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“So, how do you like your eggs?”

Logan was just scrubbing his face with his thick palm, flicking the grit out of his eyes and giving his broad chest a hearty scratch as her voice reached him above the clamor. He grunted in surprise at the progress she’d made, as well as the mess.

“Shit,” he muttered, “how long have ya been up?”

“Early enough to flip through the last of the televangelists, and infomercials.” The rich scent of bacon filled the kitchen and made his mouth water, until he drifted over to the sink. Ororo was looking even more delectable in his spare boxers and NYU shirt, washing the dishes left from the day before and wiping up stray blobs of pancake batter from the Formica counter. Logan crept up behind her as she dropped the wire whisk into a washtub of soapy water and gathered her against him. They swayed together in a good morning embrace that already felt habit-forming. “Yer side of the bed was cold,” he accused. “Ya coulda let me make ya something.”

“I didn’t have the heart to wake you up. And I was starving, I figured you would be, too.”

“Smart woman.”

“Thank you,” she purred.

“Sexy, too.” His lips nibbled her neck, distracting her from draining the bacon. Contentment and building excitement fluttered in her stomach as she leaned into his heat.


~0~


It had been hard to leave the sweet and tangible comfort of his embrace as the covers spilled away from her flesh. She retrieved his discarded boxers and shirt and padded down the hall, acquainting herself with his home. She slowly dispelled the shock of waking up in strange arms. In a strange bed.

The ticking of the kitchen clock rang out, thudding through her veins. How many minutes until she had to go home? She rummaged for the bacon in the lunch meat drawer and ticked off her chores for the day:

1) Collect her car from the spa.
2) Check her messages.
3) Scratch that. Take two mega-dose ibuprofen, THEN check her messages.
4) Go through her receipts and sort out the purchases she and Pietro made together.
5) Disconnect the network between their PCs.
6) Call a locksmith to come on Tuesday.

Despite the growing heat from the stove, Ororo shivered.

She fought the urge to tiptoes back to the bedroom for another snuggle from Logan. Awareness rippled over her skin at the revelation that she didn’t know how close to get to him. Would he shy away if she tried to hold him? Would he stare her out the door and watch the clock? Let her wear his spare clothes home? Promise to call her?

Those questions were best asked “ or pondered, at any rate “ over breakfast. She searched his fridge for butter and settled for grape jelly.

~0~



She wasn’t expecting his covetous embrace at her back, or the luscious rasp of his deep, scratchy morning voice at her ear.

“Am I keeping you from anything?”

“Nope. I’m on NOC shift. Gonna run a few errands. Hit the gym. Then hit the sack.” Logan practically heard the crack of her lips as she smiled. “Could change the order of that list, though. Sheets’re still warm,” he offered.

“So’s the food.” She heard his stomach growl. “Mm-hm. See?” Logan chuckled into her hair.” Food. Now. Then we’ll go over that list.” They lumbered to the cabinets, Logan’s arms still engaged around her slender waist as she fished out plates. Ororo temporarily shoved her own to-do list asideas they sat down and tucked into the goodies.

“Ya gonna be all right, darlin’?” Ororo paused mid-sip, orange juice hovering just short of her lips.

“I guess. I don’t know. There’s so much to think about.”

“Things look different in the light of day, kiddo. Havin’ regrets?”

“No!” She answered too fast. He quirked a brow at her before biting into his toast. “I’m not,” she murmured.

“Enh.”

“Enh?” Her look was cautious.

“Enh.” His was resigned, as though he had already passed judgment on her situation, or on theirs, and found it hopeless. Ororo sighed.

“Logan…it was fun.”

“Yeah.” Logan gulped his juice.

Ororo and Logan’s eyes played tag across the table for an uneasy minute while she dug for the words.

“More than fun.” She didn’t want to bust out with the big speeches. He didn’t seem the type to want them.

“Mmm.” Logan’s thick finger crept up to scratch himself behind his ear. Ororo toyed with her bacon, breaking it into bits. His eyes followed her hands. When her eyes sought his again, her expression was almost bashful.

“Whaddya want me ta say, darlin’? That the earth moved? Birds sang an’ violins played?”

“I’m not into violins,” she admitted. “I didn’t ask you for hearts and flowers, Logan.”

“Good. Best ta just follow that plan of action, then. That ain’t what I’ve got ta offer.” A morsel of something landed on his plate, distracting him.

“What do you have to offer?” He flushed with the directness of her question, steeling himself before he replied.

