Disclaimer: I do not own any characters recognizable from X-Men. Marvel, et al, owns everything. I also do not own the lyrics used in this fan fiction. She Wants Revenge, et al, owns all lyrics (unless otherwise stated). I’m just having a little fun. No money is made off these works. No copyright infringement intended.

Foreword: Alternate Universe because that’s all I’m good for. ;) No powers here. This just started out as something fun between a couple of friends and me based on a loose idea that I had. We’ll see where it goes. Right now, I’m only posting this on my personal fan fiction site and The Rolo Realm. As it grows and I see the direction it’s taking (I only have a few inklings of different directions this story could go), I may make it available on other sites.

Archives: The Rolo Realm (http://www.spikeluver.com/RoLoRealm/) and Imperfect (http://appassionata.feb15th.net/tmp/).

——

I want to hold you close
Skin pressed against me tight
Lie still and close your eyes girl
So lovely, it feels so right

I want to hold you close
Soft breath, beating heart
As I whisper in your ear
I want to fucking tear you apart

——

1.

“Gram, what is gin rummy?� Ororo asked, placing the two grocery bags she carried on the kitchen table. She started removing the items from the bag, placing them in their proper places without much thought. She wanted to understand this—her grandmother’s newfound obsession. The words “gin rummy� always brought up images of incoherent old people who weren’t sure if they were playing bingo or pitty-pat.

About three months ago, a woman around her grandmother’s age moved into the vacant house next door. Her grandmother was always telling her that it wasn’t nice to be nosey, but she was the first person at that woman’s house with a fresh apple pie—before the woman could even rest her feet good. When Ororo called her on it, her defense was that she had to know what kind of people her neighbors were.

It turned out that her neighbor was a widow, around her age, who’d recently lost her husband. She hadn’t wanted to stay in the house she shared with her husband, so she sold the house she’d lived in for more than forty years, deciding it was time to call somewhere else home. She had her grandson to handle all the arrangements, fetching a good deal on her house and procuring the vacant house next door.

Ororo’s grandmother, Evelyn Munroe, had lost her husband nearly thirteen years back and found a kindred spirit in her new neighbor. Now every time Ororo called or came by, she was always playing gin rummy with Norma, the nice “blue-haired� lady from next door. Ororo didn’t think her hair looked blue—well, maybe in the right light it would look blue.

“It’s almost like playing tonk, baby.� Her grandmother said, resting in one of the table’s chairs, fanning herself slightly.

“So that means you’re taking all that woman’s money.� Ororo said, winking at her grandmother. Her grandmother could play a mean hand of tonk, cleaning out pockets before most people could come up with a decent game plan.

“We don’t play for money. We mostly end up talking about how things used to be and how our grandkids need to get married and have some babies for us to spoil. You know we aren’t long for this world� She watched Ororo’s reaction out of the corner of her eye, taking note of the way her eyebrows shot up before returning to their original, neutral position. “You should stop by sometime and meet Norma’s grandson. He’s not that much older than you. He’s a nice guy.�

Her grandmother was laying it heavy today. She even added “the guilt trip� to today’s spiel. “You know I’m already dating someone.� Ororo said quickly, putting the last of the groceries away. She didn’t like when the conversation headed over into the territory of marriage, kids, and hooking up with men that her grandmother thought were “nice.�

“Who said anything about dating him?�

“I know you. When you mention one of your friends’ nice son or nice grandson, I know you’re up to no good. You know I’m already seeing someone.� Ororo said, taking a chair in front of her grandmother.

“I might’ve been born at night, but it wasn’t last night, baby, and Grandma has been around long enough to know all those games and then some.� She gave Ororo a knowing look that made Ororo dip her head a bit in embarrassment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.� Ororo said, suddenly interested in her fingernails. Sun pearl really was a nice color against her skin. She’d have to remember to thank Jean-Paul for the suggestion.

Her grandmother’s voice snapped through her thoughts. “Girl, don’t play innocent with me. And since you and that boy ain’t doing nothing but playing house, you can still get out and meet other guys.� Ororo rolled her eyes, as her grandmother reached across the table and smacked her hand causing her to yelp in surprise. “Don’t suck your teeth at me. I’m still your grandmother.�

“Yes m’am.� Ororo said, putting the proper amount of reverence in her voice while she sulked to herself.

She just wanted her grandmother to talk about something other than men. And if Norma’s grandson was so “nice,� why wasn’t he already married? Women didn’t just let nice men float around unclaimed. She didn’t care what they said about nice men finishing last. Well, exceptions could be made if he was unattractive. At least, she wasn’t harping about her hair. That had been the topic of the day all last week.

“Bill was supposed to fix the pipes under Norma’s kitchen sink a month ago. You know Bill, right?� her grandmother asked, moving on from the subject of this “nice� grandson.

“You mean Bug-eyed Bill with the funny lisp.� Ororo said, mimicking Bill’s lisp.

“Watch yourself. God don’t like ugly,� her grandmother said while chuckling.

“I’m just saying, Gram.�

“I know, baby, but that’s him. Norma was going to get a professional to fix her pipes, but Bill showed up. You know he’s always somewhere to be found when there’s money in the deal. He took a look at Norma’s pipes and told her he could fix them for her in no time. Now, let me tell you how crazy Norma is. She paid the man before he did the work.�

“Why didn’t you stop her?�

“Baby, if I’d been here, I would’ve stopped her. Bill ain’t such a bad guy, but you know how lazy he is. Norma called her grandson yesterday, and do you know that boy came down here and kicked Bill’s door in cussing a mile a minute? Let me tell you, honey, those pipes got fixed last night. Why don’t you come down here and raise a little sand like that. Maybe he’ll bring back my tools he borrowed three months ago,� her grandmother said with a teasing smile.

Ororo hmphed to herself. So, they hadn’t gotten off the subject of Norma’s grandson. Her grandmother thought she was slick.

“It’ll be my luck that I’ll break my toes trying to kick down the door. Then, Jean-Paul will switch his skinny behind down here in an uproar. You know how fabulous Jean-Paul can be when he’s upset. After he’s read everybody in the neighborhood, you’ll probably have your tools back, but I’ll be the one with broke toes. And if I don’t dance, I don’t eat, Gram.� Ororo joked.

“As long as this old body’s got breath in it, you will.� Her grandmother paused, her expression turning serious. “And you need to stop wearing them hot behind shorts. You’ll get to be my age and you’ll feel it.�

Ororo laughed. Her grandmother always found the oddest times to bring up her clothes. “I don’t care if I do feel it, Gram, as long as I look good as you. You don’t look a day over fifty.� Ororo said sweetly.

“That’s ‘cause good black don’t crack, and don’t think I’m going to stop fussing about your clothes because you’re buttering me up.� Ororo spent another couple of minutes at her grandmother’s before telling her that she had to pick up her dress for tomorrow’s event before the tailor closed. Then, she had a last minute rehearsal with Jean-Paul. Then, she had to go home and get ready for a little fun.

Hours later, Ororo smiled at herself in the mirror, running her fingers through ashen, uneven locks that refused to be tamed. She shook her head at her reflection slightly, watching her hair mirror her actions in the mirror in defiance. She looked at the brush beckoning to her from the dresser, but ignored it.

Last week, she’d sighed in desperation while pulling her brush through tangles of hair, ignoring her grandmother’s “I-told-you-so� look, pleading with it to give her some cooperation after an impromptu hair cut, begging it just to settle into place without too much of a fuss. This week she decided she liked the riot taking place on her head, and she would work it for what it was worth until her hair was a manageable length again.

“Nothing says come fuck me like hooker heels.� Betsy said, imitating Jean’s voice to a “t.� She walked into the room, bending over slightly, hooking one finger underneath the strap of one of Ororo’s heeled Mary Janes, and twirling the shoe around one finger. “Shoes for the reformed good girl.� Betsy winked and placed the shoe back on the floor, plopping across the bed.

Elizabeth Braddock, lovingly called Betsy to her friends, was the lovechild of a British ambassador and a Japanese expatriate. With her deep-set, almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones that most people couldn’t even achieve with implants, she could’ve been a model, but she chose to live life behind the camera. Even the bright purple bangs she sported with the angel-layered hair and the horn-rimmed, black glasses did little to hide her beauty.

She was a freelance photographer who shot everything from runway shows to covers for risqué novels (the latter being her favorite assignments probably because it involved half-dressed men more or less). She’d met Betsy her freshman year of college; they were roommates who instantly hit it off. Ororo loved Betsy’s spontaneity and her “go get ‘em� attitude, and Betsy liked the fact that Ororo was down for anything but knew how to practice a little restraint.

