Day 14
The Cinzote Institute for Combat and Survival
Miami, Florida
Logan stifles a yawn as he enters the classroom for the 7:00 AM lesson. Every muscle in his body aches and, despite Victor's assurances that they would sleep like the dead after a day of training, he feels more like the undead.
Despite that, he's excited to be here. Excited to learn.
As always, his gaze automatically seeks out Veronica, and finds her, sitting at their regular table and chatting quietly with Teresita Cinzote. Her hair is secured in the same low pigtails as yesterday, and she's skipped the tee shirt today in favor of a black sports bra and leggings.
That's a good sign, right? Not the display of skin, but that she feels safe enough here to do so?
She pauses to jot something down on a piece of paper, then spots Logan and flashes him a smile so wide and blinding, it's like the sun emerging from the darkest clouds.
Whoa! His heart stutters and he blinks a few times. For me?
Teresita follows her gaze. "Good morning, Logan. Hope you slept well."
"Uh…thanks. You too."
Victor's wife is objectively beautiful, and a month ago, he might have hit on her. Then again, the Logan from a month ago was an idiot who got off on being desired by older women. As if that increased his worthiness, somehow.
How could he have been so stupid as to waste time on any other woman, when Veronica was right there?
"I'll be out of your seat in just a second." Teresita gestures to a long chrome restaurant cart at the front wall of the classroom. "Go ahead and serve yourself breakfast. I'm afraid this was the best we could do on such short notice."
The best she could do amounts to a steaming vat of oatmeal and a selection of sweeteners, nuts, and chopped fruit.
Logan grabs a bowl and spoon but can't bring himself to pick up the stainless steel ladle. Part of him wants to just skip breakfast, and eat a bigger lunch, but he'd promised Victor that he'd give his all during these three days and he can't exactly do that without fueling up.
That's it. It's just fuel.
He hears Teresita excuse herself and exit, then the sound of her soft footsteps trailing off down the hall.
"If you're waiting for it to jump into your bowl, you're going to be disappointed." Veronica speaks from his right side.
"Alas, every path leads to disappointment." He sighs dramatically, and turns to face her.
"Good morning." There's a warm intensity to her gaze, and she lifts her mouth for a kiss, like it's a natural part of their routine.
It could be. If they both weren't so stubborn.
"Morning." After a quick glance at the door, he leans in to give her a peck on the lips.
Veronica's hand comes around his neck, holding him in place, and the soft kiss lingers for several seconds before she releases him.
"Hey." Logan is helpless to prevent a dorky grin from spreading across his lips.
"Hey." She smiles back at him.
It's strange how such an innocuous word can be so sexy. Like a one-syllable substitute for, 'I'd be content to stand here all day, smiling and looking into your eyes'.
"Sleep okay?" he asks, in the interest of efficiency.
Veronica makes a face. "The bed was comfortable, but I missed you."
I missed you. Part of him wants to smile even wider, and another part wants to hang his head in guilt.
He settles for drawing her in for a hug, guiding her cheek to his chest as he softly kisses the top of her head.
"I missed you, too. "
Understatement.
He'd spent most of the night tossing and turning. How could he possibly sleep when he was worried about Veronica? Was she okay, alone in a strange cabin? Was she scared? Was she pushing herself too hard? Was she even ready for this kind of hands-on training? She'd only learned the truth about Shelly's party two days ago. And who drugged her that night, anyway? Luke? Sean? Did somebody else bring drugs to the party?
"I hated not being there for you." He speaks into her hair. "I never want you to feel alone again."
Veronica pulls back to look up at him, a hint of surprise in her eyes. "I wasn't alone. Zadie was there. You know that goes both ways, right?"
"No thanks. Zadie is all yours."
She drops her gaze, and fusses with his tee shirt, as if smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. "I get to take care of you, too, you know."
It's a nice thing to say. So why is there a queasy feeling in his gut? Maybe because the only people who've ever taken care of him were the parade of nannies, earning a paycheck for their efforts (and a quick lay from his dad if they played their cards wrong). "Take care of me, how?"
She gestures to the food cart. "Well to start, you need to eat."
His lip lifts on one side as he studies the gloppy mess. Is it even fit for human consumption?
Oats are for mares. And does. But not little lambs.
"Come on. You'll need all your energy today, so you can't afford to be picky." She grabs a bowl for herself and sidles up to the table.
Logan's pretty sure he's eaten oatmeal at some point in his life, but he can't remember when or where. He's eaten oatmeal raisin cookies, but that's not the same thing. In this form, it looks disgusting.
Veronica apparently has a whole oatmeal system, spooning brown sugar, maple syrup, and chopped pecans between small layers of oatmeal. Like some kind of glop parfait.
"What are you getting?" She looks at Logan, expectantly.
He eyes the available toppings. "Just the strawberries, I guess? Maybe some nuts."
"Just strawberries? That won't sweeten it." She sighs, as if she's dealing with an amateur and plucks his empty bowl from his fingers. "You get us coffee. I'll handle this."
Logan smirks. "Yes, wifey."
Back at the table, he trades one cup of coffee for a bowl of oatmeal and takes a seat. "What was that about with Teresita?"
"Assessment. I'm the guinea pig for their women's program, so she had some questions about how it went."
"How did it go? I was worried about you." After learning about Shelly's party. After the Fitzpatricks.
She considers the question. "It went well, actually. Victor mentioned that a large percentage of women who've gone through the program are survivors of violence."
"A large percentage of women, in general."
"Yeah." She blows out a breath. "Anyway, he took that into account when designing the woman's program. He asked me to choose a safe word right at the outset, and was really good at giving me space whenever I used it. And that gave me the confidence to keep going. Especially during the groundwork."
"You don't know how relieved I am to hear that." Maybe he'll be able to get some sleep tonight.
With a nervous glance at the bowl in front of him, Logan takes a tentative spoonful.
"Well?"
Okay, so it's actually not that bad. Sweet and creamy, with a pleasant earthy undertone.
"Not terrible," he admits.
Veronica grins as if she can see right through him, squeezes his cheek, and affects an Italian grandmother accent. "Eat up. It'll stick to your ribs."
Victor arrives and they eat their breakfast quietly while watching a video lesson about "Bug Out Bags" – why everyone should have one, what kind of bag to use, what should be inside, and where they should be stored.
Whenever he makes eye contact with Veronica, they both smile and look away, like shy twelve year olds. And halfway through the video, when her fingers tangle with his under the table, he switches his spoon to his left hand.
