“LOGAN!”
Logan had just shucked his leather jacket and tossed it onto the workbench in the institute’s garage and was clutching his flannel shirt’s hem, fanning cool air against his sweat-drenched skin and craving a shower.
“Five friggin’ minutes,” Logan muttered wryly, turning around stiffly and stretching himself as Kitty ran into the cavernous garage to greet him. “Lemme cool my heels, punkin.”
“Ohmigodyou’llneverguesswho’sherehe’sawesomehisname’sForgehe’stotallycool,” she gushed on an incomprehensible string of babble, only pausing to take a breath when Logan handed her his duffle.
“Where’s Ororo?”
“In the house.” On the way back inside, she peppered him with questions and wrinkled her nose at his gamey condition, wondering when he shook hands with his stick of deodorant last. His knuckles itched, and he was craving a smoke, but the files and the briefing with ‘Ro and Blue couldn’t wait.
The kitchen held a few stragglers rummaging through the pantry for snacks, and several heads popped up at his arrival, taking in his rumpled appearance and windblown hair with a mixture of amusement and fear. Jubilee grinned at him and inquired “What’d you bring me?”
“Nice manners, kid. Don’t even tell me yer glad ta see me home, safe and sound.”
“Yay! You’re home!” she retorted, clapping her hands like a drill team captain. “Now, what’d you bring me?”
“Gads,” he muttered, but his lips twitched as he reached out and tweaked her nose. He nudged past Kitty to the refrigerator and searched for a beer, grumbling under his breath when all he found was IBC cream soda. He jerked one of the bottles from the cardboard carton and leaned the cap’s edge up against the counter, deftly slapping it off.
“Wait’ll you see what Forge did with Cerebro!” Kitty gushed. He choked mid-swig and wiped his mouth.
“Who the hell’s he?”
“Weren’t you listening?” She made a noise of disgust. “I TOLD you about him! He knows Hank, and he’s really good with computers, electronics, and anything you can plug in.”
“Ya sound like the guy’s cheering section.”
“I wanna be Forge when I grow up,” she announced pithily.
“Thought ya wanted ta be mayor of Chicago.”
“I was thinking too small. Things change,” she sniffed, helping herself to a soda. “So, are you gonna shower before you talk to Ororo and Hank?”
~0~
“I don’t see why I needed a blindfold for this.”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I’m headmistress of a school for mutants, Maker. I’ve learned to resent surprises more than appreciate them.” She gripped his hand comfortably, walking steadily beside him without stumbling as he guided her through the sublevel.
“I love how you keep such an open mind,” he chuckled. She liked his laugh.
“Why did you bring me to the Danger Room?” she inquired as they stopped. He flicked her a surprised look that she clearly felt, judging by her smug smile.
“How did you…?”
“I know every inch of the mansion even with my eyes closed, in the event of a blackout or a lockdown. Jean walked me through it and planted the impressions of every scent of the room, the sound of my footsteps on every floor, and the sounds of every generator, vent, and echo resonating from every wall, depending on where I’m standing inside of my consciousness, in what she calls my ‘back brain.’ It doesn’t hurt that I used to be a thief.”
“So all this time you’ve just been casing the joint?” She reached out to lightly smack his arm.
“Can I take off my blindfold now?” The object in question was a black cotton Harley Davidson bandanna tucked in Forge’s jacket pocket, knotted carefully and gently behind her head.
“Not until you key us in,” he sang patiently. She sighed, and stepped forward, placing her palm against the security plate. The entry doors gave a hollow click before sliding open to allow them entry. A green light above glowed with the words “Engaged.”
“The obvious question that springs to my lips at this particular moment, Forge, is how did you manage to do anything worth dragging me away from my history lesson plan without having me key you in before?”
“Blue,” he shrugged. “He was my partner in crime. When I showed him the schematic for the changes I wanted to make, he salivated and started muttering under his breath, throwing around big words. Flattering, but creepy. Hank’s fun.”
