“Ya sure ya wanna walk in those?”
“I feel naked without a decent pair of shoes,” she griped, then regretted her words. Naked…geez. Open mouth, insert foot. The thought would have been more appealing without the blotchy hives as big as Rorschach test ink blots all over her skin. Makeup was out of the question, except for a perfunctory slash of her mocha lipstick.
She was bundled up in a black leather biker jacket with buckles and zippers. Logan liked what she managed to do with her hair despite practically galloping out of her apartment and shooing whatshishead out the front door. A sedate braid hung down her back, showing off slender neck. She reached up to scratch restlessly at a hive until he gently reached up to make her stop. She looked at him with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. She tugged a large, wheeled black suitcase behind her by the handle.
“Sorry. Can’t help it. I’m a mess.”
“Ya didn’t hafta go to all this trouble, kiddo. Shoulda crawled back under the covers; I coulda brought Luke home.”
“You’ve already gone out of your way.” The elevator dinged when it hit the lobby and slid open. “Thanks for the tea,” she murmured. “And the flowers. I loved them.” A warm flush crept into his spine.
“Any time.”
“Let’s crash this party,” she sighed, preceding him toward the door. Stan was already grinning ear to ear through the glass as he held it open for her and nodded a greeting.
“You let her escape! You were supposed to lock her in her apartment,” he scolded Logan. “You did a number on yourself, young lady!”
“Lucas is at a friend’s party. I wanted to chaperone him and make sure he’s on his best behavior.”
“Ahhhh. He’ll be fine. He’s a scamp, but he’s your son, kiddo,” he winked, and she couldn’t help smiling back. “You’ll put the fear of God into him!” That made her laugh. Then he added, “Was that his dad who came in here and left a few minutes ago?”
“In the flesh, the one and only.” Again she regretted how she phrased that, feeling Logan stiffen almost imperceptibly beside her. “Luke wasn’t here, so he wasn’t going to stay,” she amended. “He’s a busy man.”
“Pot calling the kettle, Ms. Munroe,” Stan remarked, tapping his nose with his index finger. “I’ve gotten used to you kicking up a trail of dust on your way out every day. The only time you’ll catch this one at home is if she gets sick. And you should be in bed!” he nagged.
“I ain’t gonna argue that with ya,” Logan muttered with a shrug. “Short of slathering her in Vicks and duct-taping her to the sheets, there ain’t much keepin’ her from doin’ what she wants!” She elbowed him sharply and snorted in disgust. “That was my mom’s home remedy.”
“I’ll stick with green tea.”
“Want me to call your driver? Is that him over there?” He pointed to the black limo waiting across the street.
“No. That’s T’Challa’s hired car. I’ll be heading out with Logan. Have a good night,” she beckoned as she threaded her hand through the crook of Logan’s arm. He allowed himself to be tugged along as he nodded a goodbye. Her kitten-heeled pumps clip-clopped along the pavement.
“I’ll be waiting with baited breath, young lady!”
“Got yer own watchdog.”
“His bark is as bad as his bite. Gotta love Stan. He’s been here for as long as I have.”
“Can’t say I’ve lived anywhere that someone opened my door every day.”
“There’s different ways to open doors,” she mused. “I had to start my own business.”
“Bet ‘cher a workaholic.”
“You could ante up and sweeten the pot with that bet. I don’t get sick. I can’t get sick. Right now my shops look like the wreck of the Hesperus.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup. Someone fudged my orders and shipped my winter line too soon. You know what it’s like at Walmart when you go at five AM the day after Thanksgiving to get the special bargains? How they jam-cram so many cases and racks of things in the aisle that you can’t move?”
“Ugh,” he agreed, even though he was thinking You shop at Wal-Mart?
“When I get back into the office, heads will roll.” Then, catching his wry look, she confirmed, “Yeah, I shop at Wal-Mart. So sue me. They carry my conditioner.” His chuckle was resonant and seemed to stroke her. “I like your laugh.”
“Ditto. Maybe we’ll both get a few at Jeannie’s shindig.” He unlocked her side of his Escort when he reached it, thankful that his meter hadn’t expired during his visit. Logan didn’t trust parking garages after dark. “Still think ya shoulda stayed home.”
“Jean’s having a crisis.” Logan wanted to ask what else was new. He bit his tongue.
“Good enough.” He turned on the radio and was about to tune it to his favorite classic rock station until he realized she might want dibs. “Help yerself, darlin’.”