Ann MarlerDay 14
The Bluebell Gazette
Bluebell, Alabama
"Here we are." The cab driver pulls up to the curb in front of a low brick building with a green and white striped awning. "The Bluebell Gazette"
His tone is the verbal equivalent of the 'invisible marquis' gesture and he smiles over his shoulder with pride, as if he'd designed the building, personally. Given the bronze 'Historical Site' plaque to the left of the door and the fact that her blond and extremely talkative driver is barely out of high school, Ann is going to guess that he did not.
"If you need lodging, the Bluebell Motor Lodge–"
"Thank you." She cuts him off before he can begin a new monologue. "But I already have lodging in Mobile, and this is only a day trip. How much do I owe you?"
After counting out her fare and a generous tip, Ann collects her bags and exits the vehicle.
The Gazette's interior is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, smells like the old-fashioned potpourri her granny used to purchase in bulk, and looks like it hasn't been remodeled since the fifties. The chair behind the reception desk is unoccupied, as are the four sturdy wooden desks in the bullpen.
"Hello?" she calls out.
Silence.
So what now? Leave and grab a bite to eat at the cafe across the street? Or take a seat and wait for the staff to return? She presumes the hallway at the back right corner of the room leads back to offices, but the "Authorized Personnel Only" sign discourages any self-guided exploration.
The door chimes behind her, and Ann turns around to find that her chatty taxi driver has followed her inside. He waves, as if they haven't seen each other in a week. "I just remembered it's Saturday." He gestures to the receptionist desk. "Lucinda leaves early on Saturday to get her blowouts."
"She's not coming back?" Ann turns in a complete circle. "Or anyone, for that matter?"
"Well, I'm here. Is there anything I can help you with?"
"I doubt it. I'm actually looking for the Gazette's photographer. I have some questions about some photos that came to be in my possession."
"Yep, that would be me."
"You." Ann repeats, deadpan. "My taxi driver."
"I dabble in a bit of this and that. Mayor Hayes calls it my entrepreneurial spirit." He shrugs with false modesty, then smiles and holds out a hand. "Tom Long."
She shakes it. "Ann Marler."
"I thought you looked familiar. I catch your news segments now and then during my volunteer shifts at the firehouse." Tom gestures to the closest desk. "Have a seat."
Firehouse?
Ann lowers herself onto a metal folding chair, and Tom sits behind the desk opposite her. "You mentioned some photos?"
She retrieves her folio from her tote, handing over the same eight-by-tens Lynn Echolls perused a day earlier.
Tom sifts through them. "Yep, I took these. Homecoming weekend. Took a lot more that day, but these were all from the Rammer Jammer."
"The what?"
"Rammer Jammer. Bluebell's most popular night spot." He glances up at her, delight evident in his smile. "How did a big-city news organization like yours get hold of my pictures?"
"I was hoping to ask you the same thing. You're saying you're not the person who emailed the jpegs of these to our tip line?"
"I don't know anything about no tip line, ma'am," Tom says, "And I suppose that was Tansy Truitt."
"Tansy Truitt?" Ann jots the name down in her notepad.
"Yes ma'am, she stormed in here the other day, wanting a look at these exact same photographs."
"Any idea why?"
"She mentioned some out-of-towners were fugitives from the law." Tom smacks his own forehead. "Oh! That's what you meant by tip line."
Ann picks up the stack of photos and selects the one with the clearest view of the Neptune 3, slides it across the desk. "Do you recognize these people?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't get much of a chance to socialize that night. I was too busy taking pictures. Except for the thirty minute shift I took in the kitchen when Billy Barnes took his dinner break." Tom shrugs. "Speaking of shifts…Tansy waits tables at the Willow Diner over in Filmore, but we should probably leave now if we want to catch her."
"We?"
"You," Tom corrects. "And your taxi driver."
・・・・・・ ・・・・・・ ・・・・・・
"That's on the house." Tansy Truitt places a slice of pecan pie on the table in front of Ann. "Jenna's due back from her break in a lickety split, and then I can take mine."
"Thank you," Ann says. "Take your time."
Upon entering the diner, she'd immediately recognized Tansy as the attractive blonde sitting with Logan Echolls in several of the photos.
She's just finishing up her (admittedly delicious) slice of pie when Tansy slides into the opposite side of the booth, drawling, "Wow, the TV just does not do you justice. You're really pretty."
"Thank you. I was hoping you'd be willing to answer a few questions for me about Homecoming weekend."
"Well, certainly." Tansy smiles wide, flashing large white teeth. "I'm an open book."
Ann places several prints face-up on the table. "Do you remember talking to this person?"
A flicker of guilt crosses Tansy's face, but she pushes her shoulders back. "I most certainly do. He told me his name was Nolan, but he was a big fat liar."
"Nolan…" Ann jots the alias down in her notepad. "Did you get a last name?"
"No, I did not, but even if I had, it would have been a lie. His real name is Logan Echolls, and his daddy's a famous Hollywood movie star. Remember that movie, 'Disaster Diesel'? That was him."
Ann steers her back to Logan. "When you say Logan is a liar, is that because he used an alias? Or did he lie about something else?"
"More like everything else." Tansy says, but seems reluctant to elaborate.
"How did you meet Logan?"
"I went to order a drink, and he was already sitting on that there barstool." Tansy points to one of the photos. "He just jumped in without a what-have-you and started ridiculing me."
"Ridiculing?" Ann spreads the pile of photos with the tips of her fingers. "You look like you're getting along nicely in most of these photos."
"Oh, that's because he was real smooth. Tried convincing me my boyfriend wasn't actually my boyfriend, and that he was just using me. Then he tried selling me some snake oil about how to get Wade to love me back."
"Hold on." Ann sets down her pen. "Logan Echolls gave you unsolicited relationship advice?"
"Or so he pretended." Tansy lowers her voice. "He told me Wade was flirting with his cousin, and he didn't want her to get her heart broken. Then he got me to run my fingers down his arm and to pretend to laugh at his jokes."
Ann lays out a few more photos, where Tansy does appear to be laying it on thick with Logan. "So, you're telling me that all of this was staged?"
"No, I'm telling you it was fake. He said I was too available, and if Wade saw me flirting with another guy, he would realize what he was missing out on."
"And that was a lie? Was he trying to seduce you?"
"No. The whole time he was only trying to make his cousin jealous."
Ann's brows shoot up. "Excuse me?"
"He's a liar. She was his girlfriend, not his cousin, and the whole thing was just some kinky sex game. I guess they like to spice things up in the bedroom by making each other jealous."
Ooookay. Ann pulls out a different photo, pointing to Duncan Kane. "Did you speak to this guy that night?"
Tansy squints at the print. "No, ma'am. He must've left before I arrived."
Another photo, this one a jumble of blurry figures. "Did Logan participate in this brawl?"
"Participate?" Tansy scoffs. "He started the whole darn thing."
"Can you tell me more?"