“He’s a great Trivial Pursuit player, too.”
“Open those baby blues, pretty lady,” he offered. His hands were gently as they untied the bandanna, and she shivered as the soft cloth was whisked away from her face, brushing the side of her neck as he collected it.
“Goddess,” she whispered. “It’s my greenhouse,” she confirmed, feeling the faint rasp of gravel and mulch beneath her booted feet. The scent of her prized purple orchids enticed her, and she reached out to finger the leaves of an African violet. Sunlight streamed in through the roof, and she watched the clouds drift across a clear sky in wonder before narrowing her eyes.
“I can’t manipulate them.”
“No.” Forge stared up through the glass-paned skylight, following her gaze. “Three-dimensional holograms that replicate sound, form, function, scent…if I programmed it to rain in here, it would feel wet. You’re not the only one that can make it rain after all,” he grinned.
“Show-off. And your boast is hollow,” she scoffed, letting her eyes glow until the placid blue swirled away, revealing a translucent, milky white that lent her face an otherworldly quality that stole his breath. A faint breeze stirred the chamber, actually making the leaves of all her “plants” rustle as she summoned a zephyr to lift her up into the air.
Forge watched her float gracefully, drifting along like someone wading and coasting on an ocean wave, treading air. Her hair billowed and rippled like a cloud. Awe and reverence clenched his gut and made his mouth go dry. The simulated sunlight that shone in through the phantom panes of the ‘greenhouse’ roof paled in comparison to the angel hovering above him.
“Then this may be more to your liking,” he suggested, and he reached for a module in his pocket. He punched a button and in the blink of an eye, the greenhouse dissipated, shifting and changing around her, giving her pause. The plants vanished, leaving dessicated grass the color of straw waving in its wake, surrounding a shallow river and bordered by a lush rain forest. A family of gazelles peered up at her, and the mother resumed its task of nosing its calf to stand on its own feet.
Ororo smiled mischievously, her only reply a rumble of thunder that shook the ground beneath Forge’s feet. He staggered to regain his purchase and emitted a shout of astonished laughter. “Put that back in your pocket,” she warned him. “It’s about to get wet.”
Forge smelled ozone “ and it occurred to him, briefly, that he hadn’t programmed that charged, exhilarating scent, not yet “ and felt the first droplets of cool rain pelting him, making the dust rise up in puffs over the caked, dry soil. She raised her hands as though in supplication to some unseen deity and allowed lightning to streak across the sky, almost convincing him that they were outside witnessing the spectacle from the front veranda. He craved a cup of hot chocolate and a cozy porch swing to better enjoy it the storm.
He made a note to program that simulation the first chance that he had.
She floated back to the ground, touching down as light as a feather beside him. The winds still whipped her hair and caressed them both, even though the rain she’d summoned dwindled down to a drizzle.
“Now who’s the show-off?” he murmured, once again reaching out to smooth back that magnificent hair, allowing himself this time to cup her cheek in his broad palm. His skin felt hot, despite the cooling rain still falling around them, and her eyes never left his as she instinctively leaned into his caress. Her hand was steady as she reached up to cover his hand as it cradled her face, stroking it with her fingertips, and on a whim that she couldn’t explain, she closed the gap between them and captured his lips with hers. His heart hammered and skipped a beat, sending blood roaring through his ears as she consumed his abbreviated reply and traced the inner seam of his lips with her tongue, beckoning to him for entry. She could have sworn she felt his knees buckle slightly, right before he enveloped her, snaking his arm around her waist and dominating the kiss, stoking the embers into a crackling flame. A muffled voice of reason implored her to untangle her fingers from the collar of his shirt and to stop cleaving to him, molding her body to his as he suckled her lower lip, but she squelched it, reveling in the feel of his wiry muscle and taut skin, and the spicy scent of him that went straight to her head.