“Only what’s left after everything I had was either stolen, used up, leached outta me, or beaten to a pulp.” He was distracted again by a faint, itchy something bouncing off his chest. He rubbed the spot absently as he met her gaze again.

“I’m tryin’ ta explain myself here.”

“You don’t have to yet,” she assured him, rising to clear her plate in one fluid move. “Because I don’t know what to say to you yet, either.” She circled the table and reached for his plate.

His warm, insistent grip held her in place, interrupting her grasp. She let it clatter back against the table and stared at his hand braceletting her wrist. His other hand relieved her of the other plate and stacked it onto his with a clank. She felt herself tugged between his knees and pulled onto his sturdy lap, and he took the liberty of wrapping her arms around his own neck.

“Last night at the reception…that wasn’t how I’d want it to be if…”

“Yeah. Me, too.” She was once again enveloped in his embrace, and felt a hint of cool air against her skin as his fingers reached beneath her shirt and stroked her flesh.

“I don’t like playing games. I don’t like guessing where my man is and where he’s been tipping and sneaking.”

“Yeah, I hate that shit. I like a woman who’s direct with me. No secrets.” He played with a lock of her hair, twirling it around his finger before brushing back the loose waves from her face to cup her cheek in his palm. “No making me read her mind. I wanna say no baggage, but ya know how that goes.”

“I’ve got enough baggage for Amtrak, Delta and Greyhound,” she grinned, kissing his forehead.

“Sounds scary…so, what time did ya want me ta drive ya home?” He pretended to check an invisible wristwatch, and yelped when she pinched his ribs ticklishly. A butterfly-light kiss landed on the tip of his nose.

“Whatever time’s good for you,” she decided, knowing she had to let him off the hook. “You don’t have to dance attendance on me, Logan. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“Yer not. I don’t want ya ta leave. But I can’t hold ya captive in yer skivvies all day.”

“Sounds fun, though.” She laced her fingers behind his neck and plied tiny kisses against his forehead, brows and temples, nuzzling his ears and hairline. Heat surged into his vitals, and his fingers tightened their grip on the curves of her hips. Her breath was warm and teasing against his closed eyelids and the crowns of his cheekbones, and he rumbled his approval when she leaned into him, pressing her breasts into his solid chest. She tipped his jaw up and lowered her lips to his parted ones, greedily, langorously exploring the textures of his mouth, drinking his essence.

“We aren’t getting anywhere very fast like this,” she rasped. His skin felt hot beneath her hands.

“Sure we are,” he growled back, sliding his hands up her ribcage until he found the straining peak of one luscious nipple, tugging it until she moaned. “I’m gettin’ right where I wanted ta go, baby. An’ I thought ya said last night ya wanted me ta take my time with ya?” Her response was unintelligible, eyes closed, head flung back as he lifted her shirt to feast on her. She nodded and moaned again in agreement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She squirmed against him and didn’t argue when he lifted her shirt over her head and chucked it onto the floor. His hands encouraged her to grind her pelvis against his hardness, need building between them, restless and wild. Her hand edged between them, stroking the tapered trail of hair over his abdomen and jerking back his waistband until she found him. He groaned as her fingers enclosed him in her grip, appreciating his smooth thickness. Her thumb slicked over the silky head, spreading the faint droplets of moisture across his taut flesh. She felt powerful as he pulsed and throbbed in her hand, murmuring a strangled curse against her throat before tangling his fingers in her hair, crushing her lips to his. Her world was nearly turned on its ear in a mad fumbling of falling clothes as he repositioned her to straddle him.

“Want you,” he grated out, testing her with probing fingers, slowly snaking them up into her depths. He pulled back to watch her face contort in shock at how good he felt. “I know ya want me, too.”

“Yes,” she gasped, rocking herself into his palm, nudging up against the head of his manhood. He nearly came undone as she rubbed herself against it, slippery and stimulating them both with a slow, even rhythm that was almost as sweet as being inside of her. But nothing was as sweet as being inside of her…

Until he impaled her, thrusting up into her heat, his fingers digging into her thighs. The choked moan of desire, shuddering in his ear and confirming that it felt so right, coupled with the glaze of fulfillment in her soft blue eyes when she pulled back to watch him, proved him wrong when she began to ride him. She was beautiful, that beauty only enhanced by the slackness of her features as he filled her, chanting his name. It sounded right coming from her lips, in her voice. He closed his eyes to let it imprint itself on his memory. She sensed it, too, and caressed him, trailing fire over every nerve ending, tasting every part of him that she could reach.