"Well, after I kissed him, he admitted he was using me the whole time to make his girlfriend jealous. So I punched him."
"Kissed him?"
"That girlfriend of his had a hissy fit. Tried to come at me, but Wade held her back. And she was scratching and kicking like an angry wildcat." Tansy shakes her head, disapprovingly. "She actually bit him. Then Logan punched Wade, and when Wade tried to hit him back, he got Todd Gainey Jr. instead. And everyone knows about the feud between the Kinsellas and the Gainey boys. Of course, it turned into a full-scale brawl. Logan and his girlfriend snuck out before the dust even settled."
"Did Logan give you any hint of what their next destination might be?"
Tansy shakes her head. "I'm sorry, we really only talked about Wade that night." She taps a finger on one of the barstool photos. "I'll tell you one thing about that Logan guy. It takes a player to know a player."
Ann sighs. "Do you know how I might be able to contact Wade?"
"He'll be tending bar at the Rammer Jammer tonight. I would offer to take you to meet him, myself, but we're not on speaking terms right now."
"That's not a problem. It looks like my taxi driver is still here." Ann waves at Tom, who's sitting at the counter, eating a slice of peach pie.
"Where to next, Ms. Marler?" He slides off his stool and approaches.
"The Rammer Jammer." Ann glances at her watch. "Maybe to that motel you mentioned first. Looks like I'll be staying overnight, after all."
"Sure thing. Just let me settle my tab."
"Tom," Ann calls out as he starts to walk away. "Finish your pie, first."
He grins. "Sure thing, Ms. Marler."
・・・・・・ ・・・・・・ ・・・・・・
The Rammer Jammer is a stereotypical honky-tonk - peanut shells on the floor, and country music on the jukebox. Taxi Tom follows Ann inside, but swears he's only here for the gumbo.
Within moments of her arrival, she recognizes the bartender as Wade Kinsella. Within minutes, he's trying to pick her up.
"I'm just sayin' darlin, you're not wearing a wedding ring, I'm not wearing a wedding ring. Why shouldn't we be single together." He flashes a set of dimples like they're his seduction ace in the hole, and she suspects it works for him, more often than not.
Ann laughs, shakes her head. "Did that line work on Veronica Mars?"
"Veronica, who?"
Carefully avoiding the condensation from her beer glass, Ann lays a photo on the bar.
Wade's face breaks out in a wide grin. "That's Vickie. Sweet girl." He seems to consider it for a moment. "Wait, Vickie comes from Veronica? I guess that kinda works the same way that Mindy comes from Melinda. Huh?"
Ann doesn't bother to correct him. "How do you know Vickie?"
"Not biblically, if that's what you're implying. Shame."
"How'd you meet?"
"Right over there at that table." He points to the dining area. "Homecoming weekend. She was here as George and Lemon's guest. Of course, guest is a polite way of saying 'hostage'. Lemon doesn't like taking no for an answer."
"Lemon, what?"
"That would be who. Lemon Breeland. You'd think it would be short for Lemonza or something, but nope, it's just Lemon. Brick must have a thing for trees, because her little sister is named Magnolia." Wade lifts his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. "Anyway, to answer your question, Lemon Breeland is the town pain-in-the-ass and the fiancée of my best friend, George Tucker."
Ann quickly jots down the names. She selects a second photo, holding it out for Wade's inspection. "Does this guy look familiar?"
Wade rolls his eyes. "Justin Timberlake. Yep, I met him."
"Justin Timberlake?" Ann takes a better look at the photo, but finds zero resemblance between Logan and the N'Synch singer. "Um…actually, this is not a photo of Justin."
"I know that, but, I mean, look at him, with his hat and his boy band clothes. What else should I call him?"
Ann lays down a photo of Duncan Kane. "What about him?"
Wade leans in. "Yeah, I remember him. Seemed like a decent guy, but we didn't really get much chance to talk. He took off early with Annabeth Thibodaux."
"Annabeth…" Ann pauses, pen poised over her notepad. "Can you spell that last name?"
"I'm a bartender, not an English teacher," Wade shrugs. "I think there's an X in there somewhere, but it's silent."
Ann makes an educated guess.
"Can you describe your interactions with the other two?"
Wade lifts his eyes, as if trying to recall. "He was a real asshole, but you know, he was marking his territory, so no hard feelings."
"Marking his territory?"
"Yeah, Vickie. They're engaged." He picks up a towel, and gives the bar an unnecessary wipe.
"One of my sources told me they were pretending to be cousins," Ann says.
Wade lifts one side of his mouth. "That was just a ruse. Vickie told me they had a bet going over which one of them was more jealous."
"My source called it a kinky sex game."
"Kinky?" Wade laughs. "Your source needs to get laid. It was harmless fun. I even volunteered to help Vickie win."
"Was it really harmless?" Ann asks. "I heard they started a brawl that night."
"The brawl? Naw. That was that sumbitch, Todd Gainey Jr. And Tansy Truitt, come to think of it. She came out of nowhere to punch JT in the face. She's crazy, but I can't say it wasn't entertaining." Wade takes a long look at Ann. "Why're you so interested in Vickie and JT, anyway?"
"I'm following up on a lead about the Neptune Three."
"Neptune Three…where have I heard that before?" Wade scratches his chin, tilts his head.
"On every news channel in America?" Ann suggests.
"Oh yeah. Those missing high school kids from California. What do they have to do with Vickie and JT?"
Ann gives him a pointed stare, and it still takes him several seconds to make the connection. "Ohhhh. You're saying celebrities spent the night in Bluebell, and nobody knew it?"
"I'm not sure if I'd choose the word, celebrity."
"Well, shit! Vickie was under-aged?"
Ann nods.
"Guess it's a good thing I struck out, then." Wade slides a hand through the top of his hair. "Damn, they get engaged young in California. Why all the hurry? Hope she's not pregnant. Not with the way she was drinking that night."
Ann takes note of the information."She had a lot to drink?"
He waves away her concern. "Don't judge her too harshly. Everyone drinks more during a heat wave. It's practically survival." Sunlight shifts across the bartop as the Rammer Jammer's front entrance swings open. Catching sight of the newcomers, Wade lifts two fingers to his mouth and whistles. "George, Lemon, get over here. You're never gonna believe this."
Ann follows his gaze to where a well-dressed young couple is entering the bar.
Lemon – not short for Lemonza – looks as if she'd just stepped out of a Hitchcock movie with her A-line dress and icy blonde looks. She narrows her eyes as they approach, lip curling in distaste. "Wade."
George, a round-faced boy-next-door type, offers Wade a fist bump. "Not going to believe what?"
"Remember Vickie, from Homecoming weekend? And her stuck-up fiancé?"