The pattering of the rain against the ground increased in its intensity, soaking them both and playing havoc over their senses and fevered skin. Ororo sensed a kindred connection between Forge and the forces of nature she communed with in each breath. She felt no fear from him of her link with the maelstrom surrounding them, embracing the source of its fury. Of its beauty. The small mewling sound of need that bubbled up from her throat tightened his grip on her waist, and one kiss tumbled after another, nearly making him dizzy. She tasted ripe and succulent as a sun-warmed peach, and he thirsted for more.
Down the hall, Logan’s footsteps padded leisurely toward the men’s locker room. He’d hoped to avoid more of the kids climbing him like a tree, clamoring to know where he’d been when all he wanted was a shower and a chance to unwind in the steam room. His muscles ached abominably from the long ride home, despite his healing factor, and he wanted to refresh himself before he called Ororo and Hank into the conference room to go over the contents of the disk.
It had been two weeks since he’d last heard her smoky voice, imagining her lying in bed and dressed for sleep. Despite the revelations of his sojourn with Mac and Heather, the kiss in the kitchen had nagged at him, distracting him and making it hard to focus on anything but getting back to her. Above and beyond anything else, he wanted her to tell him why.
Why now. Why him? How long had she let those feelings just simmer beneath the surface?
It started as one fleeting, curious moment. Just to see if she tasted as good as she looked. A double-dog dare to himself to see if she’d even respond to the contact and let down her guard. He wouldn’t admit to himself or anything else that he needed…no, craved…one more for the road. A reminder of her to take with him if he never came back.
He’d admitted that he loved Jean to her face that last time that he’d said goodbye. He read resignation, hurt, and a surge of betrayal in those lambent blue eyes before she donned her mask again, once more resuming her mantle of teacher for the armor of a warrior and stealing away that last precious glimpse of what she was feeling. Life went on. They grieved. They nursed new hurts along with the old and counted their scars. Neither of them dug too deep for fear of losing the tenuous connection that they both valued with one another. I won’t show you mine, if you don’t show me yours.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t look.
Every day, their eyes met across the room or over the dinner table. He knew mannerisms and gestures and daily habits that she had, such as how she rolled back the front cover of a magazine before reading it or kept her shoes paired together and facing the door before stepping into them. He listened for her footsteps whenever she came and went. Her scent teased him the moment he set foot in the house. He even began following it before he could stop himself, slave to some unnamed whim.
Before he left, she’d spoken to him of closure. Of not missing what was being offered to him if he’d move forward instead of looking back. Much like that night before they left for Alcatraz, he’d ignored what was staring him in the face. She’d challenged him.
And he tucked tail and ran.
The locker room was echoingly empty; third period had started and there were no phys ed classes scheduled until tomorrow; Ororo had deferred his self-defense training until after he came back, offering to even take it herself, but he’d been adamant that she didn’t overfill her plate. He sat down on the bench and shucked his boots, groaning in relief at the chance to wiggle his cramped toes. He peeled off his clothes one layer at a time, trying to shed the memory of the horrors revealed in Mac’s database and scrubbing it from his vision as he dug the heels of his hands into his drooping eyes. His clothes lay in a rumpled pile on the bench as he made his way to shower, turning up the hot water just a shade past his normal tolerance, wanting to soothe away myriad discomforts so he could unhinge his shoulders from his ears. He’d held the same stance of his arms raised in front of him for so long that even when he relaxed them, they still wanted to drift up and grip imaginary handlebars. Runnels of water sluiced through his thick hair as he made generous use of the herbal-scented shampoo and a plain yellow bar of Dial. Dust and grit from the road rinsed down the drain, but his burden of knowledge and the need to kick his own ass lingered like the taste of sour milk.
He needed to see ‘Ro. He needed answers to what he was feeling before he drove himself nuts. It could be a fluke. A hiccup from God. They’d been weak. Momentary insanity.
Sure. Why not?