A hail of cries was underscored by the occasional squeak and knock of the pegs on each chair leg scraping the floor. Ororo’s toes and the balls of her feet began to sweat against the hardwood as she worked them further into a frenzy, picking up speed and friction that threatened to push her over the edge.

“You’re not supposed to feel this incredible,” she babbled. His eyes offered no answers; he just raked his fingers through her long tresses and let his fingernails scribble lightly down her spine, nibbling her chin and throat. “I’m not supposed to want you like this.”

“Yer free ta want me however ya damned well please, now. That’s up ta you,” he pointed out. He toyed with her clitoris, circling the pad of his thumb over it to create even more maddening, delicious friction. Ororo bit her lip against the sensations that threatened to consume her. “I want you, baby doll. As long as a pissed off boyfriend doesn’t come with the package. And as long as ya want me fer me. Not just ta fill a gap.”

“What you see is what you get,” she hissed. “You don’t see anyone else here, do you?” Her lips teased his, pulling back every time he attempted to devour his lips. “I can order from a catalog to fill a gap, Logan. Less talk,” she grunted.

“You got it.” He dipped his mouth to her breast and suckled it to drive home the point. They pushed each other to completion, and Ororo collapsed against him, her body muffling his hoarse shout as he convulsed, jerking within her, spurring another brief climax from her. He held her, steaming her shoulder as he panted for breath. Her legs were trembling, rubbery and limp before she kissed his cheek one last time, then lolled her head to rest against his neck.

“At this rate, we’re gonna be nekkid all day,” he considered, stroking the length of her thigh as it still quivered.

“Might I make a suggestion?”

“Shoot.”

“Shower?” Her smile was languid and warm. He kissed it in response as they rose from the chair, chuckling when they noticed that it had traveled across the floor, now backed against the kitchen counter. Logan only pulled himself away long enough to retrieve towels for them both while she adjusted the temperature of the spray. They made positively wasteful use of his shampoo as he washed her hair. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

“Ororo?”

“Hmm?”

“The earth did move. Violins, birds an’ all.”

“Sure that wasn’t just the chair?” She tickled him as she scrubbed his back; he blocked her doing it again by yanking her arms around his waist, leaning around to kiss her.

“Brat.”

The next half hour found her tugging on more of his clean clothes, laughing hopelessly as she cinched in the drawstring of a pair of navy sweats that swam on her. Logan gave her a plastic shopping back to carry her ruined clothing in, and she balled up the dress around her heels and stockings, tucking them in as Logan locked up.

“Mind if we make a quick stop on the way home?”

“Where do you have to go?”

“Remy’s. This is his car,” he explained. “I ain’t gonna trade it for her his bike just yet, I just wanna let him know when he can expect it back. I ain’t got a helmet ta lend ya, so a ride on the bike is out fer now.” His voice perked up on the last two words. Ororo smiled as she pictured being wrapped around him on the back of a motorcycle, shaking her head when Logan read her mind. “Ya might like it.”

“I just might,” she agreed. They piled into the car and Logan fiddled with the CD player, scanning the selections on the disc already in it before hitting play. The drive home was companionable. When they reached the last intersection before the freeway, Logan captured her hand and laced his fingers through hers, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. She sighed and snuggled further into his roomy sweatshirt, then leaned over to kiss his shoulder. Logan pulled onto the exit ramp to a middle-class neighborhood she wasn’t familiar with, directing the Mustang through mid-morning traffic casually, pointing out a mural on the side of a children’s day care center.

“Remember the guy we talked with at Harry’s? Petey?”

“The Big Guy?”

“Yup. Back in the day, before he hit the big time where he is now, he was commissioned to paint that.” The mural depicted a castle straight out of a story book against an airbrushed sky that seemed to bring the clouds close enough for Ororo to touch.

“Wow.”

“Not too shabby, eh?” Logan continued to peer back at it from the rearview mirror as it retreated away. “He did that one while his sister was still goin’ there, when she was just a small fry.” He sobered, and Ororo heard sadness creep into his voice. “He lost her a while back. Leukemia.”

“Oh, my God. That’s horrible for him. He seemed sad when we spoke; no wonder why, now.”

“He’s never really gotten over it. They were close. She adored her big bro.”

“I don’t doubt it. He was so nice. Seems like the kind of person who would be very giving.”