George's friendly demeanor shuts down..
Lemon huffs. "I'm sure I have no idea who you're talking about. Now, if you'll excuse us." She takes George's arm, and attempts to drag him away.
"Hold up. You invited them to join us on Homecoming weekend." Wade says, and holds out the stack of photos. "They're in these pictures."
The couple exchanges pointed glances, and Lemon speaks. "If I did invite them, I was only doing my civic duty, and I never saw them again after that night."
"Well, anyway, it turns out they were celebrities. What did you call them, again?" he asks Ann.
"The Neptune Three," she answers.
Lemon takes a step back, eyes wide, and mouth open in shock. George blinks rapidly, as if trying to process the information.
Both performances are terrible. They've clearly already figured out the true identities of 'Vickie and Nolan' in the days since they were here.
"Well that's…" Lemon pauses. "…preposterous."
"I know, right?" Wade grins. "Of all the places in the world, they ended up here in Bluebell, Alabama. What are the chances."
"And who are you?" Lemon raises one haughty eyebrow in Ann's direction.
"Ann Marler, C-NOW news." Ann holds out a hand. George shakes firmly, while Lemon uses only the tips of her fingers, as if afraid of catching something. "Can you tell me how you came to be acquainted with the Neptune Three?"
"George told me how he rescued three out-of-towners on the side of the road and how nice they were. It only seemed hospitable to head over to the Inn and offer them a Big Bluebell Welcome."
"Do you always welcome out-of-towners?" Ann asks.
"Well no, but..." Lemon trails off. "This was a special circumstance."
Wade leans in to translate. "She had to head over there to make sure Vickie didn't have any designs on George."
"Wade Kinsella. You always assign me the most dastardly of motives."
George's mouth turns down, but he noticeably does not jump in to defend his fiancé.
Ann turns to address him. "This is the first I've heard of a rescue. What can you tell me about that?"
He breaks eye contact, looking uncomfortable. "Lemon gives me too much credit. All I did was give them a ride into town after their car broke down."
"What kind of car were they driving?"
"Sorry, ma'am." He shrugs. "I couldn't really tell you. Wade's the car guy. I know how to find the gas pedal and where to put the key, and that's about it. It might have been foreign. One of those Hondas or Toyotas, maybe."
Wade scoffs, as if George's explanation of his car knowledge was full of shit, but at George's warning glare, he doesn't push the issue.
"What did they do about the car? I understand they left town the next morning."
"Sorry, I don't really know. I imagine they probably had it towed."
"Where to?"
"You'll have to ask around, I suppose. There's no shortage of car mechanics in Bluebell." George shrugs again, then gestures over to Chatty Tom. "If you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with Tom about his lawsuit."
As he walks away, Wade whispers, "Tom's being sued over copyright infringement."
Lemon glares at her fiance's retreating back, unhappy at being left behind with a reporter.
"Do either of you remember them mentioning where they were headed next?"
"I can't recall if we ever discussed that," Lemon says. "I really only talked to Victoria. The boys migrated to the bar once they finished eating."
"Do you remember what you discussed with Victoria?"
"Food, fashion, and boys," Lemon says. "What else do girls talk about when they get together?"
Current events? Politics? Entertainment?
Ann seizes upon the last. "Boys? Any particular boy?"
"Well, her fiancé, obviously," Lemon says. "She's clearly still in the training stages, and had to teach him a few lessons."
Wade sighs, and drops his bar towel. "And with that, I've got to go do…just about anything else."
Lemon scowls at him, but there doesn't seem to be any heat in her expression. She picks back up her train of thought. "I suppose they're not engaged after all, though you could've fooled me."
Interesting. "So you think Veronica and Logan are the real deal? Not just an act they're putting on for the public."
"They spent the night on different sides of the bar, but they barely took their eyes off each other for more than a few seconds at a time."
"Did you talk about anything else?"
"How exactly is that relevant?"
"It might help me pinpoint where they're headed next."
Lemon meets her gaze and holds. "Who says I want to help you? I don't. Not at all."
"If you're worried about retaliation, I can refer to you as an unnamed source."
"Retaliation?" Lemon leans in closer, her haughty demeanor sliding off her face like a discarded mask and her drawl flattening out. "I didn't know who Vickie was that night, but she was sweet and smart, and, it turns out, caught up in a really bad situation outside of her control. I hope they never catch her. So no. I will not be telling a reporter anything that might help you find her."
"Look…" Ann begins, "I know reporters have reputations for being vultures. Well-earned reputations. But this isn't about a scoop to me. I'm here on my own time. No camera crew. No media circus. I just want to find those kids, and when I do, I have no intention of giving them up to the authorities."
"Then what do you want from them?"
"To help them. To give them a microphone."
"Right." Lemon rolls her eyes. "I wasn't born yesterday, Ms. Marler. Why would you want to help them? What's in it for you?"
"I've been helping them since day one." The words slip out before Ann can stop herself.
Fuck.
"How, exactly?"
Double Fuck.
She would've done it regardless, for the sake of Keith Mars. He'd seen something in her during her teenage rebellious stage, and let her off with a warning more than a few times. His kindness had been the difference between losing her college scholarship and the life she has now.
But it was watching the crime scene video that showed her what needed to be done. Specifically, Logan's interactions with the other two.
With a quick glance around for eavesdroppers, Ann lowers her voice. "By shaping the narrative. By humanizing them. Nobody roots for two spoiled rich boys trying to escape justice. But show the world a love story and people take notice. A girl from the wrong side of the tracks and the two boys who love her. Boys who would do anything to save her life. Show the world three kids with years of history, torn apart by the tragic death of their fourth, but never forgotten. Was Logan Echolls the violent hothead the other channels were depicting him as? Or was he the deeply caring boy in the footage, so gentle with his traumatized best friend, so tender as he carried Veronica away from the crime scene?"
Ann had been summoned to her producer's office after the first couple segments aired, and she'd arrived, prepared to fight for her job. Unnecessarily, it turns out. He'd loved her angle, demanded more, 'Give them a love story, Ann.' Based on the ratings, the viewers agreed.
Her interview with their classmates had been an especially popular segment. She'd worried at first that putting them on camera might backfire, but it worked out for the best. Not only did it reinforce the love triangle angle, but it demonstrated the absolute silliness of teenagers more than words ever could. Reminded viewers how very young Veronica, Logan, and Duncan were. Scared kids, not hardened criminals.
"That still doesn't answer why," Lemon challenges, but with less hostility than before.
"Because they wouldn't stand a chance otherwise. It's the nature of the news cycle to move on. People forget as soon as the next shiny thing comes along." She takes a sip of her drink before continuing. "Not many people know, but I grew up in Neptune, California. I've seen the corruption in the sheriff's department firsthand, and Don Lamb is the worst of the bunch. If he finds them, they'll never make it home alive."