He rummaged through the locker room cupboards for towels and for the spare supply of men’s sweats, grabbing a school issue black tee with the school logo and a pair of canvas running pants like the ones that Scooter favored. He snagged his comb from his duffle and gave his hair a lick and a promise before chucking his soiled gear into the laundry bin and locking away his bag. For the moment, it was good enough.
He traversed the long corridor to the uniform case, noting none of them had been disturbed, reassuring him that things had been quiet after he’d left. He stopped by Henry’s med lab and grunted when it, too, was empty, the blue-furred physicist’s scent cold. That left the Danger Room before he headed back upstairs to Ororo’s office or the greenhouse. He didn’t remember catching her scent on the breeze outside or seeing her on the grounds when he’d rode in.
The faint hint of sandalwood and rain touched him with fleeting fingers as he strode to the suite, noticing the green light over the door. His ears had to be deceiving him; there were no sounds of battle, and no impacts against the floor or reinforced walls.
Yet he could hear rain. A mild, steady shower. His senses buzzed at him, sending his hackles up and knotting his gut.
He slapped his palm against the security plate, noting that Ororo’s name showed up on the roster display as the last person to enter the suite. The doors slid open, revealing a sight that socked him in the gut.
A lioness lay sunning herself and flicked her tail at him as he stepped inside, yawning a warning while her cubs rolled and wrestled in the grass. Wind rustled through the reeds and fronds of enormous trees that his eyes told him were miles off in the distance, even though the room was only a thousand square feet. He smelled ozone.
And he saw red.
Ororo and a tall, lean man with one gloved hand were playing tongue hockey in an embrace that belonged in the bedroom, right before the clothes started flying. Her curves were molded to him, her fingers tangled in his glossy black hair, cinnamon skin pressed against caramel. They were soaked to the skin and heedless of the rain and wind.
Logan drew their attention to it quickly, his claws popping through his flesh before he could stop them.
“Fuck.” His rusty voice broke the spell, and Ororo’s eyes flew open before she loosened her grip on her guest, spinning to face the entryway with guilt in her eyes. Black eyes swept over him and assessed him in ways Logan easily recognized.
He’d just met his rival. He flashed his canines, his lips curling back as steel sprang into his spine.
“Ya didn’t answer yer phone. I left ya a message that I was comin’ back today.”
“Logan…”
“Cute special effects,” he growled, irritated by the puddles of rainwater soaking his sneakers. He kicked his foot through it, throwing up a wavelet of drops before he retracted his claws and folded his arms.
Ororo drank in the sight of him, hair glistening and skin glowing from his shower, imposing and mouth-wateringly sexy. His nostrils flared, and from where she stood his cheeks had darkened with barely restrained anger. She cleared her throat and backed away, letting Forge’s hands drop from her waist before she smoothed her palms over her jeans.
Logan gained a full view of her luscious body, soaking wet and shrink-wrapped in the clinging cotton, her shirt nearly transparent. Whether it was from the rain or her contact with the guy who had “needs his ass kicked” practically tattooed over his forehead, Ororo’s nipples had stiffened into taut peaks, and her face was flushed. Something resembling shame flavored her scent, along with an arousal that choked him.
Mine.
“Forge, this is Logan. He just came back from a meeting with some colleagues of his in Canada.” Her eyes never left Logan’s, even though he wasn’t the one she’d addressed.
“Wanna turn off the friggin’ rain?” He wasn’t interested in any of Forge’s qualifying credentials. All he cared was that he move away from her.
“Of course.” The milky glow faded from her eyes, and the rain disappeared. Logan felt the temperature of the suite climb, and a warm breeze whip through the chamber, evaporating the shallow puddles and drying the rain-slicked walls, making all three occupants’ hair flutter. The damp spots on Ororo and Forge’s clothing were nearly dry.
“Cute trick,” he added. “Wanna get rid of the zoo while yer at it?”
