Give Me The Ocean

"Are you close?"

Veronica stared up at Piz's sweaty, strained face, his wilted boy-bangs flopping with each thrust, and shook her head. No, she wasn't close. She wasn't even there. "It's okay."

"I-," his head fell forward, into the crook of her neck and she lifted her hips to accommodate him more fully. She knew his rhythms now, what would push him over the edge. A hand pressed at the small of his back, a finger inserted at the top of his crease. Teeth at his ear, applying gentle pressure to the lobe.

Predictably, his strokes increased in speed and she moved in tandem, meeting him halfway. He deserved, that, at least.

"Sorry," he muttered, once he'd moaned and stilled.

"It's fine."

"No, let me…"

Her legs fell wide as he worked a hand between them, giving of himself, as always. With her eyes closed she could imagine another set of hands. Another boy-one with a tongue made of liquid fire.

Her orgasm was small, and left her more frustrated than satisfied.

"Good?" he asked.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Piz grabbed a tissue and waited until she rolled onto her side, back toward him, to handle the condom mess, then spooned behind her. The cuddling was the worst part, when all she wanted was to go home, climb in her own damn bed, and finish herself off.

"When did Wallace say he'd be back?"

"He's not; it's an away game and they're staying over. Which means with your dad gone, too, we have all night."

Veronica felt his smile against her shoulder, the hope in it, and sat up, cringing. "Can't, I came here straight from work. Backup needs to be fed and walked."

As she searched for her clothes his mood changed. Happy Piz prattled and hummed, moved his fingers unconsciously, a perpetual air guitar in his hands. This one lay quiet, watching her.

"Veronica."

"What?" Under the bed she saw a flash of pink and dove for her sock.

"We need to talk."

"Sure." She pulled on her jeans, then leaned over the bed and kissed him while reaching for her shirt on the nightstand. "Call me later."

"No. Talk. Now."

The damn shirt, with its thirty miniscule buttons, had seemed like a good idea that morning. Right now she'd give anything for a tshirt. "I need to feed Backup. Can it wait?"

"For when? You're always running out of here like the dorm had an outbreak of airborne syphilis."

The terse tone of his voice was unfamiliar, jarring. Veronica eyed him for any sign he was joking and, finding none, settled herself on his desk chair. Like any good girlfriend would do. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He scooted forward, bunching the sheet in his lap. "We have a great time together. We laugh and listen to music, like the same movies. I've seriously never had more fun with anyone."

"So, what's there to talk about?"

"Something's off, and I think it has to do with sex. I mean, when we're doing it, you seem into it. A little shy, maybe, but into it. And I," he blushes, "I think I do my part okay. I always try to, anyway."

"Piz, our sex is fine."

"If that's true, why do you always run away right after?'

Veronica eyed her boots in the corner. Her thighs shook with the impulse to jump up, grab them, and get out. "I'm not running away. I've just got stuff I have to do."

"Okay, then. Invite me to stay the night at your place."

"You get that my dad has a gun, right? And a midnight curfew on gentlemen callers."

"No, I get that you don't want to be stuck with me for a whole night."

"That's not—"

"True?" He shook his head and fixed her with a sardonic stare. "Which one of us are you lying to?"

She swallowed. Resentment surged in her since this wasn't the deal. Things with Piz were supposed to be calm, placid. A clear lake at early morning. "Where is this coming from?"

"From the fact that we've been sleeping together for four months and never spent the night together. I've never seen your hair messed up, or experienced your morning breath. I don't know if you talk in your sleep, or drool."

The urge to deflect was there, to make some joke about that sounding like a dream relationship. The stony look of Piz's eyes kept her from doing it.

"Also, do you realize we've never had sex at your place, not once? Why is that?"

Because Logan. The thought came unbidden, and she bit her lip to keep from uttering it. "My roommate is less accommodating of our sex life than yours."

She waited while he sat up, pulled on his boxers and tshirt, and settled on the edge of the bed across from her. He took her hand in his, and held it in that gentle, loving way he had. "Veronica, here's the thing. I care about you; I care about us. I'm all in but only if you're there, too, and it's like you've got one foot out the door most of the time."

It hadn't worked. No matter how many times she tried normal, tried nice, it never worked. Nice and normal was this square peg of a guy for her very round, Logan-formed hole. Which sounded a lot dirtier than she meant it.

"I don't-," she squeezed the hand holding hers and watched as his thumb traced over her knuckles. "I don't know if I can be any different."

"Then I don't know if I we can keep seeing each other."