She'd talked to Keith yesterday after his discussion with Ian Fitzpatrick, and if she'd possessed even the slightest doubt about Lamb being in bed with the Fitzpatricks, it's gone now.
"I've done my best to humanize them. To show the world they're just like other teenagers. They're scared and alone and they didn't ask for any of this. And you know what?" Ann arches an eyebrow. "There isn't a parent in America who isn't rooting for those three traumatized kids. I did it because it's a lot harder to commit murder when the whole world is watching."
Lemon's expression is thoughtful, considering. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, her phone rings. Holding up one finger, she answers, listens for a few seconds, and then promises to be right home.
"It was nice meeting you, Ms. Marler," She pronounces it with an 'uh' at the end. "But I need to get going."
She waves Wade over. "Tell George I have to go home and sit with Magnolia. Daddy needs to make an emergency house call."
Wade nods, and she bustles out of the bar.
Ann groans in frustration. Lemon knows more than what she was saying, and Ann had been so close to earning her trust.
She calls Keith to update him on her findings, but has to settle for leaving a voicemail.
At a dead end for now, Ann places an order for a burger and a side of fries.
Wade leans on the bar while she eats, absolutely shameless in his attempts to pick her up. And while she typically finds this kind of behavior obnoxious, there's an endearing playfulness to his flirting that tells her he's merely enjoying the chase for the sake of the chase, and knows damn well it's not going to happen.
An auburn-haired woman in a floral sundress slides onto the stool next to her. She's fresh-faced and pretty, and drums her glossy pink nails on the bar as if waiting for someone.
"Let me guess, Lemon stood you up?" Wade drops a coaster in front of the newcomer, followed by a drink with ice.
"She's not here?"
"Left 'bout half an hour ago," Wade says. "Had to take Magnolia-duty, while Brick went on a house call."
"And never thought to call me and let me know." The woman sighs and picks up her glass. "Well, I wouldn't want to waste a drink."
Wade heads to the other end of the bar to serve a buxom brunette, who looks like she'd be a lot more amenable to his pick-up lines.
Ann shifts toward her neighbor. "I couldn't help but overhear you. You wouldn't happen to be Annabeth, would you?"
"I am." The woman answers, warily. "And you are?"
"Ann Marler, C-NOW News."
They shake hands, and Annabeth looks at her curiously. "You do look familiar, now that I think about it. What brings you to our little town?"
"I'm here to ask about some people who passed through. Can I have a few minutes of your time?"
"It appears that I have nothing but time tonight."
Ann slides a photo of Duncan Kane from the well-worn stack. "I believe this is you in this photo. Do you remember speaking to this person?"
Annabeth squints in the manner of someone too vain to wear glasses. She smiles. "Of course, I know him. That's Declan. Declan Marshall"
Finally, Ann has a last name for one of the Neptune Three. Of course, if they change their aliases as often as they change their cover stories, that won't do her much good.
"What can you tell me about Declan?"
Annabeth ponders the question. "I only met him that night, so I don't know much. Declan Marshall II, from Seattle, Washington. He's an art student. Vandegraff University, I believe." She thinks for a moment or two. "His parents are divorced, and he was raised by his dad, a plastic surgeon. His mom is…crazy, apparently. He has a sister Victoria, who was also there that night, along with her fiancé, Nolan. There was a story about them meeting when he had his nose fixed. That's about all I know."
Ann jots down a note on her pad: Victoria and Declan Marshall?
"I'm impressed. Most people aren't as observant as you."
Annabeth blushes and lifts her shoulders in a ladylike shrug. "We had a real connection. He's an amazing person."
"Wade mentioned you left the bar with Declan not long after these photos were taken."
"Wade Kinsella gossips more than a spinster schoolmarm." Annabeth shoots a glare to the other end of the bar. "I did actually leave the bar with Declan that night, but it was innocent. He was a perfect gentleman."
"Did you go to another bar?"
"No, we went for a dip at the local watering hole to cool off, and then went back to his room at the inn, where he sketched my portrait. He's very talented."
Well, this is news. "Do you still have the portrait?"
"He kept it to remember me by." Her eyes drop, demurely.
"Did Declan happen to mention where they were headed before their car broke down in Bluebell?"
"Tallahassee," Annabeth answers without having to think about it. "For a wedding. His sister is deathly afraid of flying, so they decided to drive."
"A wedding? Did he say who was getting married?"
"His ex-girlfriend." Annabeth's mouth turns down. "That poor dear swallowed his heartbreak, and drove all the way across the country to be there for her on her special day."
"Ex-girlfriend?" Ann lifts a brow.
"Yeah, it's a tragic story, really. Apparently, Declan and Betty were madly in love, but their awful mothers were high school rivals who couldn't bear to see their children find happiness together. So they joined forces to break them up."
He'd obviously lied to her, but there might be a ring of truth to it. Didn't ET break a story a few days ago about Lianne Mars and Jake Kane being high school sweethearts? And choosing the name Betty when his first love was named Veronica seems a bit on the nose.
Ann makes a note to check if Celeste Kane was also a student at Neptune High around that time.
"And get this…" Annabeth touches her arm. "The mothers hired an actress to stalk poor Declan. Or pretend-stalk, I suppose. There was some kind of miscommunication, where Betty thought he didn't love her. She ended up moving on with her future husband, and Declan loved her too much to interfere with her new relationship."
Wait. Did she just describe the plot to an Aaron Echolls thriller?
She's not making this up, though. She genuinely believed all his lies.
"Did Declan happen to mention what his plans were for after the wedding?"
"He's staying in Florida for a few days to help his sister and her fiancé find an apartment, and then he'll be flying back West for school." She finishes her drink and sets it on the bar. "You really should be asking him all these questions. Should I email him for you and arrange a phone call?"
Ann leans forward, perhaps a little too aggressively. "You're in contact with him?"
"Of course, I am. Like I said, we connected that night."
"Geez AB, sure hope you didn't connect in the nether regions." Wade appears with a refilled drink for Annabeth. "Cause round here, they call that statutory rape."
Annabeth huffs. "For your information, we're talking about this guy, Declan, who I spent some time with on Homecoming, and who's twenty-one years old. So take your nosy eavesdropping self somewhere else, Wade Kinsella."
Wade's eyes light up with a childish gleam, and he addresses Ann. "You haven't told her yet?"
"Told me what?"
He leans both forearms onto the bar and drops his voice to an undertone. "See, it turns out that your friend, Deckhand, along with Vickie and Justin Timberlake are none other than those famous missing kids we keep hearing about on the news. The Neptune Trio." He double-bobs his eyebrows, in a 'gotcha' gesture.