“Got any CDs?”
“Just Laura’s, and I know ya don’t wanna listen ta Kids Bop, the Cheetah Girls, or Aaron Carter the whole ride over there.” He’d left his favorites at work in the shop.
“Right. I’ll just be turning on the radio,” she deadpanned. He was impressed when she rolled the tuning knob to a classic rock station.
When they reached Jean’s house, the front yard was visible for three blocks, decorated in white icicle lights. Pink lanterns dangled from the front porch, and the basketball hoop in the driveway was festooned with pink balloons and streamers. A huge banner that read “Happy Birthday, Rachel!” was plastered across the garage.
“Did they think we’d miss it?” she muttered.
“Ya can see it from Mars.” They trekked inside, with Logan dutifully hauling the suitcase inside after nagging her that he could do it, fer cryin’ out loud. Added bonus: Watching that shapely apple bottom swaying up the porch steps to ring the bell, shrink-wrapped in faded jeans. Her face scrunched up for a moment, and she fanned the air as though she were swatting a fly before releasing a sputtery sneeze. “Damn, darlin’!”
“Urrrrrrghh…Ah habe dis,” she replied, her lips muffled by a wad of tissue she yanked from her jacket pocket. Sinuses sucked. He pried open the door without knocking, taking the commotion and squealing inside as an invitation.
Jean was already in fine form. She was wearing a snug emerald green sweater paired with jeans like Ororo’s, but soft black loafers shod her feet. Jean was never barefoot in her own home, but Ororo spied a long row of children’s shoes neatly lined up in the foyer. She didn’t trust the sneaker soles of anyone under the age of 25 on her cream Berber carpeting.
She snatched her away from Logan before even greeting them hello. “Glad you could make it! Just set that down, Logan, Scott will get it.”
“Great,” he snarled under his breath. The kids were holding court and wreaking havoc in the family room, while the adults were tucked into overstuffed couches in the formal den. Sure enough, Scott wandered over and nodded to the suitcase.
“What’s in it?”
“Ro’s gift.”
“What the heck did she get?” He accepted his attempt to make small talk with good grace; Logan knew he was as welcome as a fart in church. Scott had looked relieved earlier when he’d shown up to merely drop Laura and Lucas off that afternoon and left before Jean could offer him a drink.
“I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Yeah. Bet you’re good at that.” Scott lugged the suitcase toward the tower of presents. The whole house had been machine-gunned in bubble gum pink. Cake, plates, utensils, more streamers and balloons, most of her gifts, half the food, most of which looked skimpy enough to barely fill his hollow tooth, and the row of neatly lined up goodie bags. A custom-made pink piñata hung outside, half as tall as Logan and shaped like Patrick from Spongebob. Scott already had the cover pulled over the pool for the coming winter; Rachel had pouted about not being able to hold a pool party after all, but consoled herself by begging him for the Dance Dance Revolution game.
Ororo was watching twelve elementary schoolers bust a move and nearly going deaf from the screams of laughter. Her ears were already stuffed up enough… damned shrimp.
“Wish I could have helped you set up,” Ororo mused apologetically, peering at the pink plastic drink cups that Jean was scooping up and moving to a tray. Ever the meticulous hostess, she’d already Sharpie-penned everyone’s name on each one.
“You’re sick, so you’re excused.”
“So dish. You sounded like there was a 911 up in here when you called.”
“Go look in the den,” Jean hissed. She was lurking by Ororo’s elbow as she tugged her to the edge of the room to peer around the corner.
Ali was sitting on the edge of the loveseat, chatting with a couple of the parents. She felt their eyes on her, and she waved and smiled at Ororo. She nodded back and prepared to greet her properly before Jean tugged on her sleeve.
“Go ahead and hang that up. I can’t believe she’s here!”
“Maybe Rachel invited her.”
“Please,” Jean tsked. “She would have told me! It’s not like I just randomly invite my kids’ teachers to their parties. It looks like I’m trying to suck up!”
“Rachel and Nate like Ali. So does Lucas. She’s a great music teacher.” Ororo obediently hung her jacket on the coat rack in the hall. Jean huffed at her attire.
“Led Zeppelin?”
“It’s vintage,” Ororo reasoned.
“I just don’t know why she’s here. She brought a nice-looking package for her, though.”