“Let me take care of that,” Forge offered, reaching into his pocket for a silver gadget that resembled a remote, only it was the size of a credit card. He hit a button with his thumb, and the room slowly reverted back to its customary, chrome-finished walls. No more swaying trees. No more birds screeching in the sky.
Just one guilty-looking weather witch.
“If the two of ya are done playin’ in the Land of Oz, I’ve got some files ya need ta see, Storm,” he grumbled. “I’m headin’ upstairs. Tell Blue ta get his furry ass in the conference room when ya get a moment.” He turned his back on them without further comment, his strides long and sharp.
Ororo didn’t realize she’d been clenching her fists until she felt Forge’s hand gently grip her shoulder.
“You weren’t expecting him to come home today?” She stared back at him, looking thoroughly rattled.
“I have to go upstairs.” She offered no explanation as she preceded him out of the suite, but her steps were heavy, and she tugged on her hair, helplessly twisting it into a knot at her nape.
That was all the explanation Forge needed. He sighed and tucked his module back into his pocket.
~0~
Hank’s fur stood on end beneath his carefully tailored viscose suit from the moment they’d adjourned to the conference room. Logan hadn’t said a word as he moved around the desk, booting up the PC and plugging in a flash drive. He scented tension from Logan and his best friend so sharp it nearly stung him. Forge was conspicuously absent, having excused himself back to his rented penthouse in New Salem, and he’d been in something of a hurry. Hank had stifled his disappointment, wanting to discuss the upgrades to the mansion security system in more detail, as well as an enhancement to the Blackbird’s GPS system and its interface with Cerebro.
“What are we looking at?” Ororo inquired, taking the seat closest to the door. Logan scowled impatiently at the screen in front of him as he turned on the projector using the roller ball mouse, clicking the little icon.
“Gimme a minute, yer Highness, and I’ll give ya the short version. Don’t expect any big words.” Hank winced. Ouch.
“I trust you had a fruitful trip?”
“Ya can’t call the shit that I brought back ‘fruitful,’ Blue.” He opened the archive of microfiched files and the database in separate windows, toggling from one to the other as he explained his findings. His voice was dispassionate and cold as two sets of eyes scanned the screen before them. The projector threw a soft glow over Ororo’s caramel skin that Logan fought to ignore…damn her.
“The Weapon X project. Department H gets its funding from the same outfit that sanctioned these.” SNIKT. “These ain’t what makes me a mutant. But my bein’ one was a big draw when they brought me in as a so-called ‘healthy volunteer.’ I’d seen my share of combat, and lived through it. Weapon X wanted to build a better soldier. With me, they got a weapon and more than they fuckin’ bargained for.”
He flicked through one image after another of the bodies, their visages twisted in agony and covered in scars. Holes had been gouged and burned into their flesh, and Ororo and Hank both grimaced, more aware than ever that Logan had escaped the closest thing they world they knew had to hell. Ororo’s stomach lurched, and she breathed sharply through her nose, gripping the arms of the chair. The sight of such human suffering nearly made her cast up her accounts.
“They did this in the name of national security. Notes in the personnel files and progress reports from the sight suggest that they ain’t through. They wanna implant the adamantium into new subjects and make ‘em into puppets. They don’t wanna make the same mistake they made with me.”
“And what was that, Logan?” Hank murmured, still aghast as he watched the screen, unable to turn away.
“Make me strong enough ta get past anything in my way without figurin’ out a way ta turn me off.” He flicked his mouse over the entries about a Dr. Robert Windsor. “According ta this, Windsor wasn’t in the complex the night that they ran the experiment. That means he’s still alive.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“The rest of ‘em never saw the light of day again.” A vein in this jaw throbbed, belying his level voice. “I thought I’d cleaned house. Apparently I thought wrong. A few roaches skittered away into the crevices where I couldn’t reach.”
“Your friends had access to these files?”