"Neptune Three," Ann corrects.
"Neptune Three…" Annabeth repeats, then her eyes grow large and wide. "They're high schoolers! I kissed a high school boy!"
"You're not the only one, although Vickie didn't give me much of a choice before slapping a lip lock on me." Wade says, "I wouldn't worry, AB. At the most, we'll get slaps on the wrist. They kissed us under false pretenses."
Annabeth bites her lip and turns to Ann. "Are you going to tell the police what you found out?"
"I wasn't planning to," Ann says. "I just want to find those kids."
"Wow…" Annabeth says, mostly to herself. "I can't believe he told me all those lies. I really liked him."
"To be fair, the truth wouldn't have gone over too well, either," Wade pours three shots of tequila, lifting one of them in a toast. "To lucky breaks."
"What lucky break?" Annabeth asks.
"Well, you didn't commit statutory rape, so…"
Annabeth thinks about it, and then lifts her shot glass.
Ann picks up the third, and after clinking with the other two, downs the fiery liquid.
LoganDay 14
Cinzote Institute
Miami, Florida
Logan glides through lesson thirteen, careful not to make any mistakes.
Victor has been observing them from the corner for the past twenty minutes or so, and something inside Logan wants to impress him. Wants his approval.
As far as he can tell, he's doing great, picking up the moves easily and executing them flawlessly, but Victor is frowning when he calls the lesson to an early halt. He waves them over to a wide bench and motions for Logan to sit.
"There's no easy way to say this," Victor crouches down in front of Logan and places a firm hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry for prying, but I need to know. Do you come from a history of abuse? Your father, maybe?"
Logan's mouth falls slack. He swallows. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, you haven't done anything wrong. Your technical grasp of the material is faultless."
"But?"
"I've had hundreds of men go through this program, and it's not uncommon for men to take their hits in silence. Of the ones who do, the majority of these cases come down to pure machismo. A belief that they're not manly if they grunt or gasp or show any expressions of pain. Guys like that struggle with their training, because so much of their focus is devoted to maintaining their façade."
Logan knows where this is going, and he'd do anything to be invisible right now.
"There's another type of quiet guy. I see it a lot in street kids." He glances up at Chris, a question in his eyes.
Chris nods, and then answers verbally. "Like me. My old man used to threaten to make it twice as hard on me if I cried. I had to take it like a man."
Logan's throat closes up, and he struggles to swallow.
"You remind me a lot of Chris when I first met him," Victor says. "You make yourself so numb, that you don't even realize you're being silent. It's become second nature and requires no effort or focus from you."
"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" Logan asks.
"You would think so, but it's not." Victor claps a hand on Logan's knee. "What you're doing is called disassociation. It's like training under mental anesthesia. You're going through the motions, but there's a disconnect between your mind and body."
Logan bows his head and his skin crawls in humiliation.
"You're not a machine, son. Pain is your friend," Victor says. "It helps you know your limits. Even if you don't want to believe you have any."
"Okay, I understand. Do you want me to…?" Logan glances up at Chris for guidance. His face is blank, so he turns to Victor. "Would it be okay for me to stay? To finish this?"
"Of course. I didn't pull you aside because I wanted you to leave. We just need to be mindful about your training."
"Mindful, how?" Logan asks, relieved, but still a bit worried.
"The repetitive nature of our practice is already a good start in getting the mind to reconnect to the body. Practicing the movements over and over until they're ingrained. This can also help you obtain flow states, which are overall beneficial. But I'd like to try something new. I want you to shout while you attack, grunt when you're hit. It's a bit more complicated than that, and Chris will show you how to produce the sound from the bottom of your rib cage, but it's a good technique for keeping you present in the body."
"Okay. Yeah. I can do that."
"There's more, but it'll take more than a three-day program to get there."
"Like what?"
"Daily exercise. Stretching and meditation to help combat the symptoms of constant hyper-vigilance, such as shallow breathing, chronic muscle tightness, and sleep problems. If you can tolerate it, I'd advise regular non-sexual touch from other men. Most importantly, I'd recommend therapy." At Logan's flinch, Victor holds up a hand. "There's no shame in getting help, and it doesn't mean you're crazy."
Chris interjects, "Therapy helped me learn that it was okay for me to be powerful. That there were different kinds of power, and claiming mine, wouldn't turn me into him. I learned how to set physical boundaries, and that my body belonged to me."
Logan nods slowly. "It's something to think about. I don't know if our budget has room for something like that."
"Sure." Victor pats his knee and stands back up. "Just, keep it in mind, okay?"
"Yeah. I will. Thank you."
It's awkward at first, making noises while he strikes, or as Chris calls it, kiai. It makes him feel self-conscious, and he forgets as often as he remembers.
It takes half the day for Logan to be able to consistently make noise, and once he overcomes his giggles, he starts noticing improvements in his learning. He's performing the same moves, yet his moves flow, one into the next in a way he wasn't capable of before, his strikes land truer, it feels almost like dancing.
There's a downside, though. While his mouth makes nonsense sounds, his mind translates to, 'Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.' It's not a response to Chris, or even Victor. They're not his disease, they're the cure.
In his mind's eye, he sees Aaron towering over him. Fuck you. Aaron reaching for his belt. Fuck you. Aaron pushing in the cigarette lighter. Aaron's tight smile. Aaron's booted foot.
Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! You fake, bullshit-artist, evil mother-fucker. Fuck you, forever!.
He's crying. He doesn't know how or why, but tears stream down his face as he twists, ducks, and throws his partner to the mat.
It's stupid and humiliating, but when Chris gets back to his feet, rather than sneering or laughing, he embraces Logan, pressing his face into his shoulder.
They stand there awkwardly for a moment, then Logan pulls away. "I'm…sorry. I don't know why I just did that. I don't usually…"
"Felt good, didn't it?" Chris asks. "Cathartic?"
"Yeah. I think so."
"You're going to be okay." Chris pats him on the back. "Go ahead and head to the showers. We're done for the day, anyway."
VeronicaDay 14
Cinzote Institute
Miami, Florida
Veronica's head falls forward and she jerks awake. Fuck. Did she really just fall asleep, sitting upright, in a sauna? The dry heat might be a balm to her aching muscles, but if she sits in here any longer, it's going to do a number on her hair follicles.
Securing her towel at her chest, she steps into her flip-flops and exits the wooden enclosure.
The clock on the wall reads 9:30, which is early for her to feel so tired already, yet late, in the context of their busy weekend.
She stayed too long in the sauna, putting off returning to her empty cabin. Part of her longs to collapse face-first onto her bunk and fall into an exhausted sleep coma, but she still needs to listen to today's tapes.
