes kept traveling upward, to the continuation of skin at his neck, the heavy pulse that beat below the surface, then an untidy scrawl of beard.
He raised an eyebrow, interrupting my thoughts. "You done?"
I reddened again. The tone was casual but I received the message, loud and clear. He didn't welcome the roaming appraisal or the unspoken longing in my lingering gaze. Me specifically. Because of who I was to him.
"Not everything revolves around you, Wolverine!" I snapped, hurt.
"Keep telling yourself that, darlin'," he muttered in an undertone.
Oh, he really got under my skin! I was tempted to reach across the table and pull a healthy slug of him, but that would be counterproductive in my aim of pushing him away again. I was so tired of being this stupid little lovesick girl in his eyes, which annoyingly, I exactly was. Or used to be. The whole conversation made my head hurt, and then I realized that part of it was happening inside my head.
"People can have their own fucking problems, alright! One's they don't want to discuss. Especially with strangers."
He sat back, amused, swigging the remainder of his beer.
I look away, towards to bar, under the pretense of assessing how long it would take to be served. I could probably sidle up to that biker wannabee, with all the tattoos and the braided beard, and get him to buy me a few. I knew his type, he'd revel in the attention I showed him. A pissed-off Logan was just a bouns.
The brunette picked the slice of dried orange from her drink, raised it to her mouth and sucked, very much aware of her crude action. She's with her girlfriends, I just noticed, and the other two look around to see who's caught their friend's curiosity.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his attention wane. Not because of the vulgar way she moved her lips, but because he didn't want to give in that easily. That was the fun in it. I knew from almost first-hand experience that he liked the ones that were hard to get. Married. Hesitant. Inexperienced.
Hey, I had him running around in my head, after all. So much of him that sometimes our thoughts blended into one.
'I'm getting a drink," I mumbled, standing abruptly and making my way over to the bar.
I managed to elbow my way onto a stool and order, triple what I needed in case it got busier, and very un-subtlety glared at the woman, who now had a Wolverine sniffing around her. His height discernable above the heads of others.
From my perch on the stool, I had a relatively unobscured view of the action. He faced towards me. He we go again. A front-row seat to 'how to pick up chicks 101'. Every movement coordinated and as if on cue, she responded. A laugh. A touch of his arm, sizing him up as much as carnal response to his masculinity.
Biker-guy would eventaully get fed up of me offering him the bare minimum. I flirted to get what I wanted, but ignored him for the most part. After the third shot of tequila, my head was swimming fuzzily, but my vision was still intently zeroed in on the soap opera across the room.
See, I acted rationally, with my head. Logan thought with his dick, and that was visible in his body langue even from here.
By this point, the bartender had sidled back over, maybe pulled in by the alluring charm I was exuding just to add flames to the Wolverine's self-righteous smarm. "Another please, Suagh," I purred in my thick-tongued accent, beating my eyelashes at him when he acquiesced with another generous double.
Some time passed. It could have been mere seconds, or minutes, who knows. But Logan's eyes slid to mine. In a way that was entirely different from before. I was sure of it. It was…confusing. Inquisitive, rather than scrutinizing. Penetrative. It was something more than his usual cryptic indifference. Warmer, maybe.
Or it could have just been my imagination playing tricks on me again. It was badly lit, and my vision was gradually sliding out of focus as I lurched from the stool and into the cold, fortifying night air.
I managed to bum a cigarette off a group of girls who were very conspicuously underage. Dressed to the nines, high heels, tight clothes showing off lithe figures. Push-up bras and false eyelashes. It's funny how that kind of thing was evident the other side of twenty-one. Back then, we were sure we had everyone fooled. Now, it was plain that was the reason why the obviously fake IDs were overlooked. Disturbing in hindsight. But at the time exhilarating. The kind of drama teenagers live for. The over-the-top, life-ruining shit that they love being the center of.
Had that been what Logan had seen when he looked at me before? I was sure of it. Someone devoid of finer emotions. A kid who was desperate to be seen as a grown-up. The girl who begged him not to toss her into the wilderness. When he knew better. Knew how it could've turned out. Was it only my skin that stopped it from turning that way? No. I knew that now. Because even when I was touchable, he didn't want me.
When I returned to the bar, it was challenging the energy of the group of rebellious teens in the parking lot. With that special kind of blind arrogance and disregard those sixteen-year-olds specialized in. Unattached. Untouchable.
I threw back shot after shot. Fuck whatever unspoken rules we had. Those lines in the sand. I wouldn't let him affect me anymore.