“And so does the Canadian Department of Defence. Ya think they’d keep shit like this locked up tighter than Fort Knox. They know me inside and out. And they’re out there.” Logan shut down the files and rose from his seat, rubbing out a kink in his neck. “Tryin’ ta finish what they started.”
“This is worse than anything I ever imagined.” Henry’s voice was soft and nearly trembled. “They’ll go to any lengths to use us. They’re so convinced that mutants will destroy everything in our path, yet they want to use us to do the exact same thing.” He reached out in an unfamiliar gesture of compassion toward the Canadian and clapped his shoulder, squeezing it. “We’ll stop this. We won’t let this happen again, man. For the love of all that’s holy, we just can’t.”
“For all we know, Blue, it’s already happened.” He shrugged off Hank’s touch and busied himself with closing out the projector. Ororo sensed he was making a hasty exit and rose from her perch.
“I’d like to discuss the upgrades with you that were made while you were gone, if you’d lend me some more of your time,” she implored.
“Fill me in on ‘em later,” he snarled, avoiding her eyes.
“Logan “ “
“Don’t stand between me and a brew, ‘Ro. I’m goin’ ta Harry’s. Don’t wait up.” She cursed his speed as he whipped out of the suite, nearly leaving smoke in his wake. A smart woman would leave him alone.
“He’s had a long journey, Ororo. Best to let him defuse and unwind.”
“Like blazes,” she threw back, her long legs tearing after the fuming feral. Henry sighed and shook his head. The air was still charged with tension, even after they both departed, and he had the keen, clawing feeling that he’d missed something.
She finally caught him as he headed out through the back door of the kitchen, barely missing having it slammed shut in her face. She jerked it back open and fell in a mere stride behind him.
“Don’t run away from me,” she barked.
“I ain’t runnin’. I’m walkin’. And then I’m hoppin’ on my bike. Walk. Ride. No runnin’ involved,” he snapped. The set of his posture was still stiff and radiating quiet irritation with her, even though she sensed rage bubbling beneath the surface. “There is gonna be beer involved, sweet cheeks.”
“I won’t let you leave like this,” she hissed, throwing caution to the wind and reaching for him. Her slender fingers closed around his elbow and jerked him back. He spun on her, face implacable, his eyes boring holes through her.
“Ya might wanna let go, Storm.” She winced at the use of her codename.
“Then stop making me chase you.” Again, nagged a mean little voice in her head. She shook herself, realizing that she’d been chasing him way before that particular afternoon.
She was tired of it.
“Get back inside ta yer desk, then. Don’t wear yerself out. Waste of time fer both of us. My plans involve a beer and a smoke. Maybe a few.”
“I want to talk to you.”
“I said my piece inside. There’s nothing else ta talk about. Ya saw what they did ta me. Ya know that they ain’t finished. I came home ta let ya know how big this thing really is.” Some homecoming. “But I see ya had everything well in hand while I was gone. Didn’t need my help managing anything, didja?” he accused, reminding her of their talk in the kitchen. He could tell by the flare of her nostrils that she was remembering it, too, and he shook her hand off, breaking her grip as he continued his trek to the garage.
“You just came back. You were missed. The students asked about you the whole time you were gone.”
“They’ll see me when they see me.”
“Yet they’ll never know when, or if you’re planning to simply leave again. Like you always do.” Her voice had risen, and he caught the tang in her scent. She was getting good and riled up, and something inside him growled in challenge. He relished it.
Let the pissing contest begin…
“Ya didn’t seem ta have a problem with my bein’ gone til I got back and walked in whatever ya were up to in the Danger Room. He just a colleague?” She snorted at his use of her own words.
“Yes. He is. One of Henry’s, as a matter of fact. Forge is a government contractor. He and Henry share some of the same connections in the Pentagon.”
“That ain’t what I asked. Looked like a different kinda connection ta me.” He threw his hands wide. “What the fuck was that all about?”