“Sensed that, did ya?”

“Mm-hm. He gave off that vibe like he’d do anything to keep the Boogey Man off your doorstep.” Logan stifled a snort of laughter.

“Listen to you.” Logan fiddled with the CD player again, then craned his neck around to watch her as they rolled to stop at the red light. “Boogey Man, eh?”

“Everyone’s got one.”

“He been knockin’ on yer door?”

“I’m not afraid of him. He knows not to mess with me,” she boasted. Logan suddenly sure who she was talking about. She caught the pregnant pause and faced him. “I don’t expect you to rescue me from my mess.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I get the feeling ya don’t need my help with that.” They turned into the parking lot of a well-maintained apartment building before Ororo expected it, now reluctant to give up their talk. “Ya wanna wait out here, or come inside?”

“I’ll come with you,” she confirmed, already undoing her belt before he turned off the ignition. Ororo inwardly kicked herself when she realized she was in Logan’s oversized sweats, looking every inch like she’d just enjoyed an impromptu sleepover, but there was no help for it. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, her hair yanked back into a ponytail that shaved five years from her and made Logan’s fingers itch to take it back down. His hand was warm at her lower back as he knocked on the door and ushered her ahead of him. Slow footsteps approached the door, and Ororo saw dark, familiar eyes peer at them through the crack between the door and the chained deadbolt. Remy’s smile was sly but welcoming.

“Wasn’t expectin’ comp’ny, specially not such pretty comp’ny,” he chided Logan, nodding them inside. Logan growled at him when he took Ororo’s proffered hand and kissed it instead of just shaking it.

“Hey! Knock that shit off, Gumbo,” he warned, wrapping a burly arm around Ororo’s waist. Ororo enjoyed Remy’s lazy smile, recognizing the same mischief she remembered from Jean’s bachelorette get-together. The man was a scamp. “Gonna give Ororo here a ride home before I pick up my baby.” He corrected himself mentally: My other baby. His hand gripped her hip possessively.

“I took good care of her, mec. Gym later?”

“Yup. NOC shift tonight.”

“Yuh favorite, as Remy recalls. What’re yer plan fuh t’day, cher?” he beckoned to Ororo.

“Heading home. Sorting out some business.” She stopped herself from saying “Kicking my ex out of my house so I can lay around miserably, counting the ceiling tiles.”

“How was the weddin’?”

Ororo and Logan automatically searched each other’s face for a reply before Logan decided to avoid a grilling. “Bout whatcha’d expect. Dry chicken. Free booze. Long speeches and handwritten vows.”

“Works fuh me.” The twist of his lips told Ororo that he hadn’t felt he missed anything, but his eyes probed hers briefly. He grunted under his breath a moment, deciding something about the pretty woman on Logan’s arm that seemed to satisfy him. “Keep an eye out fuh dis one, cher, he ain’t not’in but trouble!”

“Look who’s talkin’, bub!” They were interrupted by a low buzzing in Ororo’s purse. “Yer bag’s buzzin’, darlin’.”

“My phone. I’ll get it in a minute,” she offered, reaching into the depths of her purse to turn it off. Her glance caught the number of messages on the illuminated display, making her squint in displeasure as a number of messages in the double digits greeted her. Fuck.

“Let’s bail, kiddo,” Logan suggested. He gave Remy a handshake that resembled an arm wrestling match on his way out, again letting Ororo out first.

“Bye, Remy. And thanks,” Ororo called back.

“Bye-bye, sweetness,” he chuckled, enjoying Logan’s warning glare before they bundled themselves back into his Mustang. Logan shook off disgust at himself for a moment, knowing damned well that Remy would blab it to Vic and St. John that he showed up on his doorstep with a woman, particularly a stunner like Ororo. Ah, fuck it. There were worse things they could say about him…

The easy glow that they’d shared dissipated a bit the closer they drew to Ororo’s neighborhood. She gave instructions in a murmur that held notes of moodiness and caution. Logan practically felt the butterflies in her stomach, pounding in her pulse as he reached for her hand again. She squeezed him reflexively.

“I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.” He wasn’t convinced. She looked terrified.

“You don’t have to stay if you have places to go.”

“I know.”

He wasn’t going anywhere, particularly not after seeing Pietro’s Jeep in the driveway as he pulled up and parked out front instead. Ororo’s hand was shaking as she reached up to smooth a tendril of hair behind her ear. She once again unbuckled herself before Logan came to a full stop, and found herself tugged back just as she clicked open the passenger door. It fell shut again as she met his eyes.