Veronica looked up, saw the resolution in his eyes, and her spine wilted with relief. "If that's how you feel, I understand."

He dropped her hand and stood up. It's then she understood the conversation for the test it was, and that she'd failed him. "Piz, I'm so sorry. This isn't what I wanted."

"Yeah," he said, his voice thick, his smile melancholy. "At least you were honest with me. Look, I'm going to Beaverton for winter break. Why don't we use the month to take a step back, figure out what we want?"

I know what I want. What she'd always wanted. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Yeah, okay. Yeah. I'm gonna," Piz grabbed his toiletry bag and pointed toward the door. His eyes brimmed with moisture. "You can let yourself out?"

"Of course. Have a good visit with your family."

He nodded and waved a hand over his shoulder as he left her there, alone. Instead of destitution, she experienced weightlessness and euphoria.

"Oh, thank god."

Four Weeks Later…

Everything from the dirt parking lot, squat building with painted-over windows, and archetypal pink neon sign said dive bar. Veronica had never been inside, but it didn't take a genius to anticipate the smell of stale beer and hot wings.

Actually, wings sounded pretty good right now.

With a shimmy she pulled the leather mini an incremental inch lower on her thighs. A low cut blouse and overdone makeup completed the look, and she took a minute to add large, hoop earrings. There. The side view mirror told her she looked the role of a party girl on the prowl.

The door swung open, letting loose the ending strains of a Lynyrd Skynyrd song, and a couple stumbled into the parking lot. Their drunken laughter overpowered the music by several decibels, and Veronica barely caught the sound of her phone.

Piz.

Deciding to get the inevitable over with, she hit 'Accept', holding the phone to one ear while blocking out ambient noise by sticking her finger in the other.

"Hello?"

"Veronica?"

"Hold on." The drunken couple climbed into the backseat of a nearby, rust-bucket Ford Taurus. The closed doors and rolled up windows muffled their laughter at least, though the untinted windows didn't help with privacy. She turned her back. "Hi, sorry. It's quiet now."

"Where are you?"

"Working a case. Are you still in Oregon?"

"Just got back today. How was your Christmas?"

Music blared into the parking lot, and from the sound of it the struts of the Ford Taurus were shot. "Fine. Look, can I call you tomorrow?"

"I don't know. I guess that depends on if there's anything for us to talk about."

The past month had dulled any qualms. Life without Piz was so liberating this conversation represented regression, and she wasn't going backward. "I don't think there is."

"Oh." His silence was long, and she refused to break it in case he took it to mean there was hope. "Okay then."

"Okay. Bye Piz."

"Look, wait. If that's the way it has to be fine, I get it. I mean, I'm sad because of us but also I just really care about you and want to at least be friends."

A man with the distinctive shape of Humpty-Dumpty lumbered toward the bar. Near as Veronica could tell he originated from the trailer park across the street. Six-foot-five, check. Bald head with a beard ponytail, check. She checked her purse for the flat envelope, and her taser. "Yeah, friends. I'd like that, too."

"Okay, maybe we can get coffee, or go to breakfast, or I don't know…"

Piz's nattering faded from her attention while she waited for the guy to get closer. In a place like this big, bald, and beard-ponytailed weren't distinctive.

The guy passed by, one row of cars over. Close enough to discern he was in his mid-twenties and had a scorpion tattooed on his neck. Check and check.

"…so what do you think?"

Friends. He wants to be friends who grab coffee or have breakfast. "That sounds great, but I really have to go right now. Working a case, remember?"

"Right, um, yeah, okay."

"Bye Piz."

"Bye Ver—"

She slipped her phone in her bag and shuffled fast to get to the door the same time as Biker Humpty Dumpty, who gallantly held open the door for her.

"Wow," she drawled, pulling out her best southern belle. "Don't find many gentlemen like you 'round these parts."

"My mamma raised me right. Where you from, little lady?"

She sashayed into the room, her eyes taking in the layout while she batted them upward. Bar straight ahead, pool tables to the left, darts and restrooms to the right. "Oh, all over. I was born in Charleston? But my daddy, he had the wanderlust so we lived pret' near everywhere south o' the Mason-Dixon line. How 'bout you?"

"You a Carolina girl? Well that explains it. I grew up in Georgia and we always said the Carolina girls were the prettiest."

She giggled and pivoted forward with the full intention of giving a view of her backside. A plan ungainly thwarted when the heel of her ankle boot stuck to the unsanitary floor and she stumbled sideways.

Her arms pinwheeled and grasped at air, to come up with nothing. A blur of brown and green later, she found herself sprawled, ass up, across some poor shmo's lap.