Betsy fingered the soft material of the black dress lying neatly on the bed, waiting to drape over Ororo’s body. “How long do you think a dress like this is going to stay on once Keiron spies you, doll?� Ororo pretended not to hear the question. She wasn’t quite ready to discuss that situation yet. She picked the dress up, sliding it over her lithe body. She ran her hands over her body once she had the dress on, smoothing the wrinkles out.

She’d bought the dress earlier in the city while browsing various boutiques after she picked up her dress. She loved the way the black, one-strapped dress hugged every curve, the way the bodice opened in the center exposing a flash of her breasts like a keyhole waiting to be peeped in. She loved the way the hem of the dress angled, creeping up her thighs, stopping just short of exposing what was underneath. She loved the way the soft velvet seemed to make love to her skin, gently caressing her body like a lover.

Next was the lip-gloss. She wasn’t much of a lipstick fan, and she only allowed herself to wear the basest of essentials when she was going out on her own time. Ororo brought the lip-gloss brush to her lips, puckering her lips at her reflection. The key to putting on lip-gloss was to make your lips look moist and kissable as if you just licked your lips. You didn’t want it to look like you’d just applied a whole tube to your lips—even if it did take the whole tube to make your lips look moist and kissable and, most importantly, natural.

“How do I look?� Ororo trilled, giving Betsy the obligatory twirl that she topped off with a little hip shimmy.

“I hate you. You’re perfect as usual.� Betsy said, sticking her tongue out at Ororo.

“Good. Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight.� Ororo winked.

Betsy’s eyebrows piqued, nearly disappearing under her purple bangs. “What happened to you and Keiron? I thought you two were getting cozy together.� She sat back up, staring at Ororo, waiting for her to dish out the details.

“A little too cozy. He’s asking for something that I can’t give him right now.� Keiron wanted her to make a commitment, and she wasn’t ready for that. “What happened to men just wanting to have a little fun?�

“Don’t give me that, Ororo. Anyone can see he is helplessly devoted to you. And you want me to believe that you didn’t notice it before now?�

“We just hang out…� Ororo said weakly.

“And screw like a couple of horny teenagers who downed daddy’s little blue pills, and in those situations, somebody always falls in love.� Betsy said sarcastically. “What kind of monster have I created?�

During her vacation a few months back, she accompanied Betsy on one of her recent assignments—under the pretense of being Betsy’s “temporary personal assistant.� She’d taken a much needed vacation from her job as a dance instructor, only to be roped into working as Betsy’s assistant. Betsy’s full-time personal assistant decided to take her vacation around the same time, and Betsy was too stubborn to line up a temporary replacement in her place.

Ororo volunteered to help Betsy, only after Betsy mentioned more than once—in that exasperated way that only she perfected—that she sure did need the help. Nod, nod; wink, wink. It wasn’t as if she had anything lined up for her three week vacation besides making a date with her real best friend, the television. Aside from that, she only had the nightly dance practices with her longtime friend, dance partner, and co-worker, Jean-Paul Beaubier. Tagging along with Betsy was always fun, anyway, and she’d have something to occupy her time.

Ororo expected one of Betsy’s usual shoots, but Betsy conveniently forgot to mention that she was shooting the covers for a series of bondage novels. Ororo was used to the bodice rippers that Betsy usually shot with the panting women, the chiseled male abs, clothing gone askew. Those shoots usually left her in tears of laughter once it was all over. She could never take the pouting lips and desperate clinging between the hero and heroine seriously. Honestly, okay. Who did that?

She, however, was not used to seeing men in leather thongs in provocative poses that left little to her imagination and left her more than a little flustered and frustrated. And when she met—or rather ogled—Keiron, it was lust at first sight. He was the kind of man who could make her willing take off her panties and hand them over if he only asked. Okay, he didn’t really have to ask. All he had to do was look at her, and she’d hand them over as if he’d purchased them. Thank you for shopping at Munroe’s; enjoy your purchase; please come again.

Keiron Sutton was Mr. Tall, dark, and fuckable. His bronzed, exotic good looks he credited to a mixed heritage that included African American and Native American with a side of Scottish and Portuguese. Mix that all together and voilá! you had perfection in a leather thong. Dark hair fell to his shoulders in lush waves and hazel eyes beckoned her to him like a waggling finger. He had the perfect body that was neither too muscular nor too thin, and he had the perfect “lick-my-lips� smile that he knew how to use to his advantage.

It didn’t help matters that he didn’t seem bothered by walking around in next to nothing when the other models clamored for the nearest thing to throw over their bodies once Betsy replaced the cap on her camera. Not Mr. Keiron, he walked around with a look that said, “Weep, ladies.� And weep they did every day after working at a neighboring bar, O’Brien’s, while downing Jell-O shots and laughing about how Betsy’s handprint would permanently tattoo his butt if she kept slapping his ass every time he walked by. Good thing he had a sense of humor or else Betsy would be looking at serious sexual harassment charges (“And well worth it,� Betsy often joked).

For three days straight, whenever Ororo talked to Keiron, she held a water-cooler conversation with his crotch (“Did you see LOST last night? Can you believe Sawyer? Shouldn’t Michelle Rodriguez be tired of being typecast as the ‘tough-as-nails’ bitch?�), while wondering how he managed to get that strip of cloth to cooperate and if what he was packing was real or if it was some kind of prosthesis he bought at the local novelty shop.

She remembered some time back she’d gone to one of Betsy’s shoots for underwear ads. She remembered Betsy screaming bloody murder for someone to bring her model a decent-sized penis—STAT!

But she didn’t mean to stare… really… Well, maybe a little bit.

“Is it real?� she finally asked him one day, looking at him—really looking at him—for the first time. She bit down on her bottom lip as her face warmed. How could she ask him something so stupid? She wanted to cover her face with her hands. There wasn’t much she could do to gracefully save herself after that.

“It?� he said, a slow woman-eating smile lighting his face. That was probably one of the few times she’d actually looked at his face. He had a beautiful face. His mother probably told him the only thing he had to do in life was look pretty because that’s where the moneymaker was. However, she wasn’t interested in looking at his face.

“Don’t mind me. I… I was just thinking out loud,� she stammered, melting under that smile. She wasn’t going to make it out of this alive. “I’ll just be going now.� Before I make a bigger fool out of myself, she added to herself.

“Don’t go, Ororo,� he said, grabbing her arm lightly. And she felt that humming start between her legs, her arm tingling hotly beneath his fingers.

“You know my name,� she said a little breathlessly.

He laughed. “Of course, I know you’re name. Betsy introduced us, remember?� Right, Betsy had introduced her to all the models the first day. She had to get it together or he would think she’s clueless, which she wasn’t. She was just a little bit out of her element. The men she hit on were always fully clothed—for the time being, anyway. “So, exactly what is this it you were referring to?�

Ororo put on her best ultra-vixen look, the same one she used on men a million times. She could play this game, even if she didn’t act like it. “You know,� she said, letting her eyes travel leisurely from his face, down his chest, and to the earlier point of her fixation, which was now straining to get out its confines. Well, there was the answer to that question. Goddess, just let me get through this without attacking this man, she pulled a breath and slowly exhaled.

He moved closer to her, their bodies touching softly. She brought her eyes back up to his, holding his smoldering gaze while fighting off the urge to sink her nails into his chest. “There’s only one way to find out.� That’s when that low-level sexual buzz turned into full-blown “I-Want-Your-Sex-NOW.�

She was five seconds from throwing herself on the table and saying, “Take me! Take me now!� like one of those heroines from the covers she always laughed at. “Is that a proposition?� she asked, raking her fingers across his chest, a devious smile playing on her lips.

“Depends on if you’re going to say yes or no,� he said, he said pulling a little closer, smothering her hand under his much larger one, guiding her hand over his chest, down his abs, and…

“Ororo, are you listening to me?� Betsy asked, snapping her fingers in front of Ororo’s eyes, bringing her back to reality.

“No, my mind was a thousand miles away,� she admitted, trying to suppress the sensual shudder that threatened to overtake her. “I was just thinking about Keiron. He told me he loves me. He doesn’t even know me.�

She tried to rip the images of them together out of her head, as she sat on the bed beside her friend. She pulled on one of her shoes, elongating her leg, admiring the fit of the shoe. She didn’t particularly like them when she looked at them in the shoe store. But when she got them on, magic happened. She knew he would’ve liked them. Why’d he have to ruin something good by telling her he loved her?