“Cool. You’ll love what I bought,” Ororo promised soothingly. She helped herself to a 7-Up; her stomach wasn’t ready for food yet, and Jean never kept green tea.
“I know I will,” Jean smiled. “Take a load off. I’m going to find Scott.”
“Think I’ll find Logan,” she murmured under her breath.
He was in the family room, where Laura and Rachel were talking his ears off. Nate was taking his turn on the dance mat while Lucas was hovering nearby with his Nintendo handheld.
“Dad, have you seen Rachel’s presents, and her piñata? Oh, Dad, I want a cake like that for MY birthday, and I want that sweater we saw at Limited Too, and Rachel has the COOLEST Hello Kitty bag ““
“Can I come over next weekend, Mr. Howlett? I wanna bring my Dance Dance Revolution over, because I’m really good at it, and Laura doesn’t have one! And I want her to come to my gymnastics recital, too! Please say she’ll come!” Neither girl seemed to need to take a breath as they peppered him mercilessly. He loved it.
Daughters were hysterical.
Lucas looked up from his Nintendo long enough to spy his mother in the doorway. “Mom,” he piped up, “you’re here!”
“In the flesh. More or less,” she smiled weakly before rubbing his coarse curls. Logan patted the cushion beside him on the wraparound sofa. She settled back and warmed his side, tickling his nose with the fragrance of her hair. Damn, the woman smelled good.
“Do you wanna play?” Nate offered hopefully as he stepped off the mat. She stifled a laugh.
“C’mon, Mom, you like this game!” Logan raised one sexy, shaggy brow. She elbowed him again. He elbowed her back before turning and tugging her from her comfortable perch.
“Ohhh, no,” she warned. Logan’s large hands were already leading her toward the mat. Nate scowled at him manhandling his dream girl until Logan nodded to him.
“Set it up an’ let her rip!” She was outmatched. He relieved her of her soda and took a sip before he remembered about her “germs.”
“You’re next,” she snarled under her breath. Laura’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah! Daddy’s next!” Rachel ran from the room. “DAD! Ms. Munroe’s doing it! She’s gonna dance next!” Ororo made a noise of disgust before the game began on the fastest setting, flashing “GO!” Arrows flashed onscreen, and she struggled valiantly to follow the figure getting jiggy on the Summers’ plasma TV.
Logan was having the time of his life. The woman could shake a tail feather, and his grin was smug and appreciative until Scott showed up. His voice was amused.
“Go, ‘RO!” The kids were making a ruckus as Scott egged her on. When she was finished, her cheeks were pink, and she was slightly out of breath. He flashed a thousand-watt grin and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, jostling her. Logan felt a growl of protest rising in his throat as Scott reached out to tickle her slender waist. She giggled and sputtered at him to quit it.
“Leggo!” Yeah, punk, leggo…
“Nice moves, babe!”
“Jealous?” Her eyes twinkled knowingly at him before he kissed her temple.
“Sure am.” He released her and turned at the sound of Jean’s voice in the doorway. Her expression mirrored Logan’s, confusion and annoyance etched across her features.
“Come on out and fix the piñata,” she snapped.
The next hour was a sugarcoated, noisy blur. The piñata was lying in tatters on the patio as the kids munched their winnings. Abandoned cake plates littered the tablecloth; Ororo helped scoop them into a Glad bag just as Ali sidled up.
“Nice shindig you put together, Jean,” she chirped, falling in and collecting soda cans and empty cups. Her face was slightly flushed, and her already tousled haircut was even more frazzled and loose.
“Thanks,” Jean replied hollowly as she carried the stack of gifts into the den.
“Where were you?”
“Showing the kids how it’s supposed to be done on that game. Scott says I’ve got mad moves.” Ororo’s chest shook with mirth. She tweaked up a dab of frosting from the cake tray and pushed it between her lips. Logan was just rounding the corner as he saw her lap the remnant of pink cream from her finger, sucking it dry. He nearly dropped her abandoned Coke.That mouth…
Jean came back to make a second trip, shooting the back of Ali’s head a sour look until the doorbell rang. She arranged her face into more agreeable lines and dashed off to answer it.
“Who’s showing up now?” Ali murmured, checking her watch. Before Ororo could answer, a familiar and unwelcome baritone made its way down the hall, accompanied by Jean’s laughter.