His lips were tight, and concern radiated from his hazel eyes, narrowed as he made his case. “I mean it. I know ya might get into it with him after what happened last night.”

“I’m not going to just not face him.” She gently released herself from his grip, then stroked his cheek; he nibbled her thumb, still looking slightly put out. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Her stomach twisted into a knot, and she felt her heart hammering, making her skin break out in chills.

“Maybe not. But two wrongs don’t make a right, either. “Do what ya gotta do.”

“First things first. I need your number,” she reminded him. She took out her mobile, and programmed it in as he recited it, watching her shaking fingers as she completed the task.

“We’ll talk soon.”

“I know.” He wasn’t starting the ignition. She looked at him quizzically before kissing the corner of his mouth hesitantly, then let herself out. The faint slam of the car door brought Pietro to the front door, opening it before she could try her key.

“Tro…”

“Where have you been?” His voice was deadly quiet, and his silver eyes looked worn and hard as he swept them over her. She felt him passing judgment, taking in the borrowed sweats and her disheveled hair, bulky running shoes on her feet, the dress dangling from her wrist in the shopping bag.

“Move, please. Let me into my house,” she advised, brushing past him, feeling him jerk and flinch with the initial contact of her body since the night before. The air in her house felt thick and foreign, charged with a fierce energy that stung her. She felt his eyes on her back as she crossed the living room, dropping her bag and purse on the kitchen table. He didn’t immediately close the front door. She turned to face him, but instead she just saw the sunlight streaming through his hair as he stared outside, scowling into the street.

“Where’s your car?”

“Back at the spa. I drank last night. I wasn’t going to drive myself home,” she reasoned dully, even though she had come close to doing just that. He’d believed she had been tipsy last night when she confronted him, so she decided to justify his assumption, if it would benefit her, too. She had been close enough to him to let him smell the tequila on her breath while she was letting him have it…it was too soon, and felt too raw.

“So he gave you a ride?” His fist was clenched against his jean-clad thigh, and his mouth was tight, tension curling the corners.

“Of course. I didn’t walk, Pietro.”

“Fine. I can take you to pick up your car. Go ahead and tell him to leave.”

“He will in a minute,” she snapped. She didn’t bother to mention she’d already suggested the idea to Logan, and he was taking his sweet time deciding whether to follow her advice. So far, no go.

“Then I’ll tell him,” he announced, and Ororo bristled at the sight of his lean back rushing out the door, ramrod straight and determined.

“Tro…get back here!” To her horror, Logan hadn’t gone anywhere. He was actually outside the car, leaning back against the hood with his arms folded over his chest, waiting expectantly when he saw Pietro come out. He’d been listening, hoping against hope that there wouldn’t be any yelling or drama that would bring him running inside, since Ororo had enough on her plate.

Drama was flaring its nostrils at him now, knuckles white and primed to kick his ass.

“You can go now. She’s home, you did what you needed to do.”

“I ain’t gotta be anywhere in a hurry, bub.”

“Oh, yes you do. Get the fuck out of my driveway.”

“I ain’t leavin’ Ororo alone with ya with ya lookin’ loaded fer bear, bub. She was upset when she left ya last night. I ain’t gonna just leave her so ya can upset her again.”

“It’s none of your business what happens between me and Ororo.” He was heedless of Ororo gripping his shoulder and pulling him away from Logan. He planted his feet, immobile and hard beneath her hand.

“Logan…please. Go,” she pleaded with him. “It’s okay.”

“No, it ain’t,” he murmured low in his throat, staring into Pietro’s face and just daring him to push him. His chest puffed up to its full girth; he’d already pulled away from the hood of the car, hands itching again, but this time to bury his fist in Pietro’s face.

“She’ll be fine. I can handle it from here,” Pietro intoned, making Logan see red as he repeated the same words from Ororo’s night in the E/R, dismissing him. The icing on the cake was that he felt Ororo needed to be “handled.” Ororo, every sweet and loving inch of her.

Yup. He was gonna hafta kick his ass and hand it to him.

Ororo read his mind and reacted swiftly, edging herself between them, Pietro’s swirling breath stirring her hair, his chest at her back. “Go. Please, Logan.” Her eyes were dry and determined. He longed to stay. To kick Pietro’s ass across the lawn, hurl him into his Jeep and shove the gearshift into drive.