Two weeks before, she surprised Keiron the day he came home from Paris by greeting him at his studio apartment in a black corseted, sheer as “all get out� merrywidow with matching panties. She’d bought seamed fishnet stockings, trimmed in lace, held up by the garters. And she hadn’t skimped on the black stilettos with a heel sharp enough to put out an eye. She catered to him, pampering him while asking him if he’d taken part in the activities of the Clubs Échangistes his friends had boasted about before they left.

“Did you go there? Oui ou non?� she asked again, after he teased her about being jealous. She wasn’t jealous; she just wanted to know if he’d gotten it on with some other woman while he was out of her eyesight.

His rested his head in her lap. And she ran her fingers through his hair, glad there was a clause in his contract that that wouldn’t allow him to cut it too short, even though he often complained he liked wearing his hair very low cut (she found it hilarious that there was a clause like that in his contract).

“I was invited, mais non,� he said, nestling deeper into her lap. She just wanted to pet him like a big old Labrador.

“I love your hair,� she said, his answer making her feel somewhat better. He’d never been a good liar. Guilt had a way of taking over his face and making him look like a bad child. She liked little things like that about him.

“And I love you,� he muttered in a half-sleep state, which was enough to bring her out of her own dazed stupor. Yeah, she made some lame excuse, found her clothes, and got the hell out. She didn’t cut him off completely. She figured that it might’ve been a fluke, but when the talk about marriage and kids came up a few days later. She was too through. Double deuce. Holla at’cha girl!

“Emotions are a bitch. You two are having a lot of good, nay—great, sex. He’s just confused.� Betsy saved Ororo from her thoughts again.

“Were having a lot of sex. I broke it off. Keiron was a lot of fun until he started talking about marriage and children. And not in that particular order might I add.�

“That’s the way to do it, Munroe. Love ‘em and leave ‘em. You’ll get over him.� Betsy chuckled.

But all Ororo could think about was the way he made her body sizzle even if he didn’t set her heart afire. “Tell me that I didn’t mess up.� Ororo moaned into her hands, already missing the late night trysts.

“He’s pretty but not pretty enough to cultivate his baby gravy. And Munroe-Sutton makes a bad name combination. You definitely didn’t screw up there. You might’ve just given up the best sex you’ve had, but the world is full of men. You’ll find a man who rocks you body and soul when the time is right.� Betsy said in a serious tone.

Ororo laughed in spite of herself, but she knew the other woman was right. “You are a wise, wise woman, my friend.�

“Yes and that means I can raid your closet as payment for my sage advice.�

“Don’t go there.� Ororo said with a smile that could con an insurance man. “I’ll tell you what I will do for you. My grandmother’s neighbor has a nice grandson you might be interested in.�

———

Author’s Notes: Another story for me to update on the spur. I had to take a break from some of my other more serious stories to give me a chance to really think them through before I posted the updates. I have another story that wants to be posted as well. I’m fighting it.

2.

Ororo stumbled out the bedroom, cursing whatever deity thought it was funny to blind people first thing in the morning with something as bright as the sun. After somehow managing to use the bathroom without falling onto the floor, she worked her way to the living room—half-stumbling into the walls for her effort—where Jean was already hard at work on some project or another and Betsy was laid out on the couch still sporting last night’s half-polyester blend splendor—in a shade that matched her bangs nonetheless.

Ororo pushed Betsy’s leg over, despite the muttered protest. She never understood what Betsy said first thing in the morning, anyway. Her accent had a way of thickening to unintelligible proportions. Warble, Warble, Warble was all Ororo heard in varying degrees of tonal intensity. She could only make out the random angry “arse� and “shite,� as she continued to make room on the sofa. She fell into the spot she made, dropped her head against Betsy’s thigh, and let out a labored moan. “Coffee!� Ororo whined.

“Stat!� Betsy added.

Jean had long accepted the task of being the official coffee fetcher. Her partying days ended the day she met Scott Summers because she knew he was the one. She made a great show of going out of her way when she was working on a report that had to be finished by Monday. “If Charles fires me, I know you two will take care of me,� she said loudly from the kitchen.

Betsy and Ororo knew Jean’s job was important to her, and they even teased her for being a bit of an overachiever when it came to her work at Xavier Medi-Labs. They weren’t quite sure what she did there. Most of the words Jean used to describe her job went right over their head. All they knew is that she didn’t test on animals, and the bunnies of the world rejoiced.

“Jean, love, you know we’d do anything for you.� Betsy crooned while Ororo echoed her sentiments. They’d do anything for coffee was much more like it. They sat up reluctantly when Jean walked back into the room and placed two mugs on the table in front of them—sweet reprieve in a Dilbert mug.

“You two should really settle down,� Jean said, as she took her place back at the computer. “All these late nights will catch up with you. You need some kind of stability in your lives.�

“You mean with someone like Scott, of course.� Ororo said, smirking behind Jean’s head. Jean Grey was like apple pie, baseball, Chevrolet—the living, breathing icon of Americana. With her wide green eyes and flaming red hair, she was the good girl who lived next door to virtually every person in suburban American. Of course, she had the “perfect� relationship with the “perfect� man.

Jean turned away from the computer for a second to look at both of them with the stern gaze of a mother hen. “And why not?� she asked, turning back to the computer screen, pecking away at the keyboard in that precise manner she had about her. Betsy opened her mouth wide, clutching her throat pretending to gag. Jean never tired of telling them why Scott Summers—and any horde of men like him—would make the “perfect� husband.

“He’s dependable, financially secure, and grounded. He knows what he wants out of life. You two could use a man like him in your lives.� Jean said, the click-clicking of the keyboard keys accenting her words.

“You forgot to add that Scott is boring and anal and controlling.� Betsy said in her smooth English accent, ticking off her fingers. “I bet you two can’t even have sex without him barking out commands. On your knees, Grey, you know how I like it. What exactly do Scott and you do, anyway? Get hot and horny over a game of Parcheesi?�

Ororo tried to bite back a giggle as Jean turned toward them again, her face a light shade of red. Betsy never let Jean live down the time that Scott had invited them all over to his house to meet a couple of his colleagues for a game of Parcheesi. Ororo tried to pretend the night wasn't a total disaster, but Betsy wasn’t quite as kind. Betsy grabbed Ororo’s arm in feigned passion. “Talk nerdy to me, Ororo,� she said in a breathless sigh, placing her free hand over heart.

“Make all the jokes you want, Elizabeth. We’re not teenagers, anymore. It’s time out for games, and that’s what you two are doing—playing games. This is a crucial time in our lives, ladies. We should be thinking about marriage and starting a family, not partying and hooker heels,� she said, pointedly looking at the four inch stilettos Betsy left lying in the middle of the floor. “Scott has a couple of nice friends—�

Ororo and Betsy exchanged looks as Betsy cut Jean off. “No, thank you. I’ll pass. I like my men with a little personality and abs made for licking. Trust funds optional. I’m not playing for keeps.� Jean graced Betsy with a withering glance before turning her green eyes to Ororo.

“Jean, don’t take this personally, but I still remember what happened the last time you tried to hook me up with one of Scott’s friends.� Ororo said, choosing gentler words than Betsy had. She was not about to spend another night listening to another lawyer type ramble about a high profile case he was heading. “Besides, I’m entitled to a little fun. I spent most of last year planning a wedding that fizzled and died.�

Last year around this time, she’d been engaged with her heart wide open and thoughts of happily ever after dancing in her head. She wasn’t looking for that again; she just wanted to have a little fun—preferably all night long and twice on Sundays. She didn’t care about ticking biological clocks that threatened to go off like time bombs (as Jean often liked to mention in her diatribes). She didn’t care that she may “pass her prime�—another of Jean’s favorite points—before she found that so-called Mr. Right.

“It isn’t bad enough that my grandmother is trying to hook me up with her neighbor’s grandson? You have to try to set me up with a man, too?� Ororo said, picking up her mug and taking another sip of the coffee. It was perfect with a dash of cream and two sugars. Jean really did know her.

“Oh, c’mon, Ororo.�

“Did you forget that I’m sort of dating Keiron?� She hadn’t told Jean about the break up, and she was trying to hold off as long as possible since Jean never thought it would last anyway. And if there was one thing Jean liked more than Scott, it was being right.

“No, I didn’t forget that you were sort of sleeping with him. I don’t know who you think you’re fooling. I’ve known you since we were kids. I know the difference between your ‘I’m-in-love’ look and you’re ‘I’m-in-lust’ look.� She gave Ororo a looked that begged her not to insult her intelligence. Damn, what did everyone else see in her relationship with Keiron that made them know it wouldn’t last?