“Look who showed up!” she cheered, hefting an enormous gift box and grinning around it. “Ororo, grab T’Challa a piece of cake real quick while I take this into the den.”
Must. Stop. Fist. Of. Death. Ororo planted her hands on her hips in an effort to behave herself. Logan’s lips were clamped in a thin line. Ororo’s ex was still oozing charm and old money and looking like the only cake he wanted to eat was dressed in a snug tee and jeans, despite his comments earlier in her apartment. Smug fucker…
“I hope I didn’t miss anything,” he purred smoothly. How can I miss you if you won’t go away? “Where is Lucas?”
“Playing with his friends.”
“Don’t worry about taking him home. I’d like to take him with me for the weekend.” Indignance stiffened her spine.
“Perhaps you should ask Luke,” she suggested, mutinously hoping her son would say no. Jean overheard and chimed in her two cents.
“Oh, wouldn’t that be nice, Ororo? Bless your heart, T’Challa, Lucas would probably love to spend time with his dad! And now you can get some rest and some time to yourself. Or someone to wait on you hand and foot, better yet,” she added smugly. “That what I have Scott for!” T’Challa was enjoying himself, if the Colgate commercial smile was any indication.
“I never asked anyone to wait on me hand and foot.”
“You never gave it a chance,” he shrugged, taking the proffered slice of cake from Jean when Ororo didn’t budge. “Lucas deserves those privileges, even if they aren’t to your liking.” His tone suggested that his son had been sorely deprived.
“And like me, he also deserves to make up his own mind.”
“N’Dare loved you and wanted the best for you. You could follow her example.” He nodded to Jean, explaining “I was very fond of Lucas’ other grandmother while she was alive.” Jean melted in the face of such charm; Ororo’s hands itched.
T’Challa and Logan silently sized each other up. T’Challa took aim first.
“You needn’t have gone through the trouble. I could have brought Ororo and my son here.”
“Wasn’t any trouble. My daughter’s here tonight.”
“Now you can take her straight home without the extra trip.” Lucas appeared in the dining room as though he heard his name called and dutifully hugged his father hello.
“Are you taking me home?” he inquired. The night’s festivities took their toll. He was riding a sugar low and he almost looked ready for bed.
“Your father would like you to spend the weekend with him. SO he’s taking you to his home,” Ororo clarified. She turned to Logan. “Were you still going to be able to bring me home? Is it out of your way?” His face softened.
“Nope.” It sure as heck wasn’t. Take that, T’Challa. Jean interjected again.
“Don’t be silly, Ororo, make it one trip, do all!” She hadn’t missed the gleam in Logan’s eye when Ororo asked for her favor. She was slightly distracted from her campaign by Warren’s appearance in the hallway, greeting T’Challa with a brief hello and clap on the back.
Rachel and Laura also had other plans. “Mommy, can Laura sleep over?”
“She sure can, pumpkin!” Scott ruffled his daughter’s red hair. His eyes pinned Jean warily as he side-stepped Warren and helped himself to one of the last sodas on the counter.
“Well, there we go,” Ororo murmured.
“One trip, do all,” Logan drawled. He resumed his staring contest with T’Challa until Jean cleared her throat.
“Time for presents!”
Rachel opened each one with the prerequisite screaming while Jean wrote out thank-you card envelopes. Ororo hauled the sewing machine from the case. Rachel squealed and clapped.
“I LOVE it! Thank you, Ms. Munroe!” T’Challa frowned at the use of her maiden name.
“That might make a nice hobby,” he mused. She wanted to smack him. “T’Challa’s present was last. Rachel’s eyes widened as she tore off the paper.
“Who’s THIS from?” she demanded as she stroked the curly pink lettering on the box.
“Lucas’ dad,” Jean declared proudly. Scott frowned as the wrapping fell away to reveal a Barbie mansion, unassembled and ostentatiously expensive.
“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” he remarked. “We asked you to come at the last minute.” Of course, that wasn’t completely accurate. Jean ran roughshod over the guest list, with the exception of Ali. That thought soothed him as he sipped his drink. He glanced over at her, leaning on the arm of the couch. She caught his eye and beamed. Her hair was tame for a change, curled in a smooth bob with a bang wrap, pinned in place by a butterfly clip. She had on a gauzy white peasant blouse and faded jeans, and despite her myriad tattoos, she looked like the girl next door.