Alone. In her cabin.
It's only been one night and she already misses having Logan in her bed. Not even for the kissing or makeout sessions. She misses his companionship. That feeling of safety she always feels in his presence.
His third training session of the day finished early, while hers ran late, leaving only a fifteen minute overlap for dinner. Zadie was there with the tapes and the puppy when Veronica arrived, and Logan spent those fifteen minutes cooing baby talk at Cupid.
Yes, she was jealous of the dog. No, she's not proud of that.
Victor stuck with his decision to only allow Zadie to stay over the first night, but gave them a few minutes alone to eat and catch up before the next lecture. An interesting conversation, to say the least, considering it began with Zadie leaning forward and asking, 'So…do you think Duncan is bisexual?'
Without waiting for an answer, she went on to complain that he's been spending too much time after work with Harley Quartermaine, and that they need to put a stop to it. At first, Veronica assumed this was due to the mysterious con she's running on the twins, but it's more than that. Zadie insisted that Harley wouldn't report them to the authorities, but only because it's more fun to keep them around to toy with.
Veronica made a joke about Harley versus Logan in a manipulation death match, but Zadie turned serious, referring to Harley an 'emotional sadist', and expressing concern about him messing with Duncan's head. Weird, in light of her general disdain for the boys, but considering that Logan's getting 'evil villain' vibes from the guy as well, Veronica agreed to talk to Duncan about it.
A strange noise reaches her ears, pulling her from her thoughts and nearly making her jump out of her skin.
She's supposed to be alone right now. Her sessions run later, so Logan's probably in his cabin and the staff has private facilities for cleaning up.
Still, it sounds almost like…
She finds him in the communal shower. It's Logan, of course, naked as the day he was born.
His body is beautiful. She sees him every day, wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers, yet somehow, seeing one continuous line of skin shifts her perspective. His legs are powerful, but not bulky, his ass small, but rounded, his back like something out of a Bernini sculpture.
He turns around, and…yep, he's naked on this side, too.
Oh my.
He pumps shower gel from the wall dispenser onto his palms and rubs them together. Veronica's mouth goes dry, and she feels almost jealous of his hands, as they lather soap over his well-defined chest, his abs, his groin. She wants to touch him. She wants him to keep touching himself. She wants relief for this constant ache between her legs.
His head drops forward, as if intent on watching the soap swirl around the drain between his feet. It takes Veronica a moment to catalog the way his throat convulses and his shoulders shake.
She breathes in sharply.
That sound she heard…Logan is crying. Her boyfriend-in-all-but-name, is sobbing his heart out and she's standing here ogling his naked body.
Fuck. What's wrong with you, Veronica? Leave before he catches you.
Too late.
Logan lifts his head. Red-rimmed eyes connect with hers, freezing her in place and stealing the breath from her lungs. His mouth opens slightly, and she mirrors him, heart pounding in her chest, or her throat or her ears. His gaze draws her in, and she takes a single step nearer, as if pulled by a magnet.
Her movement seems to break the spell. Logan glances down, then covers himself with both hands.
"Oh…I…" Veronica trails off. "I'm sorry." She spins on her heel and speeds away.
"Veronica," he calls after her. "Veronica, wait."
Back in the changing area, she rips open her locker, grasps her duffel by the strap, and tugs. Of course, at a time like this, her bag would get stuck. Presumably the contents resettled, because the bag is now an inch or so wider than the opening she's attempting to squeeze it through.
Fuck!
She freezes.
Logan's approach is silent, yet she senses him behind her, all the same. "Veronica."
"Hmm?" If she remains still, maybe he'll go away.
"Can you look at me?"
"No."
There's a beat of silence.
"No?" He sounds incredulous.
She affects a phone recording. "We're sorry. Veronica is busy now, trying to become invisible. Please leave a message, and she'll contact you when she's no longer embarrassed."
Fingertips graze the center of her back. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" She whirls around. "What do you have to be sorry for? I intruded on your privacy."
"It's okay."
Veronica continues as if he hadn't spoken. "After my shower…I thought I had the locker room all to myself, that you were already back in your cabin, so I decided to try out the sauna. I should've left when I realized I wasn't alone, but I heard a noise, and I had to go investigate, and…well, you know."
It's a good thing Logan wrapped a towel around his waist, because she can't bring herself to look him in the eyes.
"Hey, it's okay." He lifts her chin. "It's alright, Veronica."
"Is it really?" She gestures to his face, his bloodshot, puffy eyes. "Did something happen? You look miserable."
"No. I'm fine." Logan sighs. "I'm just working through some personal stuff."
"About us? Did I do or say something to…?" she begins, "Or is it about what happened at Shelly's party? Cause I don't blame you for—"
"It's not about you. I promise." Logan wraps his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin. "You're the best part of my life."
Veronica slides her cheek against his wet skin, to look up at his face. "Well then, what's wrong?"
"My training today just brought back some old feelings about my…home life." Logan clears his throat. "My family, I mean."
Ah. His dad. The man who pimped out his son for the sake of his career.
Aaron is lucky Veronica can't get her hands on him, now that she's trained to kill – or at least wound – with her bare hands. She's not sure she would even try to hold herself back from causing that man grave harm.
"I wasn't upset." Logan runs a hand over the back of her head. "Chris called it catharsis, and said it was healthy. It's just…once the waterworks started, I couldn't turn them back off again. It felt like I was finally shedding something toxic. You know?"
"Yeah. I think I do know." Veronica pulls back to get a better look at his face. His eyes are dry now, and he seems more worried about her than himself. She'd give anything to be able to promise him a better future — a future where he would never have to see that scumbag again — but how could she know for sure?
"The other morning…when I brought up my plan to neutralize Liam Fitzpatrick, I thought the risks would be worth the rewards. To finally get to go back home. But Neptune doesn't feel like home to you, does it?"
He shakes his head, lips curving into a sad smile. "You're my home. You and Duncan."
"Sneak into my bunk, tonight. You shouldn't be alone."
"I wish I could, but we've come too far to get tossed out for breaking the rules." He kisses her temple. "I can make it two more nights if you can."
She'd known his answer before asking.
This is a good program. Veronica can say, with no hesitation, that it's already helped her in ways both obvious and subtle. But for Logan, this is something more. She sees it in his singular focus as he reads the class materials, his rapt attention during the lectures, and the way he seems to seek Victor's approval during the hands-on sessions. It's not just about survival for him. He really wants to be here, and she won't be the one to take it away from him.
"Two more nights. We've got this." She tightens the embrace, taking a moment or two to breathe in his clean scent, then releases him.
In a much calmer state, she easily extricates her bag from the locker, elbowing the door closed as she turns back to Logan. "You know, we're going to be total badasses when we're done."