Jean had some sick fascination with seeing her married off. She thought the thought might obsess Jean more than her own August wedding plans. Maybe Jean thought if she found Ororo a man quick enough, they could still have that double wedding they’d been planning since they were kids. It wasn’t that she was turned off to the idea of getting married; she just hadn’t found anyone she thought was worth pursuing more than a casual relationship with. Honestly, she wasn’t looking that hard.

It was too much work to throw herself in a relationship where she gave all of herself while the other only half-committed himself to the relationship. With her, it was always all or nothing. Either she had fun or she was completely serious about the relationship. There was rarely a middle ground. Her grandmother always told her that love would find her instead of the other way around. She was testing that theory out. That didn’t mean she had to give up fun, though. A girl had needs, after all.

“Girl, I love you, but I’m not letting you do that to me again. The last time I let you set me up with one of Scott’s friends, he referred to my vagina as a Schmuckkästchen.� Ororo said, struggling with the unfamiliar word. “I don’t even know what that is. Now, I like dirty talk as much as the next woman, but if he’s going to talk dirty to me, he could at least do it in English.�

“That was far from dirty, Ororo. It’s German for jewel box.� Jean informed her as if that made it all better.

“Why in the world would he call it a jewel box? Did he hope I’d invite him to go digging for treasure?� Ororo said, looking absolutely perplexed.

“See, there you go. Only one of Scott’s friends would call your cunt a jewel box.� Betsy laughed.

“Like cunt,� Jean’s voice lowered to a whisper when she said the word “cunt�, giving Betsy a stern look as if Betsy had forced her hand, “is any better?�

“Oh, sod off, Scott… I mean, Jean.� Betsy said kindly.

Ororo tuned the two out as they began to squabble, which always inevitably happened between them. Betsy complained that Scott made Jean dull, and Jean complained that Betsy was too much of a libertine. It was always the same old tit for tat. The only thing that kept them from tearing each other’s throats out was the sisterly love they shared… or maybe it was the fact that if one killed the other, the victor would be left with more rent to pay in their overpriced townhouse. No, it was definitely the sisterly love.

Their arguments always ended the same way. One would best the other, and the other, unable to think of a witty retort in her anger, would stomp to her room and slam the door. Never the one to be bested in anything, the victor would stomp to her room as well, screaming a terse “Fine!� before slamming her own door. In return, the other woman would open her door and throw an equally as brusque “Fine!� to slap the door and slam her own again. Minutes later, it would be all tears and chocolate. “Let’s never fight again,� one would say. “Never!� the other would promise. They’d stick to that until the next tiff came a’knocking.

Ororo decided to leave them at it. By the time she finished her cooling cup of coffee and took a nice hot shower, they’d be at an impasse, and she’d be just in time for chocolate covered cherries and Betsy’s amaretto tea that she liked to serve topped with whip cream in pousse-café glasses. Now that was what teatime was all about. She could already hear Jean-Paul’s voice niggling at the surface of her conscience. No alcohol before the competition. There would be plenty of time for kicks afterwards. Jean-Paul was no fun on competition day. She promised her grandmother that she would stop by before the competition to meet Mrs. Howlett’s grandson, anyway, so it was best to lay off the liquor.

———

Logan heard his grandmother’s doorbell ring while he raided the fridge, looking for anything that he could he eat. After taking a survey of the contents, he decided on a turkey sandwich—quick and simple. He’d have to remember to go grocery shopping or he was going to starve to death. Better yet, he’d get his grandmother to grocery shop for him. She was good at the kind of thing, and she didn’t seem to mind doing it.

“Come in,� he heard his grandmother say. The door squeaked as it opened. He would have to fix that for her. Personally, he wished that she would’ve just stayed in the house that she’d shared with paw-paw, but she was stubborn and being old only made her even more stubborn. He still hadn’t told her that he was the one who’d bought the old house. His grandfather and his father had grown up in that house—not to mention him. He couldn’t just let it go. She hadn’t wanted to hear that it was full of memories.

“Hello, Mrs. Howlett,� the voice tinkered, tickling his ears lightly. She softened the “H� in Howlett dramatically, and he pictured pert lips wrapping around the letter. “My grandmother hasn’t cheated you out your pension, yet, has she?�

“Oh no, dear, Evie is always good company. How are you?� his grandmother said amicably. He could already see her petting the seat beside her, inviting Mrs. Munroe’s granddaughter to have seat.

“I’m good. Nervous but good,� she said with a throaty chuckled—a rich, rounded sound. He tried to picture the kind of woman that would go along with the laugh. Nothing seemed to quite fit. Mrs. Munroe had told him that her granddaughter was all legs. And she was a dancer so that meant she had nice legs. He always was a sucker for a nice pair of legs. “Where are my manners? This is my friend Betsy Braddock. Betsy, this is Mrs. Howlett.�

“Hullo,� he heard a sultry English voice say. Not bad, he decided, hoping the face matched the voice. He liked accents. His first serious girlfriend, Marisol, had a Spanish accent that use to set his blood on fire. Whatever happened to her? Oh yeah, his ex-friend—that’s what happened. Couldn’t trust a girl with an accent, this same ex-friend told him. Guess he was right.

“Gram, why are you looking at me like that?� Ororo again.

“What have I told you about those shorts? And girl, that shirt is one step from being indecent. That’s not even a shirt. That’s underwear.� Mrs. Munroe said disapprovingly. He wondered if she said it with the same scrunched expression she used with him when he told her he wasn’t married—and he wasn’t looking to get married either.

“I told her the same thing, Gram. ‘Wear something sensible,’ I said. She doesn’t listen, though. That boyfriend of hers has her dressing like a tart.� Betsy said with an exaggerated tsk.

“Betsy!� Ororo said, sounding a little betrayed. If he had any intention of joining them, that was all shot to hell, now. There was too much estrogen in that room. He pulled a chair from the dining room and sat down in the kitchen, taking a bite of his sandwich, replete with enough mayo to cause ten heart attacks.

“Leave the girl alone, Evie. If you were her age, you would wear the same thing,� his grandmother said jokingly.

“Hush your mouth.� Mrs. Munroe said with a chuckle. And that settled that.

His grandmother had always been good at smoothing ruffled feathers, even if she was too nosy and meddlesome for her own good. He hadn’t told her about the big break up he’d had with his girlfriend, yet. She’d been trying to get him to get rid of the “fake-baked� bitch, whose hair color was imported straight from Revlon, for nearly a year. And his parents wondered where he got his lack of tact from.

“You just have to meet my grandson,� he heard his grandmother say. He should’ve taken that as a sign to hit the bricks, but he was curious, even if it meant only looking at her legs for a few minutes before finding an excuse to be elsewhere.

Mrs. Munroe’s granddaughter could do no wrong in his grandmother’s eyes. That’s how he knew she would be all wrong for him. He loved his grandmother, respected her opinion, but she was intrusive. The women she liked tended to be too dull, anyway. They were often pretty, but they lacked any real personality. However, to make his grandmother happy, he took them out and then told her they’d given it up on the first date; and that was the end of that woman. His grandmother didn’t like—as Betsy put it—tarts.

He sauntered into the room when she called him, hoping they’d get this over soon. He saw two women standing not too far from the sofa his grandmother occupied. “Logan, this is Evie’s granddaughter, Ororo. Ororo, this is my grandson, Logan,� his grandmother said, pointing at them respectively. Then, everyone fell silent, and he could feel his grandmother’s eagle eyes on him. They were waiting for something. The old biddies thought they were smart.

He gave her the obligatory sweep and decided he liked what he saw.

Nice classic bone structure, a full, kissable mouth that looked like a pout without meaning to, dramatic blue eyes framed by long lashes. She was tall, but she knew how to work her height with a dancer’s grace. And she had on the kind of shorts that made him want to tilt his head for a better look, but his grandmother would kill him. Kill him dead! She often cackled as if there were degrees of death.

There ought to be a rule that allowed him to tilt his head when women with long legs wore teeny-weeny, slut-red shorts. What were those kind of shorts for if they weren’t made for him to stare at? But that shirt really took the cake. It was more like one of those corset things—a sheer, little something that really put some extra “umph� in her breasts. If he were standing just a little closer, he’d have a hard time not looking. He was at a favorable distance, though. He could look at her breasts, and she couldn’t really tell if he was looking at her breasts or not.

But wow, that hair was fashionably awful, though—one of those disruptive styles that everyone seemed to favor these days. The color was nice, did wonders against her skin, but that style—awful. What happened to a nice, clean haircut? Who was he kidding? His hair was often on the bad side of wild, but that wasn’t his fault. His parents had given him all the fucked up genes—specifically shortness and hair that never wanted to cooperate. But despite the hair, she would make a nice high fashion model. He knew this because his last girlfriend knew this. She was a fashion designer.