"Where have I seen this before?" asked the poor schmo.

Oh, not a schmo-that sarcastic inflection could only belong to one person. Who was currently speaking to her butt.

Her scramble to get upright was no less clumsy, and involved putting her hands a couple places they hadn't been in a good year since Logan did nothing to help her. Luckily Biker Humpty-Dumpty lent a hand to get her upright.

It took all her wherewithal to resist fanning her now hot, sweaty face and plaster on a genteel smile. Though she flashed a warning look at Logan before utilizing the accent. "I am so sorry. Are you all right? I didn't make you spill your drink or nothin' did I? Dang clodhoppers got me tripping everywhere."

"No, I'm good," Logan answered back. "You okay?"

His lifted eyebrow and lack of a quip told her he was asking so much more: What the hell was she up to? Was she in over her head? Did she need help?

She hadn't seen him in months, since she first got back from her FBI internship and she and Piz ran into him in the quad at Hearst. The awkwardness of that moment usurped this one, though not by much.

And fuck did he look good. Her mouth watered at the way his green Henley hugged every bit of definition in his arms and chest. The chestnut hair was its usual, artful gelled mess just the right length to cover the tips of his ears, and weave her fingers into at the back.

Every bit of effort Piz and put in over their months together, and she'd never been half as aroused as she was right now.

"Carolina?" Biker Humpty-Dumpty asked. "Girl, you hit your head or somethin'?"

"Me? Right as a fuzzy Georgia peach." She gave Logan a tight smile. "So sorry I disturbed your evening. 'Night now."

He tipped his beer, half-full, in her direction.

The next half hour was one of the most difficult of her life. Keeping up a ruse was hard enough; doing it under the watchful eye of your gorgeous ex-boyfriend, whom you called three weeks ago and never called you back, upped the stakes a plenty.

Biker Humpty-Dumpty introduced himself as Johnny Jefferson, which was a blatant lie. The guy was good; he stuck to it like a fly to sticky paper. Luckily, she'd done her research so they could come to the 'coincidence' they'd gone to the same high school, the same year, when she was a freshman and he a senior.

"Now darlin'," he said, "I know you're lyin'. If you'da gone to my school I'd have been all over you."

"I swear on my pappy's grave! Cartersville High. 'Course I was only there that one year 'counta my daddy decided he wanted to be singer? So he moved us all to Nashville? My next school had a great choir, but a terrible football team. Nothin' like the guys at Cartersville."

"I was on that football team!"

She smacked his arm. It was no accident that when she crossed her legs, the already high-riding skirt moved up another inch. "Now you're that one that's lyin'! I had every one of those football players memorized and there wasn't one Johnny Jefferson."

"I'm telling the truth."

"No," she shook her head. Her phone buzzed with a text, from Piz, and she ignored it. "Lemme see, there was Aaron Matheson, Billy Ray Rogers, Michael Abney—"

"Remember one, went by the name o' Barfy?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Barfy?"

"Thomas William Barfield."

"Oh get out!" She smacked his arm again, and let her hand linger there. "You said your name was Johnny."

"I go by Johnny now. But back then I was Barfy."

Veronica shook her head in wonder. "I'll be. This whole time I'm sitting with Thomas Barfield? That's you?"

"That's me."

"Well," she leaned forward, giving him a nice cleavage shot. "Idn't this a coincidence? I mean, you wanna know how big a coincidence this is?"

Barfy's eyes stayed glued to her chest. "How big?"

"I just happen to have, right here in my iddy biddy little purse." She opened her bag, pulled out a large manila envelope, and slapped it into Barfy's hand. "A subpoena with the name of Thomas William Barfield right on it. Can you believe it? People have been looking through hell and high water, trying to find you, and here you are!"

It took a good twenty seconds for Barfy to understand what had just happened. First came confusion, then came shock, and, last, fury. Veronica used to the time to get off her stool and shove a hand in her purse, to ready the taser.

"What the hell!"

All conversation in the bar came to a halt; Logan jumped to his feet and headed over at a clip. Veronica threw up a hand to stop him, and addressed Barfy, dropping the accent. "Hey, hey, calm down. It was a payday for me, you get that, right? Barfy?."

"I didn't—you—." Barfy groaned and grabbed his head. "Shit, I'm so stupid. My daddy always said I couldn't pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel."

Veronica caught Logan's eye. Instead of the humor she expected, she saw only suspicion. His focus was that of a vulture, watching to see if his prey had life in it yet. She took a step closer to Barfy. Two steps, three, four. Barfy looked up at her, resignation in his face. "You going to be okay?" she asked.