“Nonsense,” he boasted. “Enjoy it,” he told Rachel. She watched him with curious eyes, but she turned back to the dollhouse, completely distracted. Ali caught Scott’s sigh of annoyance and the tense set of his shoulders.
The goodbyes at the front door lingered as Jean made sure each child had a goodie bag and that every parent was thanked. Scott’s expression lapsed from one of politeness to bland frustration when she held Warren’s hand too long and when he air-kissed her goodnight. He sensed another restless night ahead of him. The sofa bed in the family room beckoned to him. He was tired.
A honey-smooth also murmured his name, right by his elbow. “I had a nice time, Scott.” His expression relaxed.
“Thanks for coming, Alison,” he replied softly. They gazed at each other a moment too long. It was on the tip of his tongue to offer a walk to her car, but it was already parked in the driveway.
“Drive safely, Ali,” Jean trilled, patting her arm, and Ali took that as her cue.
“Good night, Rachel!” she called out. Rachel gave her teacher an enthusiastic wave. She waved to Scott and disappeared before she could see his smile fade.
T’Challa’s goodbyes to his hosts were effusive and charming. Ororo felt he overstayed his welcome, even though he’d arrived last.
She was bundled into Logan’s Escort before either of them spoke again.
“Luke’s gonna be tall. Between the two of ya, he’s gonna gain another foot.”
“Mmmmm,” she agreed. “He takes after T’Challa. He’ll be striking like him, I think.”
“He has yer smile. But he’s gonna be big.” Ororo looked amused.
“I never had a specific preference for tall men,” she pointed out. “That wasn’t what attracted me to my husband, back in the day.” She wanted to mention that it was her mother that “attracted her to him,” with extreme duress.
“No?”
“Nope.” She smiled wickedly. “Apparently I can’t resist shrimp.”
“Hey!”
“I didn’t say it first.”
“Ya didn’t hafta repeat it, woman!” That broke the ice. Each time one of them would look at the other, they’d both chuckle again.
They made it upstairs to her apartment. Stan was already off-duty. Logan waited for her to unlock her door. She stared at him expectantly.
“I might try your Vicks remedy, minus the duct tape.”
“Ya sure, darlin’?” His mouth curled in a smirk that was two sexy for her own good.
“Whatever fixed me up the quickest.”
“‘Ro?”
“Yes?”
“All ya have are allergies, right?”
“Yup.”
“So technically, ya don’t really have germs, right?” It dawned on her where he was going, and he confirmed it when his arms coiled around her waist. Her hands smoothed over his chest, exploring warm, firm muscle.
“Guess not.” His lips were almost close enough to taste.
“Then I’m gonna pick up where I left off.” He cupped her jaw and gently captured her lips, brushing his mouth over hers. The kiss was slow and thorough, making her tingle. He swallowed her low moan and rejoiced as her arms wound around his neck.
They were just getting to the good part when Ororo heard the rattle of her neighbor Mr. Wein’s door across the hall. Her entire body had cleaved to Logan’s, and a telltale bulge materialized, straining toward her heat and pressing into her softness.
“Hi, Len,” she blurted as they jumped apart like guilty teenagers.
“Hey there, young lady!” He strolled away and the mood was broken.
“Get some rest, darlin’,” Logan rumbled. He tickled her fingers until they curled around his.
“I’ve got a date with some Tylenol and my pajamas,” she sighed. She knew he was remembering them, too.
“Save a date for me, while yer at it.” His tone was hopeful.
“I’m gonna be swamped this week,” she admitted. “But don’t let that keep you from giving me a ring.” She vaguely recalled him checking his voice mail a couple of times at the bowling alley, and she wondered who had his cell number besides her.
“G’night.” He stole one more kiss that succeeded in turning her into a puddle.
“G’night.” She felt weightless when she walked inside.
She checked her voice mail. Two more calls from Kitty. Both frantic. Great.
On Monday, it was time to bust some heads.
~0~
Logan’s ears must have been burning while Ororo was ruminating in bed; he checked his mobile as soon as he walked into his apartment. Alone, he grumbled. Damn it…
Two calls from Sil. She never called his cell…but it could still wait ‘til morning. He scrolled through the rest. So far, so good. No calls from Jean, obviously, since she’d already laid eyes on him and worked his nerve.
One unviewed message caught his eye. Emma Frost. What the flamin’ heck did SHE want?
The subject line read “Meeting.” He bet that it wasn’t a parent-teacher conference…
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