“I don’t know,” she countered, eyes flashing. “What was that episode about in the kitchen before you left?” His jaw tightened again, and she wanted to reach out and stroke it despite herself, craving the chance to smooth away the angry brackets around his mouth, which had flattened into a thin line. “Did it mean anything to you? Were you just trying to shut me up? Goddess, Logan!” she swore, shaking her head. “This is just like you. You stir up the pot, making anyone concerned about you care more than it’s healthy to care, and then make a speedy getaway before anyone can get too attached.”
“You didn’t have that fucking problem.”
“Like hell I didn’t!” she screeched, and Logan didn’t think quickly enough to dodge her fist as she pummeled his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him.
“Ow,” he muttered. “Knock that shit off, Storm!”
“You listen to me, and listen good, Wolverine,” she hissed, invading his personal space, tourmaline eyes still blazing and unrepentant. “You think I wasn’t attached? Think again. This isn’t the first time you’ve run off. And each time you came back, you came running back to Jean. Even when she loved someone else. Even when she left us…died, and that hasn’t stopped digging into me, because it’s still raw and gaping and burns me everyday, you ran to her. You didn’t care about the cost. You woke the Phoenix. You disregarded what Charles warned you about and practically knelt at her feet. You knew she killed Scott, and you still chased her to the ends of the goddess-forsaken earth.” She was breathing stertorously, and her scent was still marred by Forge’s touch and drenched with rage, her heartbeat thundering in his ears. “I’m tired of wondering when you’ll tuck and run. I hate myself for hating what Jean did, because I loved her so much! I loved her longer and harder than you ever could, Wolverine, because she was like my sister! But what’s worse is that I know…if Jean ever came back, if she ever came back you’d chase her again. You’d throw away anything else to be with her. You’d follow her to the ends of the earth!” She clouted him again, even though her hand was smarting from the previous impact. He barely flinched, but her voice cut him like a knife.
“If she died and came back a thousand times, you’d still be off and running to be by her side. And you’d run away from anything you could have with me.”
“Storm, that’s bullsh-“
“You know I’m right.”
“You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me at all,” he claimed, skirting around her and stomping into the garage. Her footsteps followed him more slowly this time, but his hackles were still up. She was still pissed.
“Then I guess I don’t. And you, Wolverine, don’t know me. You don’t know how long I’ve watched you play the lone wolf and stalk Jean. You don’t know how much it hurts.”
He had already straddled the bike, and his hand froze, the keys dangling halfway toward the ignition. He willed himself not to look at her, but her pull on him was too strong.
“Forge made it plain from the moment that he walked through that door that he was interested in me. I didn’t think I’d trust anyone crossing that threshold with government credentials and that much interest in our school’s technology, but he’s turned out to be an amazing man in many ways. I’m sorry that you saw what you did today, but I can’t say that I’m sorry I let myself end up there. It chafes me, however, that it took something that drastic for you to remember that I have needs, too. That wasn’t how I wanted to get your attention. Enjoy your evening, Wolverine.” Her jaw was tilted at a stubborn angle, and she stared at him haughtily, just daring him to argue with her.
“Fuck,” he muttered, slapping the handlebar of the bike so hard his palm stung. “Storm…wait. Will ya just wait?” He climbed off the bike and pursued her, gripping her and spinning her to face him. Undiluted defiance and indignance stared back at him.
“I’m not just a piece of pie, Logan. You can’t…you don’t just pull up to the table and pick up your fork, take one bite, and decide you’ve had enough.” She gave a shuddering sigh.
“Ro…what the fuck-“
“Pretty soon, someone else might want a taste. And they might be hungry.” His raked over her, different emotions flitting over his face before he released her. “I won’t tap dance around what we have or don’t have while you’re making up your mind.” She backed away and strode back into the house. She didn’t look back after his bike roared down the driveway.
He was a mile outside the front gates before he started muttering to himself. “Someone else might want a taste,” he mimicked, fuming. Fuck.
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