"I guess you're not from Carolina, huh? Didn't go to Cartersville?"

"Nope. But I did look up your record. You played some serious ball." He shrugged and she chanced placing a hand on his shoulder in consolation. "Plus, you're not stupid. You were on the run for ten months. That shows you for being one wily fox."

"Any chance I could lie and say I didn't get it?"

"Nope."

"Can't say I didn't try." Barfy's lips twitched up and he tipped his head back. "Is there a rule that says I can't get rip-roarin' drunk tonight?"

"Not as long as you're walking home."

"Well, that's a fucking plan then." His eyes twinkled and he threw her a disarming smile. "I live close. Buy you another drink?"

Veronica laughed and slapped a five on the counter, next to her undrunk beer. "Next one's on me. Night Barfy."

From the corner of her eye she saw Logan throw up his hands, grab his jacket, and stomp out. By the time she gathered up her things and also headed out, he was nowhere to be seen.

The night was cool after the heat of the bar, and she breathed it in, trying to squelch her disappointment. Dust, cow manure from some recently fertilized field nearby. A hint of ocean when the wind shifted just right.

Mr. and Mrs. Ford Taurus were taking a rest and the fug of their cigarette smoke hit her full in the face when she passed their car.

"Got a flat."

"What?" she asked, turning toward the voice. It turned out to be Mrs. Ford Taurus, who was hanging out of the car, her elbows supporting herself on the door.

"Your front tire. It's flat."

Sure enough, her horse'd thrown a shoe (and that's enough of that). With her keylight Veronica found the nail sticking up inside the wheel well, loose enough she could pull it out. Which, not surprisingly, didn't reinflate the tire.

Eleven-thirty at night, in the half-lit dirt parking lot of a redneck bar was not the best time to change a tire, all on her own. Despite what she was sure Logan thought by now, she wasn't stupid.

The crunch of gravel bespoke of another car in the lot. "Even when you're not causing trouble, it finds you."

"Part of my charm." Veronica turned. Logan's Land Rover and black jacket blended with the night, his head a disconnected sphere inside the shadows of his car.

"Do you want help changing it, or a ride?"

"Give me a sec?" She waved her phone in the air and stepped back. Logan's nod indicated he'd wait.

Two minutes later she climbed in his cab. "Weevil's got a moonlighting gig as a tow truck driver. He'll take it to his uncle's garage and take care of the tire there. Said I could pick it up Monday."

"Do you need to wait for him?"

"He has my spare key."

"Fine."

The Rover's new car smell had faded. In its place was a fragrance Veronica could only identify as a whole: Logan. She sunk down in the seat and breathed in, doing her best not to be obvious. "Thanks for the ride. And the backup earlier."

"Mmm hmm."

"I knew what I was doing, though. Everyone looking for Barfy said he was harmless. A gentle giant type."

Quiet.

"The whole reason he was on the run is kind of sweet, actually. He didn't want to testify against his eighty-year-old grandma, who's been running a pot farm in her back forty for three decades."

Nothing.

"I, um," they passed under a streetlight. Logan was looking ahead, stoic, his hands at ten and two precisely, so different from his usual, casual driving pose. "I haven't seen you around lately."

"Been busy."

"Yeah, me too. How was your Christmas?"

"Fine."

She waited for more. For him to tell her where he'd gone, because she knew he wasn't at the Grande for the entire month of school break, though he kept the room.

"What'd you do?'

"Nothing."

Which meant he probably went skiing. In Aspen. Like last year.

"What classes are you taking this semester?"

"The last of my GE."

"I called you over break."

"I noticed."

"You didn't call me back."

He shrugged. "Didn't have anything to say."

She couldn't decide if the stilted rebuff or silence was worse. Especially since she didn't know what it meant. Was he pissed at her about tonight? About her message three weeks ago? Something else?

Hard to say since she left for her FBI internship in the summer and, other than that one time with Piz, she hadn't even seen him since last spring. So what could he be pissed about?

Veronica weighed every question against his possible answers and asked nothing.

"We're here."

"What?"

"You're home."

Sunset Cliffs, home of the broken parking lights the management promised a hundred times they'd fix, and still hadn't. The green dashboard lights cast Logan's face in an alien glow.

"Want to come up? My dad's gone and I have some of that raspberry zinger you like."

"Pass."

A moment of hesitation turned into three, then four. "Logan—"

"Veronica— "he said at the same time. "Please, just go."

"I will. When you tell me what I did wrong."