“Nice to meet you,� she said with a shrug. He wasn’t too bad on the eyes. He was a little rough around the edges. Sort of shorter than she liked her men being that she was tall. He had facial hair than she tended to favor. Did he get his hair cut by the same person who’d cut hers? She liked his eyes. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were laughing. Good thing someone else found this amusing. And even though he wore a plain white tee and jeans that could’ve been tight if he let them stay in the dryer a second too long, she saw mountains of nice, hard muscles. She definitely liked muscles.

“Yeah,� he said. Obviously, she wasn’t interested either. Well, he couldn’t let her think she was more uninterested than he was, so he gave her an equally as noncommittal shrug. He was the master of the one-word answer.

Suddenly, Ororo grabbed the woman standing beside her, pulling her closer. The woman let out a sound akin to protest while she hastily pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She was only slightly shorter than Ororo and had a shock of purple bangs. One of her parents had to be Asian—probably her mom since her last name was very non-Asian. She wore a very simple suit that looked professional.

“This is my friend, Betsy. She’s a photographer. She’s single. In fact, she was going to ask you to accompany her to my dance competition.� Ororo said, stressing the word single. He heard Ororo’s grandmother choke on her water, as Ororo pushed Betsy in his direction.

“I was?� Betsy asked, looking at him with wide eyes. Then, she turned her eyes to Ororo. “I don’t even know this man, Ororo.�

“Sure you do. This is the nice grandson that my grandmother mentioned. That’s never stopped you before, Bets.� Ororo said in a sickly-sweet voice. His grandmother thought it was a marvelous idea—so did Ororo’s grandmother. He was going to decline, but his grandmother shot him a hellfire and brimstone.

An hour later, he found himself putting on an Armani suit that his grandmother said “the witch� left last time she stopped by. He was frustrated. He didn’t like suits anyway. Good thing these ladies were cute.

What was it again? The wide end should go a foot across the narrow end—or was that the wide end—of the narrow part. Why were there so many narrow parts? And was he supposed to bring the wide part up or was he supposed to cross it over the narrow part first…or was that the other way around? “GRANDMA!� Logan’s voice boomed throughout the house.

“Boy, you’re gonna wake the dead!� his grandmother complained as she entered the bedroom door. “What’s wrong with you?�

He jerked the tie from his neck and handed it to her. “I ain’t wearin’ that. In fact,� he started unbuttoning the crisp shirt, “I ain’t goin’ at all.�

She walked over to him, and looped the tie back around his neck. “Of course, you’re going,� she said in a voice that said brimmed with “don’t-fuck-with-grandma.�

“Look, sweetie. The big bunny ear goes across the little bunny ear, just like this,� his grandma started singing, adding a little rhythmic nod of her head. “Then the big bunny ear goes through the loop—�

“C’mon, Granny, don’t do the bunny ears song. Ya make me feel stupid.�

“Nonsense, I’ve been teaching the Howlett men to tie their own ties with the bunny song for decades.� She actually had the nerve to sound offended that he didn’t want to hear the bunny song.

“Mercy,� he pleaded.

“Only if you answer me this. What did you think of Evie’s granddaughter?� His grandmother said with a sly smile.

What did he think of Ororo? She was hot. He’d definitely do her. He wondered what zip code those legs were in. And what exactly did she wear under those little red shorts? And what were her thoughts on threesomes because he had some ideas he’d like to share with her and her friend Betsy. But he couldn’t tell his grandmother any of those things. She’d kill him dead.

“The big bunny ear goes across the little bunny ear, just like this…� he started singing.

3.

Betsy liked to talk. It didn’t take Logan long to figure that out. At least, she wasn’t arrogant. She talked about whatever came to mind. She only talked about herself when the story related in some way. Now, she was talking about her twin brother—some guy named Brian, that she kept referring to as a “blonde freak� because he had none of her “brooding dark� looks.

Ororo didn’t like to talk, or at least, she didn’t like talking with him around. Or maybe Betsy was doing enough talking for the three of them. It was probably a combination of all three. Instead, she would shoot him furtive, narrow-eyed glances in the rearview mirror as if he’d done something wrong. She was the one who invited him. If you called what happened in his grandmother’s living room an acceptable invitation.

If anyone should be angry, it should be him. He let a bunch of pushy women talk him into something he didn’t really wanted to do. Who actually cared about ballroom dancing? Not anyone he knew. It wasn’t like it was football or basketball or hockey—things he could get excited about.

He didn’t want to wear a stupid suit, but it was a formal event. Anything that required him to wear a suit was usually on his list of places he’d never go and things he’d never do. That included weddings, churches, funerals, and now, ballroom dancing events. But there were always exceptions. Maybe he wouldn’t mind this so much—as long as Ororo kept wearing those shorts.

The only time she’d stop glaring at him is when she made a death dive for her cell phone while swerving across the road. Women and their goddamned driving. He nearly had a heart attack every time he heard her phone start going off. Through his fright, he had managed to decode her ring tones and who put him at the most risk for death.

“She Loves Me like a Rock� was her grandmother and caused quite a mini-uproar in the car. “Lady Marmalade�—her dance partner, Betsy explained—called every third minute it seemed. On a scale of one to five, one being “you probably won’t die this time� and five being “thank God you remembered to wear clean underwear cause you’re gonna die,� “Lady Marmalade� was a ten. His brain broke when he tried to figure out why she associated a grown ass man with that song.

“Dear Prudence� called twice—that was her other roommate he figured out after listening to Ororo promise she didn’t borrow those black heels and no, she hadn’t ate all the Lucky Charms. Ororo usually answered her calls after groaning for five minutes. “Dope Boy Fresh� called once, and Ororo only answered it after she and Betsy laughed like hell. And Ororo never answered when “Pretty Piece of Flesh� called, which was whenever “Lady Marmalade� wasn’t obsessing.

“You’re going to answer that, right, love?� Betsy finally asked while Ororo’s phone let everyone know that the other person on the other end was a pretty piece of flesh and they were all weak, weak, weak, weak slaves. And he didn’t even know the guy.

“Didn’t plan on it,� she said with a shrug, and he silently thanked whatever higher power there was for that. His stomach was starting to lurch, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to keep that sandwich down.

“You can’t avoid him forever,� Betsy said in a sing-songy voice. Logan hoped they didn’t start talking about other men like he wasn’t around. He sometimes wondered what was going on inside women’s brain, but sometimes, he felt he was better off not knowing.

“Oh look, McDonald’s,� Ororo said, conveniently avoiding that conversation by making a sharp turn into the McDonald’s parking lot. He was going to be sick. This coming from a man who regularly rode his motorcycle at speeds that were considered illegal in all states.

“What are you doing?� Betsy asked her, grabbing Ororo’s arm. “Jean-Paul will kill you if you eat this crap now, and he’ll kill me for letting you eat it.�

“I just want some fries,� Ororo said in her own defense. “He doesn’t have to know everything.�

“Let’s be serious, love. You don’t know how to stop at fries, and Jean-Paul has a second sense about these things.�

“I ain’t gettin’ out,� Logan interjected, as the two women opened their doors to exit the car. Ororo turned around in her seat and glared at him. She was kinda cute when she was angry. Should he tell her? Nah. He’d had a girlfriend who was pseudo-feminist. Every time he told her she was cute when she got angry with him, she accused him of trivializing her feelings. That didn’t last long at all—not that anyone thought it would.

“And why the hell not?� she literally hissed at him, and he bristled in response. He hated when people talked to him like that.

“Look how I’m dressed. Who goes ta McDonald’s inna suit?� he snapped at her. He thought he’d used his best “back off, bitch� tone with her, but she barely blinked. Her face only scrunched up more, making her look more like her grandmother.

“Um, apparently, you do. So unless you want to broil your ass in the car, I suggest you get out,� she said.

“No. Make me.� He knew he was acting like a big child now, but he was putting his foot down. He wasn’t about to go inside a fast food joint looking like a reject from mortician school.

“Fine,� she said, sliding out of the driver’s seat and slamming the door. Betsy shrugged at him apologetically and exited the car as well. She stood by the car uncertainly for a moment before taking off behind Ororo. He listened to the brief exchange in mild interest.

“Ororo, you can’t leave him in the car,� Betsy said, heels clacking with every word she spoke.

“And why can’t I?� Ororo asked haughtily.

“You promised Gram you’d be nice to him for one,� Betsy said. That’s right. She promised to play nice. So, she could retract the claws.