He sighed gustily and backed off. “Awright, kiddo.” Time to bail. He couldn’t help her help herself. That didn’t mean he didn’t hate the tingle of foreboding that ran up his spine as he crammed the key into the ignition and drove off.

Ororo stood watching the car until it turned the corner. She turned to go back inside, then rammed smack dab into Pietro. His eyes were blazing with undiluted rage. She tried to step around him, then hissed in surprise as his fingers handcuffed her wrist and jerked her after him, making her stumble up the front steps of the porch.

“Let go, ‘Tro? Are you out of your fucking head?”

“Am I…are you fucking kidding me??” SLAM! “First you take off, leaving me to explain you weren’t there when Jean needed you. You were her bloody maid of honor, and you ran off! Not so much as a word to anyone, and there I was, left holding the bag.”

“No. Just the panties, remember?” she snarled back. “You couldn’t explain why I really left, could you?”

“I just said you were a little under the weather,” he shrugged. “It was the best I could do, you didn’t leave me with much. What’s wrong with you, Ororo? How could you do that…then show up like this…” he waved his hand at her sweats and sneakers and untidy hair. “Do you have any idea how bad this looks?”

“Makes you wish you hadn’t complained about my other clothes now, doesn’t it?” His eyes widened until she saw the whites, and his brows were beetled together, fists balled up on his hips. He pounded one on the counter so hard that the tile threatened to crack.

“Don’t…don’t just stand here, being a smart ass! This is funny to you?”

“No. No, it’s not. I told you I wanted you out of my house if you came back here, Pietro.” She swept her arm across the living room, still in the shape it was when they both left for the wedding. “I don’t see any boxes. You haven’t packed.”

“Why should I?”

“It’s my house.”

“I live here. Where do you expect me to go, huh? Just get myself someone to hang out with until I get my own place? Have a sleepover like you did?” he spat. “You never came home. You never answered my calls.”

“I had my phone turned off,” she admitted easily.

“Why? You knew we had to talk.”

“Please,” she scowled, waving him away dismissively as she went to the cabinet to fish out her Motrin. She was already feeling a tension headache working itself into her neck. She swallowed them dry as he continued to rail at her.

“Were you trying to teach me a lesson? Don’t try to tell me you weren’t trying to get me back.” That hurt; she’d battled misgivings about Logan feeling exactly the same way. It wasn’t like that, her mind insisted. Not Logan. Not that.

“No. He just happened to come along at the right moment, when I needed him.”

“When you needed him…God, that’s rich. You wouldn’t stay for me to explain, or to clean up after that ugly scene you made. You needed him to make your escape!”

“I would have managed my way out of there, somehow,” she considered. His voice was steadily growing hoarse, but he was still shouting. Ororo was running out of energy but still stood her ground. She knew from experience, hard-won, that Pietro would not be satisfied at the outcome of the argument until she was screaming right along with him. “I could have called a cab, or even had Anna drive me, if all else failed, even though she would have asked why.”

“You’ll run crying to her; you women are all the same, blabbing what’s supposed to stay under your own roof in the streets. As soon as I turn my back, there you’ll be,” he accused.

“Pietro…I didn’t talk about what happened the first time you dumped me for almost a month.” Her tone was hard but didn’t gain any volume. She wouldn’t touch him, even though he continued to attempt to physically box her in. The words “first time” caught his attention. “You cheated on me.”

“You’ve been…”

“What? What have I been?”

“You know how you’ve been. All you want to do is change me, and complain about what we have. We were fine the way we were, but you just want to ruin everything because we aren’t married. I love you, Ororo, but I don’t need to prove it by standing up at an altar and signing a slip of paper.”

“You’d sign a car note, or a house note. Just not a marriage certificate.” Her voice held a note of disbelief, as though a light finally went on.

“We don’t need marriage to validate what we have. I don’t need it,” he shrugged. “And you proved to me you won’t honor a commitment between us. Will you?” he railed. “Huh? Will you, ‘Ro?” She prepared herself to press him about how many times he’d been with his lover, or even how many there had been, when he took the wind out of her sails. Just as she spun on him, he loomed over her, eyes still wild, a fleck of spittle decorating his lower lip. She could practically feel the heat rising up from him as he backed her against the refrigerator.

“Pietro…get away from me! Let me go!” she hissed. She shoved at him, but he wouldn’t have it. He grasped her wrists and slammed them back against the cold vinyl, holding her immobile.