"Nothing."

"Then why won't you talk to me?"

"Look," he blew a puff of frustration. "I told you before, you need something, I'm there. But let's leave it at that."

"Leave it at what? Does that mean we're friends? And if we are why can't we—"

"Jesus!" He exploded. His dexterous fingers unbuckled her seatbelt, leaned across her to wrench open the door, and threw her stuff into the grass next to them. "Can you, just once in your life, do what someone asks without giving them the third degree? Get. Out."

"No." She slammed the door shut and twisted the keys out of the ignition. "You want to hate me, fine. But at least give me a trial before I'm convicted. A chance to lay my own defense?"

"Of for fuck's sake. There's nothing to defend. I don't hate you. I just want my keys and I want to go home. Now."

"You want 'em?" She threw them in the small square reservoir on her door, as far away from him as she could get them. "Talk."

She should have known he'd go for the keys; should have counted on those snake-like reflexes of his. And that he'd fight her back when she grabbed for them. Logan would never hurt her but it didn't mean he wouldn't play rough.

It felt good to allow fury through her veins once again. All those months with Piz, when she ignored or subverted her true emotions, created a false serenity that broke now. Veronica wrenched Logan's fingers, he splayed hers open like they were made of putty. He used his longer arms to hold them out of reach, she used her small size to maneuver herself in the limited space. When the expletive of 'bitch' was thrown at her, she met it with 'bastard'.

Finally, when she realized she couldn't win, she let go it all in a wracking sob. The keys became a symbol of what she and Logan once had. Somehow, in trying to make the right choices, she lost one of the few people that mattered a damn to her.

"I'm sorry," she bawled into his chest. Logan, as if she needed further proof of his superior physical strength, had remained in his own seat while she'd landed in his lap during their wrestling match. "I'm so sorry. I fucked up and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know."

He soothed her, tentatively at first, his hand a ghost of a presence on her back. With time came crooning noises, and he brushed her hair back. "You didn't fuck up. There's nothing to fix. It's just what it is."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means," he sighed, his warm, beer-tainted breath washing over her. "It's time for us to move on with our lives, no matter how hard that is. You asked if we're friends? The answer is no because we crossed that line a long time ago."

She sat up and eyed him, angry. "So what does that make us? Enemies? Are we back to that"

"No, of course not. But friends don't sit in each other's laps, at midnight, in dark cars. No matter what the reason."

"I-," she shifted, suddenly aware of their positioning. And the hard-on beneath her.

He groaned and dropped his head on Veronica's shoulder. "Fuck. Just don't move for a second, okay?"

His arousal brought awareness of hers to the forefront. With her short skirt around her waist there was only one thin barrier keeping her from utter exposure. Using utmost determination, she picked up one of his hands and pressed his thumb to her sex.

Logan stayed stock-still, his staccato breath the only sign the move affected him. She used her own fingers to breach the small strip of elastic on her underwear, dip into the liquid heat pooled there, and raise them to his face.

She traced a trail under his nose, over his lips, relishing when his eyes fluttered closed and chest heaved as he breathed in. "I want you," she whispered.

"Fuck it," he growled. His kiss was an assault, one she welcomed. This time as they fought and grasped it was to get closer.

He wasn't gentle, which was good. She'd had enough of gentle for a lifetime. She was no porcelain doll or idol of worship; her body was made of flesh and blood and nerve endings and Logan sought to touch them all.

Logan's hand wrenched open her low-cut blouse and lowered her bra cup so he could bite her breast. Veronica winced and pushed his head closer, delighting in in the sting.

Teeth and nails, as much as mouths and tongues, pushed for satisfaction. When the angle was wrong to get his pants off his hips, she grasped the seat lever and threw him backwards. Logan, in reaching for his wallet and the condom inside it, pressed her back against the steering wheel until it hurt.

"Hurry," was her response. Already she imagined him buried deep, filling her. When he fumbled with the condom she took over, grinning when he winced at her rough treatment. In retribution he bit her neck and pulled her down on the seat with him.

It was without ceremony he stretched the cotton of her underwear and pushed her down on his cock. The first thrust took him halfway in, the second all the way home. Veronica lifted her knees, pushed her heels into the seat, and rode him like he was there sorely for her pleasure.

And pleasure it was. His thumb found her clit and pressed in right where she needed it. He didn't ask if she was close; he didn't need to. Her free hand, the one not grasping the handle bolted to the car's ceiling, reached back to slide over his balls. They tightened under her fingers, and she smiled.

"Veronica," Logan gasped.