“I know, but she doesn’t really expect me to be nice to him,� Ororo said with an air of decisiveness.

“Ororo!�

“Okay, okay!� Ororo said, stomping back to the car. Ororo flung open the door, hard enough to rock the car. He maintained an even expression as she stuck her head through the door. Her eyes were already narrowed. “Get out of the car,� she said through her teeth in a voice funnily similar to one his grandmother might use.

“But I said—�

“Get out of the car NOW!� she said about eighteen octaves too loud. Wow, that was the kind of voice made for breaking glass. She gave him a look that said: “If you dare defy me, I’m gonna chop you in the throat.� He didn’t want to be chopped in the throat—not in his good suit, especially if she went for a knife hand strike. Her nails, alone, were sharp enough to puncture his throat.

She moved back, allowing him a generous gaze of her legs before he got out, tugging on his tie. “Just so ya know, I ain’t gettin’ out ‘cause ya demanded it. I’m gettin’ out ‘cause it was hot,� he said.

“Hmph,� she said, rolling her eyes at him before charging ahead of them, but she stopped short at the door when “Lady Marmalade� called.

“He knows we’re here. Quick, run back to the car,� Betsy said half-jokingly.

“I’ve got to take this. Just order for me, okay. Large fries, heavy on the salt,� she said.

“Yuck, Ororo,� Betsy said as Ororo all but pushed them through the door.

“Jean-Paul, now what makes you think I’m eating junk?� she tittered into the phone as the glass door closed behind them. He stood in line with Betsy feeling like a complete idiot in his Sunday’s best.

“I’d like an order of heart attack drenched heavy in the high blood pressure inducer.� Betsy said when they got to the counter. The girl raised her perfectly plucked eyebrow at Betsy in annoyance.

“Fries with extra salt,� Logan quickly said when the girl behind the counter rolled her eyes and popped her gum at Betsy.

“That’s what I said,� Betsy said with a snort as the girl totaled up the order.

“Why doesn’t she like me?� Logan asked when they sat down in a booth with a bag of “death by 40,� as Betsy called it. Ororo was still outside pacing with the phone glued to her ear. He watched wear a line in the pavement, waving her hands animatedly.

“I’m sure it’s not you. Ororo’s usually pretty nice. This dancing thing has got her all stressed,� Betsy said, thinking it best not to mention that Ororo got cranky when she didn’t get her allotted weekly stipend of sex. According to Ororo, it had been two weeks after all.

“How long has she been doin’ that?� he asked, genuinely interested.

“What, dancing?� Betsy asked, and he nodded. “As long as I can remember. That’s all she’s ever wanted to do is dance. She couldn’t even concentrate in classes when we were in uni because she was always dancing.�

“She any good?�

“You tell me after we watch the competition,� she said with a sly smile. “What do you do?�

“Personal trainer. I own a gym—Howlett’s Gym.�

“Oh, that’s you. I remember. There was a big write up in the paper about your gym. You’re the one who’s getting like a million dollars a session for your martial arts classes.�

“Yeah, something like that,� he chuckled.

You whip a couple of whining celebs into shape with a “take-no-shit� fitness program, and you were an instant star. During his first two years, he barely broke even. He hadn’t planned to do the personal trainer thing, but a friend of a friend of a friend of one his patrons mentioned him, and he found himself playing Mr. PT for some actress who needed to lose sixty pounds faster than he could blink.

She was offering him good money—more than he’d made in two years with his gym. She became a regular, then her friends started coming to him when she walked down the red carpet with a body worth noting. Business started to flourish. Now, he had A-list clients, wannabe A-list clients, and everyone in between. Many of his clients complained that he was too tough on them, but they kept coming back because he got results.

“You looked a lot taller in the paper,� she said with a friendly smile.

He looked out the window again, noting that Ororo wasn’t in view. She’d probably walked right into traffic with that phone stuck to her ear. “Yer lookin’ at it all wrong. Yer just tall,� he said. They made idle chat for a few more minutes before Ororo waved them out of the place, and it was back to more of her bad driving while she tried to eat the fries.

“Could you be any more of a pig in front of our guest? Not everyone has to witness the horror of your appetite. Can’t you pretend to be prim and proper just for three seconds?� Betsy teased.

“I’d break rule number one if I did that. Thou shalt not front on thy stomach.� She stuffed another handful of fries in her mouth, causing her cheeks to puff out slightly. Well, he couldn’t be mad at her. At least, she didn’t chew with her mouth open, and if they ever went out for dinner, he wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not she hated the restaurant as she picked over her salad. If they went out for dinner? Where had that come from?

Betsy pushed a CD into the player, listening to them for three seconds before deciding it wasn’t the right one. “Oh! Oh! I like this song.� Betsy said, turning up the radio. Heavy bass filled the car, followed by a gravelly female voice who was talking about all the people who pissed her off.

“All the people that won’t be missed, you’ve made my shitlist!� Betsy was throwing her head back and forth becoming just a blur of purple and black hair. God… anything but chick rock… It wasn’t enough that he had to put on a suit—he had to listen to this, too? Ororo couldn’t be enjoying this, but when he turned his eyes toward her, he was almost surprised when he saw her mouthing along with the words. He mentally tried to figure the odds of either one of them caring if he threw himself from the car.

Betsy stopped going into spastics long enough to put an invisible mic to her mouth. “When I get mad, and I get pissed!� Betsy screeched as loudly as the woman on the radio. She quickly “passed the mic� in time for Ororo to chime with a “Shitlist!� He’d have to remember not to piss these two off. They seemed a bit serious about all this. Besides, they were women, and women knew how to hold a grudge.

“I get a pen and write out a list of all you assholes who won’t be missed, you’ve made my shitlist!� they both said in unison.

He’d have to remember to thank his grandmother for this one. He was starting to believe the old lady had it out for him. This was his punishment for not giving her a house full of great-grandkids. He told her it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t stay with a woman long enough to actually try the “marriage and kids� thing. It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying… Okay, he wasn’t, but she didn’t know that.

Tori Amos had just finished her male-bashing session when they finally arrived at the dance hall. He was going to kiss the ground when he got out. Never again, he promised himself, trying to forget the nightmare of a car ride. When he pulled the latch, the door wouldn’t open. He pulled the handle again. The child safety lock was in place. She thought she was so fucking funny.

He checked the other door. It was a no go. He wasn’t about to crawl into the front seat just to get out of the car. That was embarrassing, and there were way too many witnesses. He knocked on the window, and she turned around with a smug smile. “Very funny. Could ya open the door?� he said.

“What’s that?� she said, leaning her ear toward the window. “I didn’t hear you. Why don’t you open the door?�

Was she trying to piss him off? If she was, it was working. “I said, I’m goin’ ta put my fist through yer fuckin’ window if ya don’t lemme out,� he said. She raised her eyebrows at him. Was that a challenge? Guess not. She opened the door, and he bit back the impulse to yell at her. “Yer an ass.�

“You’re the one to talk,� she shot back at him.

“Hey, no fighting, children,� Betsy said, acting as a buffer.

He watched posh socialites enter the building instead of arguing. He even spotted a couple of his clients who looked at him like he’d grown a third eye after waving at him tentatively. It was that stupid suit. It was turning him into a spectacle.

Betsy wished Ororo luck before they parted ways in the sea of people. Betsy led him through the crowd to a table on the edge of the dance floor. The area where the patrons were seated was dim. Each table had a small, decorative candle lighting it. Carafes of waiting wine—Riesling, not bad—waited on each table. Lights meant to encourage blindness lit the dance floor.

This should be interesting, he told himself.

———

She popped three Hint mints when she walked backstage. She made her way around the hustle and bustle of the backstage. Half-naked men and women raced here and there looking for last minute accessories, stretching out fatigued limbs, trying beat last night’s binge-fest with pitch-black coffee. One woman was screaming at her partner because her dress didn’t match her eyes like it was supposed to and she’d rather go on the floor naked than wear such an ugly dress, which escalated into an argument about that not mattering since everyone in New York had already seen her nude. Ouch.

She found Jean-Paul holed away in a small room, practicing his breathing techniques. It supposedly helped him to relax. She didn’t think anything really helped Jean-Paul to relax. He didn’t even open his eyes when she entered, didn’t even acknowledge that she was in the room. He didn’t like her to interrupt him when he was in relaxing. He took two final breaths before opening his eyes and staring at her.

“Your breath smells like saturated lard,� he said before she could even mumble hello. His dark eyes pierced through her, daring her to tell him he was wrong.