“Was it worth it? Was fucking that asshole worth our relationship? To just throw it down the toilet?” BANG! His fist resounded off the cabinet, but Ororo wasn’t impressed.

“I didn’t…” He cut her off.

“Don’t lie to me! YOU WERE JUST WAITING TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS!” His voice boomed through her, hurting her ears. Tears bit at the back of her eyes as she winced away from him, gnawing on her bottom lip. His grip around her wrists began to hurt.

“Stop it!” she gasped.

“Do you like it, huh? You like me being home like a good little boy? ‘Ro doesn’t want me to leave her anymore? I’ll be good, Ororo! Fuck getting myself someone who won’t smother me and tell me what to do! You wanted me all to yourself, baby,” he crooned, pupils dilated. Ororo whimpered and shook her head free of his lips as they tried to kiss her, biting her instead. “Now you have me.”

“Don’t touch me,” she warned him.

“Huh? Or what? What’re you gonna do?”

“Leave me alone, you prick!” Her breathing was ragged and hard, and his grip tightened on her, pressing his chest against hers defiantly, heedless of her discomfort.

“I don’t have to leave you alone. You’ll just run off and fuck your little friend if I do,” he murmured. His handsome features were twisted in a leer. “I left you alone once.”

“Twice,” she cried. His smile dropped briefly as he considered this, then nodded.

“Fine. Twice. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Neither will I,” she agreed. She closed her eyes and braced herself, flinging her forehead as quickly and with as much force as she could, thankful that she took some Motrin already.

BAM! She saw spots as her forehead connected with his nose, smarting so hard that her eyes watered. Pietro roared and released his grip on her wrists. She shoved him with all of her weight and ran from the kitchen, grabbing her bag from the corner.

“Bitch,” he hissed, wiping away a stream of blood from his nose, staring at his fingers numbly before glaring at her. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“You won’t touch me again,” she announced, brandishing her mobile phone that she retrieved from her purse. “I’ll call your dad. I’ll call the cops. I’ll call our next door neighbor if you try to lay a hand on me again. You messed up, ‘Tro. You messed up big.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto Logan’s sweatshirt. He weighed her words and her defensive stance. His face finally softened.

“That was bullshit. Why the fuck did you do that?”

“You didn’t give me a choice,” she said flatly. “You were just wrong before, Pietro. Cheating was bad enough. And you did cheat. You didn’t listen when I said to get out. We’re through. Don’t try to call me. Call one of your friends to stay with them, but I want you out. I’ll take your name off the utility bills.”

“You don’t mean that,” he began, unwinding a paper towel from the roll on the wall stand, mopping his nose.

“I do mean it. Stop thinking I don’t.” Her voice was exhausted. She was too tired to even hate him right now. “I think I’m done, ‘Tro,” she said, echoing his words from five years ago. “I’m done. We had our chance. I couldn’t give you what you needed, and God knows I tried. But you cheating…you can’t, or just won’t give me what I need, either.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Yes you did.”

“Don’t do this,” he insisted, crumpling up the towel and chucking it onto the counter. “I’m sorry, baby. You just kept pushing me…why won’t you listen? Those other girls didn’t mean anything.”

“Girls. Great. Plural. Save it, Jack,” she shook her head, tears still leaking from her eyes. “I’m the one who didn’t mean anything.” He still didn’t want to heed her. His hands fumbled for her again, trying to pry her cell phone from her grip.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” she shrieked, her voice raw with the effort.

“No! Goddamit, I don’t let you end us like this!” He shook her. He actually shook her.

“GET OUT! GET OUT! I HATE YOU!” Her fists beat at his chest until they stung, warding off his attempts to embrace her. She kept her grip on her cell, managing to punch in three digits that sounded suspiciously like emergency assistance. He backed away, defeat slumping his shoulders. He sighed, then threw up his hands.

“Fine,” he barked, spinning on his heel and grabbing his jacket and keys. “That’s just fucking fine.”

“Don’t come back,” she muttered.

“Fuck you.” SLAM! She stood and stared at her empty living room for a dizzying moment, listening to her stuttering heartbeat before she walked to the front sidelight window flanking the door. She nudged the curtain aside and watched him as he sat in his Jeep. She nearly felt him pounding his fist into the steering wheel before he cranked the gas and careened out of the driveway.

“See ya, Speedy,” she muttered weakly. Her lungs hurt, almost as though she’d just run a marathon. Tension coiled in her stomach, making her wish she hadn’t eaten breakfast. She peered at the clock; it was nearly noon.