"I'm here. I'm here. I'mhereimhereimhereimhere," the nonsense words fell from her lips as her orgasm built. The low growl of pleasure she ended on was equally senseless, and matched by his own.

She collapsed against his chest, the green Henley bunched up around his chin, only one sleeve out. His skin smelled the same as the car. It reminded her of lazy summer days and long, sensual nights. Every sense memory she possessed was wrapped up in his bouquet.

Her body came back to itself, piece by piece. The legs cramped up from her squat position, the sweat of her cheek melding her to Logan. The situation connecting them that needed dealing with.

Veronica kissed Logan's jaw, his ear, and rose slowly, taking care to make sure the condom didn't come off inside her. Logan winced when she touched the base of his shaft, always extra-sensitive after orgasm.

She handed him a napkin from the glove box and he took care of matters unselfconsciously. This small act was a personal validation to her; here was a man who found no part of this act shameful or distasteful. She didn't have to hide any part of herself.

He was quiet as he went about fixing his clothes, adjusting his seat. Her own outfit was easy to straighten so she got to watch him, blissed out.

"Well," he said, like it was a statement all on its own. His fingers rolled over the steering wheel.

"Well, as in well done?" she teased.

"Not sure your boyfriend would agree with that sentiment."

Veronica stared at him for a full twenty seconds before she accused, "You didn't listen to the message I left you over break."

"Deleted it."

"Piz and I broke up. A month ago."

"You did?" For the first time that night his voice held a lilt of interest. "Why?"

"Want to know? Come inside."

The apartment was cold, and dark. Veronica turned on the heater, flipped on the lights, and started the kettle while Logan got reacquainted with her dog.

"Someone missed me," he baby-talked from his seat on the couch, his hands buried in the fur of Backup's belly. "Didn't you?"

Backup lay there passively, a wolfish, adorable grin on his face.

"More than you know."

When Veronica hung up her jacket on the barstool, Logan pulled her down to sit sidesaddle in his lap. "What are we doing?"

"If I have my way? Working things out."

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, rested his cheek on her shoulder. The pose didn't speak of joy, or excitement. "When has it ever been that easy between us?"

"Never," she chuckled. "But here's the thing. I don't want easy. I want us."

"Just like that."

"Yep."

The kettle whistled. With the tea poured Logan sat facing her, his knees lolled open, while she perched on her stool, faced forward so she could concentrate on bobbing her teabag. "Look, I get it'll be hard. I imagine about a thousand more fights ahead of us. Days when we actually hate each other—"

"Well, when you sell it like that, how can I refuse?"

The adorable smirk on his face was thing she missed most while they were apart. Yet, the humor didn't meet his eyes. "Logan, we've been broken up almost a year. And every day of that year I've fought with myself not to go to you. It was exhausting and miserable."

"You wouldn't know it from my end. Every time I turned around, you and Piz were there, in my face."

"When? I never saw you."

"Because he'd stick his tongue down your throat whenever he saw me coming."

She closed her eyes and blew out a breath through pursed lips, Piz's awkward PDA moments given a new clarity. "Forget Piz. The point is I'd rather fight with you. At least then I stand a chance of ending up happy."

Logan sipped his tea, the cup small in his long-fingered hands. Oh, how she'd missed those hands. Not just the way they'd touch her, though that was certainly part of it. It enthralled her how they'd seek texture in every surface.

He did it now, running his thumb along the cup's edge in thought. "Are you going to tell me what happened with you two?"

"Does it matter?"

"It might."

"Fine." She took a drink of her own tea, honey chamomile for her, and looked down into its gold color. "I run from intimacy."

He snorted. "Warts-and-all girl? I'm not buying it."

"That was with you. With Piz," she scrunched up her nose. "Mind if I get indelicate?"

"You say that like delicate is even in your wheelhouse."

"Piz was my shield. It's not in me to cheat, so as long as I was sleeping with him, I'd stay away from you. But, dammit, you were always there in my mind and my heart. He took it to mean that I was shy about sex, which was why I held back, intimately speaking."

"You slept with him to stay away from me."

"Yes, but I didn't enjoy it."

Logan shook his head and put his cup down, the hint of a smile at his lips. "That's oddly romantic."

"No, it's fucked up. Piz and I dated for nine months, slept together for half of that, and I couldn't shake that I was being unfaithful to you."

"I love you, too." He said, understanding her, as always. "I never stopped."

"What does that mean for us?"

"That if we're doomed to be miserable, we might as well do it together."

"That's oddly romantic," she laughed.