“Does not,� she said, trying to make her performance believable, walking over to him and parking herself in his lap. She gave him a good whiff of her breath.

“Lard and breath mints, yummy,� he said, fanning her away.

She stood from his lap and walked back toward the door. “It was just some fries.�

“Tell me that when you’re three-hundred pounds, alone, and spend all your days watching daytime television,� Jean-Paul muttered.

“You wish me all the best in life, but look, we have more important things to discuss.� Ororo grabbed Jean-Paul’s arm and dragged him out of the room and over to the curtain veiling them from the audience. She pushed them back a crack and pointed in the direction of Betsy and Logan. “What do you think of him?�

Jean-Paul had a sixth sense when it came to people. She never went into a relationship until she asked Jean-Paul about the person in question. Sure, she wasn’t getting into a relationship with Logan, but she didn’t want to blame herself if he ended up stomping Betsy’s heart to pieces. She would agree that Jean-Paul was a tad on the cynical side (“It’s only because I’m willing to believe in the bad in people,� he’d once told her), but that was a good thing because he didn’t hem and haw when she needed to hear things about the men she was dating.

True, she sometimes ignored his good wisdom. It wasn’t because she didn’t trust his advice. She just had some disposition that had to experience it firsthand. Some women would be cautious if a friend told them to look out, but she liked to go ahead and get all the bullshit over and done with. She was some kind of glutton for hard life lessons. It all worked out in the end, though.

Jean-Paul was the one who had a one-on-one with her and told her that he didn’t think she should get married to T’Challa. “Man-whore,� was the final verdict he handed down. She hadn’t listened, of course. She’d been so jaded, so in love. At least, that’s what she thought. Then, when that fell through, he didn’t gloat or give her the “I-told-you-so� speech. Instead, he took her the Vegas where she had too much fun getting over T’Challa. And she finally found out why some things were better left in Vegas.

“Do I even have to look at him? In general, I think you have very bad taste in men.� Jean-Paul rolled in his eyes in her direction without looking at this new man. Ororo and her new men—he was convinced that she was going through some kind of men crisis that required her to try to date half of the eligible, straight (and sometimes not-so straight) men in New York.

“I’m serious,� she said with pleading eyes. She was laying it on thick.

He couldn’t resist that innocent-girl-lost face. He huffed at her before looking in the direction that Ororo indicated. Betsy downed a glass of wine faster than a seasoned frat boy, only shown-up by the man sitting at her elbow. “He’s kind of cute in a rough and rugged sort of way. Haven’t you done that rough and rugged thing for the month? Isn’t this metrosexual week for you? Or did I get that confused with wannabe rap star week again?� He couldn’t believe some of the men that Ororo actually brought through his door. He had to remind himself that she was going through a men crisis.

“He’s not for me,� Ororo said defensively and paused. He was cute, and maybe, if she’d met him in other circumstances, things would’ve been different. Or maybe not. She didn’t much care for the flippant attitude she was getting from Logan. “He’s for Betsy. You know she’s been keeping up good appearances despite her breakup with Warren.�

“Ah, yes, since Warren and his, direct Betsy quote, cornbread fed whore dropped the M-bomb.� Three weeks back, Betsy and her on-again-off-again boyfriend called it off forever when Betsy caught him with his secretary, Paige—some fresh-faced girl imported straight from Nowheresville. “Where did Betsy say she came from again?�

“The bowels of Hell or the bowels of Mississippi or something. I can’t remember. You know how Betsy gets when she gets angry. It’s just like when she first wakes up. You can’t understand a damn thing she’s saying.�

Jean-Paul nodded sympathetically. Betsy accent went from cute to just plain ear-grating in seconds when she was angry, but he didn’t exactly blame Betsy. Warren was going to marry Paige, and Betsy was taking it hard, though none of them could get Betsy to admit it.

“That’s a nice suit he’s wearing. Definitely not something off the rack. The fit is too impeccable. I don’t know about this wild child hair he has going on,� Jean-Paul paused to look at Ororo’s hair. Ororo pretended not to notice. “I think I’ve seen him before somewhere. He looks like he doesn’t want to be here.�

“Yeah, I think I put him on the spot when I invited him in front of Gram and his grandmother, but he’s an adult, right? He could’ve said no,� she pointed out, watching Betsy and Logan fill their cups up with more wine. The two talked a little and laughed. Then, they touched glasses before guzzling down the wine. They were going to be sloshed before the show even started. Ahh, that was her Betsy. Maybe Bets would hit it off with Logan after all.

She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, and she thought she might actually be a little jealous at the thought. But she immediately chided herself as she tried to dredge up some happiness for Betsy. She was just afraid of losing her clubbing buddy. Betsy could turn into the next Jean, and then her life would really be depressing. She was happy that Jean was happy. She wanted Betsy to be happy in love, too. She just didn’t know how she would handle being around two women in love when her own love life left much to be desired.

“He could have, but judging by that outfit you’re wearing, he probably didn’t want to. You look like a working whore. You didn’t tell me the hooker convention was in town.� Jean-Paul plucked at her shorts and wondered what possessed her to melt herself into those things. They were so… bright.

“It’s not my fault. It was the only thing I could find that was clean until I got here. I haven’t had much time to do laundry this week thanks to certain dance dictators who shall remain nameless. You might know him. He’s the one who’s had me in the studio every day until four in the morning.� Ororo cut her eyes in his direction.

“He sounds like my kind of guy.� Jean-Paul said and Ororo snorted. “Where is that delicious piece of man you’ve been dating forever? Or rather, forever in Ororo time. I liked him. Keep him around. Not only is he gorgeous, he knows how to dress. And you already know he looks good in leather. Even Bobby doesn’t look that good in leather.�

“Bobby’s ass is nonexistent. That’s the only reason he doesn’t look that good in leather. Leather doesn’t wear right unless it has a little something to cling to,� Ororo said, turning her eyes back to Betsy and Logan.

Jean-Paul pondered this for a moment. “Point well taken. I told him to start doing more squats and lunges when he’s working out. That’ll give his butt boost.�

“Bobby’s sort of bony. Don’t you feed that boy?�

“His stomach is an endless pit. He never stops eating, and he never gains weight. He’s meaty where it counts.�

Ororo laughed loudly, causing some of the others to look at her critically. Had she no shame? This was a competition, and she had the nerve to be cheerful. “I’ll remember that.�

“Remember is all you better do.�

“Meow. Hiss. Remember what your qigong instructor told you. Breathe, just breathe. Awaken your chi. Balance your chi.� Ororo made an elaborate show of breathing deeply while raising her upturned palms to her chest. She turned her palms downward and pushed them back toward her knees.

“Haha, Ororo.� Jean-Paul said, punctuating his sentence with a withering look.

———

“They’re talking about you,� Betsy said nonchalantly over her glass. She blew a bit of air out the corner of her mouth, causing her bright razor-cut bangs to go flying for a second.

“Who?� he said, looking around. He didn’t know anyone in the place, save for the occasional client. And they were all getting shitfaced on the free wine not looking at him. Free wine was almost a nice incentive to come back again. They start passing out free beer, and he’d definitely become a regular.

“Ororo and Jean-Paul,� she said, nodding toward the curtains across the room. He could barely make out some guy squinting at him through the curtains. So, that was “Lady Marmalade.� Great. “She’s probably telling him that you’re my date and asking him what he thinks of you.�

“Why would she do that?� he asked, feeling a little uncomfortable that she was discussing him with another guy already. He wondered what she was telling him. She didn’t seem to like him much, and he could only imagine what she was telling the guy.

“Because she trusts Jean-Paul’s judgment. He’s rarely ever wrong about people,� Betsy said matter-of-factly.

“Do ya think he’s sayin’ somethin’ good?�

“Probably not. It’s not as much fun to heap praise on strangers. Jean-Paul’s a bit of a pessimist,� she answered. Jean-Paul did tend to dwell on the negative for a minute or two, but he’d eventually get around to saying good stuff about a person—if he thought they were good. Betsy liked Logan well enough, and she knew Jean-Paul would too once he actually met him. Didn’t matter if Ororo poisoned him or not. “Don’t take it personally, though.�

“What’s it like livin’ with two roommates?� he asked, changing the subject. He didn’t want to think about Ororo and some guy gossiping about him like a couple of old hens.

“You really want to know what it’s like living with two roomies, or do you mean you want to know what it’s like living with Ororo?� Betsy said with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“No, that’s not—�

“It’s okay. She’s fun, if you like waking up at five in the morning while she skips around the apartment waving her arms like a meth addict and singing, ‘You give me fever.’ That’s while our other roommate is in the shower screaming, excuse me, singing about this town not being big enough for both of us, and it ain’t her who’s gonna leave. I’m a firm believer that the day doesn’t start until noon.�

Logan smiled at the thought of her skipping around his condo, preferably with nothing on but the skin God gave her, singing.