As though sensing that the drama had ended, her cell phone vibrated in her hand. She punched the talk button on the second ring and whispered “H’lo?”

“ORORO! Oh, thank God it’s you! Where the heck have you been, girlfriend?” Jean’s voice chirped at her with sounds of commotion and commuter traffic in the background. “We just got to St. Maarten this morning! It’s gorgeous! But you had me worried when you disappeared without coming to catch the bouquet. What happened to you? Anna and Lorna didn’t know where you went,” she accused. She heard Scott over Jean’s shoulder, echoing his wife’s concerns.

“We missed you, kiddo. Everything all right?” His baritone was soothing and nudged her from her stupor.

“I was a little under the weather,” she remarked, stealing Pietro’s cover story. It was convenient enough.

“That’s what ‘Tro said,” Jean carped, making Ororo roll her eyes. “You okay now?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? I left you all these messages, trying to get in one last goodbye before we got on the plane.”

“Well, here we are. You can tell me all about it and show me the photos when you get back.” She could hear Jean smiling at that prospect.

“You worried me,” she continued.

“Don’t worry about me,” she soothed back. “Promise me you guys will have a good time.”

“Tell ‘Tro we’re on for Scrabble when we get back,” Scott called out. Ororo winced.

“We’ll see if he’s up to it,” Ororo suggested, rubbing her forehead. It still smarted. She rang off, nodding in accord when Jean wheedled the promise out of her to get together as soon as they touched dry land again in the states.

Ororo wandered over to the couch and hugged a pillow over her chest as she began to check her messages. She scrolled through them. One from Lorna. One from Anna. One from her oldest brother, Japheth, wondering if she was going to the family reunion.

Five calls from Jean. No surprise, she guessed. She listened to them listlessly, each one sounding more petulant and wheedling than the last.

“I love you, you brat. Call me and let me know you got this. Wish that I don’t get seasick,” she giggled at Ororo, being pulled away by Scott’s rumbling warning that they would miss the flight.

Not just one, but ten calls from Pietro. Ten. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten, stacked one on top of the other. Out of long, agonizing habit, she listened to every one.

“I’m sorry. Please call me back. I know you’re there, ‘Ro. C’mon.” Beep. Delete.

“I know you’re there. Don’t be like that. You didn’t mean what you said, all right? Call me. Bye.” Bye, she thought ruefully. Beep. Delete.

“Ororo, c’mon, damn it. Where are you?” Beep. Delete.

“I know you’re not going to let me just call you all night long like this. You’re not just gonna not show up?” Beep. Delete.

“This is bullshit…” True. Beep. Delete.

“Three fucking hours. You leave me hanging here, waiting up for you…call me. Come home.” Beep. Delete.

“They aren’t even mine. These were probably just one of your friends’, don’t be like this, Ororo.” Beep. Delete. Snort…

“Maybe you had a guy on the side. What’s the deal with that short fucker you were dancing with, huh?” Beep. Delete. Aaaaaannnnd…

“Don’t think I’m gonna just sit back and let you kick me out. It doesn’t work like that. We’ve had five years, ‘Ro. Five fucking years of my life I’ve spent on you. I give you love, you give me bullshit, just because I won’t marry you. You won’t do this to me.” That one gave her pause. She ignored the momentary insanity of yelling aloud into an empty room and dead cell phone.

“So how DOES it work, you fucking fucker? Five years of YOUR life? Huh? Yell at ME? Cheat on ME? Red thong panties? Bringing your dumb ass drama into my kitchen and onto my front lawn? I don’t think so. No, no no no. No, you don’t. You don’t get to treat me like that and bring that shit. You don’t…” she cried, curling herself into a ball around the pillow and letting tears soak it ceaselessly. She rocked herself, hating herself. Hating Pietro for making her love him so much, and for so long.

She told Logan no baggage. The prospect of going back on her word stalled her fingers as she reached to call him. She snapped the phone shut and tucked it back into her purse, like it was something precious, then began to thumb through her yellow pages. She began writing down phone numbers to call on Monday for all of the utilities and a locksmith. Then she washed her face, changed her clothes, and called Anna to help her collect her car from the spa. Anna was nearly silent when she noticed Ororo’s ruined eyes. Ororo directed her to the post office store downtown first, where she bought as many cardboard boxes as Anna’s truck bed could carry.





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