His hand slid across the counter and enclosed hers, tentative. "You're sure about this?"

"Stick around and find out."

The sound of Backup's collar woke her after three, when the dog flopped over the rug on her floor. In their slow walk of kisses toward her bedroom a couple hours before, they'd forgotten to undress the dog.

Logan mumbled something incoherent and burrowed his nose into her back. "Shhh," she soothed. "I'll be right back."

Backup's doggy moan of content made her smile when she took off the collar. She waited until she closed the bathroom door to switch on the light so as not to wake Logan.

She went through the motions of necessities with bleary eyes, deciding to brush her teeth since earlier activities had derailed her from her usual bedtime ritual.

It wasn't until she'd covered the brush in paste and closed the medicine cabinet that she caught sight of herself.

The back of her hair stuck up in mats, a hickey bloomed red on her rib, and the sensitive skin of her neck showed signs of whisker burn. The makeup she'd applied earlier was either gone or smeared down her face. She smiled at the sex-tousled girl staring back at her. Hello, Veronica.

Despite the two romps earlier—one desperate, the other slow and tender—she felt fresh-borne. Her heart sung and her body wanted.

Cold bathroom tiles and minty toothpaste had her wide awake. Logan's bare shoulder glowed red in the lights from her digital clock, which read 3:15am. The sheets had come half-undone and the condoms, stashed in her drawer for the past year, lay across her nightstand with their plastic covers glistening. Good sense said to go crawl back in that warm cocoon, with the man she loved, and fall back asleep.

Good sense had no place at three in the morning, with a naked Logan in her bed. Nor did the whim to strap on her LED headlamp.

The twin mattress didn't offer much room to maneuver and had a tendency to dip in the middle. Which meant she had to fight to stay on the edge and give her hands room.

Logan snuffled when she lifted the covers and climbed inside, pulling them over her head. Once she was sure she'd created a tight seal with the blankets, Veronica switched on the headlamp.

Now Logan's entire body was awash in blue, and she reveled in the sight. Defined chest, stomach just this side of lean, with a long line from his navel into the dense thatch of hair where his soft cock rested. Logan legs with generous thighs and chicken-thin calves, all germinated with dark hair. His feet lay bony, long-toed to match his hands.

One hand was above the blankets but the other pressed to his chest, above his heart. She knew if she rolled over and settled her back against his front, he'd put that hand to her breast and leave it there for the night.

So not the plan.

She reached a finger out and ghosted it up his thigh, over his hip, to the planes of his stomach. She brushed over his pelvic bone and rested when he shifted in his sleep. Once he settled again she resumed her perusal.

The space where his thighs touched was tacky from their earlier activities and she had to use a light touch there. His cock, when she brushed over it, jumped halfway to life. It was a fun game to play, coaxing the turtle out of its shell with a light enough touch he wouldn't wake. A game she'd dearly missed.

His breathing remained deep, regulated, and she imagined her touch became a part of his dream. Maybe a mermaid or a siren come to lure him into the depths of the ocean by his dick.

When he was fully hard, she inched forward and ran the tip of her tongue along his length, gratified when his erection twitched at the contact. He moaned in his sleep and his hips gave an involuntary thrust.

Was it an odd thing, to think of a man's penis as beautiful? Veronica didn't have much experience, three to be exact, and all circumcised, but Logan's did strike her as remarkable. It's length and girth weren't the entire attraction, though that certainly played a part. No, it was the deep peachy color (currently an iridescent blue in this light), that deepened toward purple at the tip. Each vein she'd memorized, the way it hooked to the left and lay heavy when fully engorged. His hair that was straight instead of curly, and soft when she'd once expected coarse.

Though she long suspected he used his hundred-dollar a bottle conditioner on it, she appreciated the downy texture. Especially now, when her cheek brushed against his thatch every time she licked her way down to the base of his dick.

His breath stopped, then came out in a whoosh when she slid him inside her mouth. "Veronica," he gasped, and she smiled since the slack hand at his chest said he still slept.

Veronica closed her eyes and gave herself over to his pleasure. Her hands cupped his balls and looped around the bottom of his shaft to give better leverage as she loved him with her mouth, fucking him awake.

His hips fell flat on the bed and then pushed upward. "Jesus," he muttered.

Cold air rushed over her when he threw back the covers. "… the fuck?" he exclaimed, and pulled away from her. "What the hell are you doing?"

Realizing the problem, she snapped off the headlamp and threw it across the room. "Spelunking?" she offered tentatively then curled up and fell forward onto his chest, laughing.