Logan's mouth falls open, his brows shoot up to his hairline, and it takes a second for her to register the cool air on her skin.
"I'm naked."
"Yeah."
The duffel bag hits the floor as both arms shoot up to cover herself. A glance over her shoulder shows her traitorous towel trapped between the locker door and the frame.
"Here. Let me—" Logan begins to untuck his own towel, then pauses, grimacing down as the fabric slowly tents in the front. "On second thought, that's probably a bad idea."
That's debatable. She just saw him naked five minutes ago. Does it really make a difference whether it's pointing up or pointing down?
Not to mention, he's her boyfriend. She should be allowed to look her fill. Granted, he doesn't know that yet. He wasn't around for last night's conversation with Zadie and the resulting epiphany. And 'By the way, we're officially together now,' isn't the kind of thing she can just blurt out in the scant minutes between training modules and classroom lectures. They need time alone to talk this out.
Still…as far as she's concerned he's already her boyfriend, and, as she mentioned this morning, it goes both ways.
His attention is focused somewhere over her shoulder, as if the row of lockers is the most interesting thing he's seen all day.
"Logan?" Veronica begins, waiting until he meets her eyes before continuing. "Turn-about is fair play, right?"
"Hmmm?"
With a fortifying exhale, she raises her chin and drops her arms, exposing her body for his perusal.
He resists at first, searching her face as if waiting for a punchline, or for her to rescind her invitation.
Smirking, she lifts a brow in challenge, and that's all it takes for his control to break.
Veronica stands there, shoulders squared, refusing to listen to the asshole voice in her head that tells her she's not enough, that her boobs are too small and her body could never compare to Lilly's. A week ago, she might have fallen prey to her insecurities. But not now. She may not look like a centerfold model, but, as she's learned over the past two days, her body is strong and capable, and belongs entirely to herself. She feels safe with Logan — physically and emotionally — but she also feels desired, exactly the way she is.
Logan's pupils are large enough to make his eyes look black, and his dark stare traces her body like a physical touch, lingering on her breasts, making her hard nipples tighten even more, skimming down, over her belly. Lower.
"Turn around." The command in his tone inspires a throbbing deep in her core, and, although part of her wants to challenge his authority, God help her, she obeys.
If she thought the weight of his stare was heavy before, when she could see him seeing her, it's even more so when she can't.
He's not going to touch her — she knows this — yet her skin feels statically charged, as if anticipating a caress.
"Fuck." He speaks under his breath, a single syllable, yet rough with need.
Veronica turns back to face him. "Well? Do I meet your exacting standards?"
"Do you meet my standards?" Logan repeats with a snort and an eye roll, as if it's the dumbest question he's ever heard. He sinks down to his knees, sitting back on his heels. "More like, you exceed them. You're a goddess, Veronica."
She wants to joke - to tell him she's closer to a wood nymph, or maybe a sylph — but she wrestles back that instinct.
Logan Echolls is kneeling before her like a supplicant, looking at her like she can work miracles. Who wouldn't feel a little divine?
When he finally breaks eye contact, it's only long enough for him to unzip her duffel bag and unpack her post-shower outfit. He holds her black cotton underwear out in front of her invitingly, and, after a moment's hesitation, she steps into them, right foot, then left.
Her heartbeat skitters as he traps her in his gaze, once again, and he drags the fabric up her legs, inch-by-inch, like some kind of reverse strip tease, all ten fingers tracing the outsides of her thighs and hips.
She flashes back to the other night, in bed. His lips and tongue. His chin. His teeth on her thigh. The bite mark.
As if reading her mind, he presses a chaste kiss to the hickey he left on her lower abdomen, smirking when a soft whimper escapes her throat.
He repeats his kiss and clothe ritual. A kiss to her ankle before pulling a sock over it, to her knees and each hip bone before covering them with soft gray yoga pants. Were he any other guy, it might look innocent. A soft boy serving his girl before heading off to separate beds.
But no other guy has ever looked as unhinged as Logan does now. Like he's on the verge of devouring her whole.
Unhinged is exactly how Veronica feels. When he goes up on his knees and presses his lips to her sternum, it takes all her willpower not to grab him by the hair and drag his mouth to her breast. She wants to say, 'Please!', to beg for relief, like all the horny heroines in romance novels.
Two more days, and he's yours, Veronica. You can do it.
Logan guides her arms through the straps of her plain cotton bra, and, as he reaches around her to hook it closed, she finally feels like she can breathe again. Everything is covered. Crisis averted.
The tank top feels like an afterthought. Over the head. Arms through the holes. Kiss on each shoulder.
She starts to turn, to check that all her stuff is accounted for, but a large hand circles the back of her neck and Logan's mouth crashes down on hers. Before she can even react, he's grasping her thighs, lifting her off her feet and pressing her back to the lockers. The kiss is rough and dirty. Desperate. Her legs wrap around his waist and he rocks his hips into her.
As his hardness presses exactly where she needs it, she lets out a soft moan.
Logan breaks the kiss. "Fuck." His breathing is ragged as he lowers her to her feet and touches his forehead to hers. "You're killing me, Veronica."
"You're killing me deader."
"Yeah?" He smirks. "Well, you're cremating me and scattering the ashes."
"Oh yeah? Well…actually, I can't beat that one."
He kisses the tip of her nose. "We can't do this. Not now. Not yet."
"The rules." Veronica sighs. "I get it."
Two more nights. Then they can finally have that conversation. They can be together.
She turns her attention to her duffel bag, stuffing her flip-flops into the outer pocket and slipping on her shoes. After zipping it, she throws the strap over her shoulder.
"Luckily, he didn't say anything about masturbation," Logan says.
Veronica's head snaps up. "What?"
He nods at the impressive pole tenting his towel.
"Oh…right. You'll probably want to take care of that"
"Yeah. I should probably get back in the shower." He stares at her for a second, a mysterious smile flitting over his lips. "Hope nobody spies on me while I'm taking care of business."
"Why would anybody—"
Logan cuts her off with a hand on each of her shoulders. He steers her over to the short hallway that separates the locker area from the showers and points to a row of three changing stalls with gray fabric curtains. He bends down behind her so his voice is a whisper next to her ear. "I mean, it would suck if somebody stood in there and peeked through the curtain while I was stroking myself to thoughts of you."
It takes a moment for his meaning to sink in. To remember their conversation a few nights ago where he told her she could watch someday.
"Right," she says, breathlessly, "That would really suck."
"Figured you'd agree with me." He straightens to his full height and gives her a light slap on the ass. "Well, I'm going to go get a drink from the water fountain. See you tomorrow morning."
"Yeah. I'll be seeing you." She smirks as he heads off in the opposite direction.