———

“They’re looking at us.� Jean-Paul pointed out. He knew they were definitely looking at him when the guy, Logan, made a goofy face his way. Was that supposed to be fucking funny? Jean-Paul fought the urge to make a weird face back at him. How old was he again? Old enough to know better than to make funny faces at strangers. Where did Ororo find these men? Well, at least, he seemed to have a sense of humor.

“No, they’re not,� Ororo said, trying to pretend that she didn’t see Betsy and Logan looking their way. But she was starting to feel that familiar feeling of paranoia. Did he know they were talking about him? No, he couldn’t know that.

“Betsy tipped him off,� he said. “You know she did. Betsy talks too damn much.�

He had a point. “I don’t want him to see us talking about him.� Ororo pulled Jean-Paul away from the curtain.

“Why not? That’s what he expects. He expects us to talk about him because we’re Betsy’s friends, and we have to make him feel like a pariah by whispering about him behind his back. He has to pass the shun test before we make him feel like a person,� Jean-Paul said.

“So, what do you think?� Ororo asked, pressing the issue.

“Commitment-phobe. I can read it all over his face. And since you’re a commitment-phobe, too, you don’t mix well with other commitment-phobes.� Jean-Paul started inspecting his nails. Ororo opened her mouth. Then closed it again. She held up one finger as she opened her mouth again before Jean-Paul interrupted. “I know this one. Wait, don’t tell me. You’re a dying fish. Am I right?�

“He’s not… I don’t…� Why couldn’t she get him to understand that she was not interested in Logan? At all. Period. Jean-Paul could be infuriating when he wanted to be. He thought he knew so much.

“I’m not even listening to you. You’re a bad liar. He’s for Betsy,� he said in a feigned falsetto in an attempt to mimic her voice. “Yeah, right. Even if one of you did get serious about the other, one of you is going to crack under the pressure.�

“Thanks for the continuous vote of confidence,� Ororo said dryly.

“Anytime. Now, where is Keiron? You’re already checking out his replacement, and you haven’t told me what happened to him, yet.� They walked back to the dressing room together. Ororo mulled over what she should tell Jean-Paul. She knew he wouldn’t let up until she told him something.

“I am not replacing him with that man. We just have a little problem.� Ororo chewed on her bottom lip.

Jean-Paul stopped in mid-stride and grabbed Ororo’s arm. He opened his eyes wide. “He’s gay, and he slipped right under the gaydar,� he said.

“No, he’s not gay,� she said with a shake of her head. It would be a lot easier if he were. Then, maybe she wouldn’t feel so guilty about blowing him off. She hadn’t returned any of his calls.

“He’s married with ten kids. I knew there was—�

“No, it’s far worse than that.�

“Worse than ten kids? What can be worse than ten kids besides an STD? Oh God, he didn’t give you—�

“No! Don’t let people hear you say that. He told me he loved me,� she whispered.

Jean-Paul snorted at her. “Is that all?� he said with a shrug.

“I didn’t want him to tell me that,� she whined. She didn’t want him to be in love. He was ruining a good thing by being “in love.� Honestly, it was the last thing she expected to hear from him.

“Was it before or after sex? You can never trust what a man says after sex.�

“Before.�

“I’m missing something,� Jean-Paul said with a frown. “Most women complain they can’t find a guy who’s serious. You find one, and by the way, he’s hot as hell, and you don’t want him to be serious about you? Make me understand this.�

“It’s complicated. It’s not that I don’t like him…�

“Right,� Jean-Paul said sarcastically.

“I’m for real. If I didn’t like him, I couldn’t have sex with him.� She said this more to herself than him. She was rationalizing.

“Actually you could and you have had sex with someone you didn’t even like. Did you forget about that bouncer, Luke?�

Ororo actually had to smile about that. That lasted all of three seconds. It could’ve worked if Luke just didn’t talk. The minute that man opened his mouth, she just wanted to kick him in the teeth. “I’ll have you know that I liked his biceps, not him.�

“Yeah, you fell right into that man-trap. You’re too easy.�

“Water under the bridge. You promised not to bring that up again, anyway.�

“And I wouldn’t have if you’d stop lying to yourself.�

“I do like Keiron, though.�

“Ororo, I’m going to tell you something, and I’m only doing it because I love you.� Jean-Paul grabbed her shoulders. “What happened with you and T’Challa was fucked up, but you have to let it stop eating you up. You haven’t been able to maintain a relationship since him. Keiron is a really nice guy. I can understand if you’re really not ready for a serious relationship, but you have to start being truthful with yourself.�

This was exactly what she didn’t want to hear. She knew he was right, but she wasn’t ready to admit he was right. “Let’s just not talk about that right now. That’s not the kind of bad mojo I need to think about while dancing. Let’s worry about getting ready,� Ororo mumbled.

“And what we’re going to do about that hair.�

“What’s wrong with my hair?�

“Everything.�

“There’s nothing we can do about it now.�

“Yes, there is. You’re wearing a wig.�

“There is no way in hell…�

“Good thing this isn’t hell, then.�

———

The dancers were going through a warm-up set on the floor. Logan snickered when she saw Ororo wearing a wig that matched her hair color perfectly. Betsy said that was Jean-Paul’s doing. She was no longer wearing those shorts. Damn, but she’d traded up for a dress with a tight bodice and a frilly skirt. Eh, well, it’ll do, he decided.

“That her boyfriend?� he asked quietly. A woman at the neighboring table gave him a reprimanding look. He rewarded her with a scowl.

“Who?� Betsy asked, ripping her eyes away from Jean-Paul and Ororo.

“That guy she’s dancin’ with.� He thought “Pretty Piece of Flesh� was her boyfriend, but he wasn’t so sure watching the way the dancing pair seemed to be breathing in each other’s very essence.

Betsy graced him with a wide-eyed stare. “Jean-Paul?� Betsy snorted, looking back at the two. She almost fell out of her chair in hysterics. “Yeah, they have chemistry, but not that kind of chemistry. They share a similar passion for dance. But that’s all.�

“Ya call that nothin.�

Betsy turned her attention back to them again, and she could see where he might’ve gotten the idea that they were together. The moved like one person, each move so intuitive of the other that it bordered the sensual, but he had no worries. “They’re just dancing. You have to be able to feel the passion between them. They have to make it believable or else the dance loses it magic,� she said, quoting Ororo.

“That’s some magic all right,� he grumbled.

“Um… J.P. is as queer as pink elephants.� Betsy said bluntly. There was no other way to get around that.

She wanted him to believe that the man who was basically dry humping Ororo for the world to see was gay. What a con artist. “Right,� he said disbelievingly.

“I’m serious. There’s his boyfriend over there,� Betsy said, pointing to their left. A clean-shaven blonde man sat alone. He was raptly watching the pair on the floor. Correction, he was raptly watching Jean-Paul. Maybe she was right. “Now that,� Betsy said, pointing to a guy who looked like he stepped out a designer magazine, “is her boyfriend… sorta.� The man had just entered the room, and he made brief eye contact with them. A 70-watt smile brightened his face when he spotted Betsy.

“Whaddya mean sorta?� he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I mean, they’re only fornicating, nothing serious,� she said with a nonchalant shrug.

He chuckled. He liked this one. So, why was he spending all his time worrying about a woman who’d basically told him to kiss her ass? “An’ does she know it’s nothin’ serious?�

“Logan, love, he’s the one who doesn’t know it isn’t serious. Quiet, he’s coming this way,� Betsy said, toning down for the first time.

He watched the guy walked toward them. Figures she’d like those pretty boy types.

“Wotcher, Keiron.� Betsy said with a mile-wide smile plastered on her face. Keiron invited himself to the empty seat at the table. “This is Ororo’s friend, Logan. Logan, Keiron.�

Oh, now he was Ororo’s friend. What was she doing? He didn’t want some guy calling him up at three in the morning about Ororo, especially if there really wasn’t anything going on. They shook hands briefly. Keiron eyed him thoughtfully.

This was going to be fun.

———

Author’s Notes: Yeah, went on another of my long hiatuses. I needed it. Okay, this chapter was way longer, but I chopped it all up. That doesn’t mean the next update will be soon… just sooner than it would’ve been if I hadn’t chopped this chapter all up. My Marvel muses are going through a rebellion. The casualties are great. Sorry for any mistakes. I tried to catch them. I suck at it, though.