"Try giving me a fucking heart attack," he gasped. "I thought one of those aliens from Cocoon was blowing me."

She chortled anew and nipped at his chest. "I wanted to see you. Seemed the best way without the light waking you up."

"Shit."

"Sorry."

"S'kay. I've kinda missed how weird you are in the sack."

Veronica moved a little lower, this time catching some skin by his belly button in her teeth. "Make it up to you?"

Logan was quiet in the darkened room and she waited him out. "Logan?"

"Get on your knees."

A rush of desire pooled in her belly, and lower, at the authoritative tone he used. She turned around and rose, facing the door. Her back warmed when Logan settled behind her. He laid small kisses upon her shoulders, from the curve of one to the other, while his nails raked her thighs.

His hands fell between her legs and stilled. "Damn, you're so wet."

Her hand reached underneath his to grasp him. She centered and he plunged, a partnership they'd worked out long ago.

Veronica threw her arms back and held onto Logan's hair, gave herself over to his strength, his need, as his hands worked her over during their discourse. His palms were rough from years of grasping a surfboard. The fingers she admired earlier tweaked and pulled at her breasts, moving down when she needed them there.

Her world centered to Logan. Her Logan. Teeth at her neck, his cock pulsing in and out of her, filling her. Fingers, oh god, his fingers, their dance pushing her to edge, then over. Over. And over again.

Before she'd calmed, when her inside quakes were still pulsing, he pushed her down. His hands lifted her hips and he drove into her, fulfilling his own need. It didn't take long. Three hard, striving strokes and he collapsed on top of her, both of their breaths straining to catch up.

"Mmm," he blew into her back.

The satisfaction evident in that one little noise made her grin. She grasped the hand still holding her breast. "Woof."

Morning brought with it ugly realities. Logan's hair, mashed up on one side and the crease of a blanket in his cheek. Breath that could make a troll wince. A few sore muscles and more than a few marks of their night of depravity.

Veronica pushed on a fingertip bruise she'd left on Logan's bicep, wondering when it had happened. He flinched in his sleep.

With care, she extricated herself from him, wincing at the places their skin ripped apart. He snuffled and burrowed in, using her pillow as a snuggle buddy in place of her. The wrinkles on his forehead creased, then smoothed out when he breathed deep from where her head usually rested.

She smiled and shrugged on a robe, not caring the room was a wreck. That she looked as rough as Logan, or worse. They'd spend the day putting everything to rights, then likely destroy it all again.

It was their rhythm, after all. Periods of idleness interspersed with large, tsunami level waves that washed, renewed, or destroyed.

She'd done lakes. Give her the ocean any day.

Veronica had gone shopping the day before so the cupboards were full. In a rare wave of domesticity, she set about putting together a brunch only a Sunday deserved. Four kinds of fruit in a salad. Denver omelet with three kinds of cheeses. Two carbs, in the form of hash browns and toast. Last, coffee, in a mug with a picture of a pear tree.

She'd just mixed the omelets when strong arms looped behind her. Logan laid a kiss on her neck. "For me?"

"Only if you take Backup out while I get it ready."

"Nothing's ever free with you, is it?"

"Hey, no free rides even for pretty, rich boys. You've got to earn your keep."

He tweaked her breast through the robe. "Aww, you said I was pretty."

Breakfast took a while to ingest, since they spent the time alternately talking over the past year and eating off each other's forks. Each bite accompanied a kiss, and she gave herself over to the outlandishness of their twitter pated behavior, knowing it was memories like these they'd draw on in hard times.

"So," she said, sliding their empty plates to the side. "I think a shower's in order. We stink."

"Disagree. You smell like sex and," learned in for an exaggerated whiff and laid a kiss on her collarbone. "Marshmallows? Whatever it is, it's totally working for you."

"Gross," she laughed and pushed him away.

Logan shook his head, an evil glint she'd dearly missed shining in his eyes. He caught her around the waist and hoisted her onto the breakfast counter, settling his chest between her knees. "Hold up. There was some mention earlier of me earning my keep."

"Um," Veronica pressed her lips together and swallowed. "What'd you have in mind?"

"I could do the dishes."

"That sounds fair."

"Or."

"Or?"

"You could lay back, hook your legs over my shoulders, and let me do all the work for a few minutes."

"What about the dishes?"

"We'll let Backup clean them. Everyone wins."

"I can't argue with that logic."

Logan grinned and opened the tie of her robe while Veronica eased herself onto her back. In the morning light, with her legs spread wide and Logan's face between them, she felt open. As if, even if she tried, she could hide nothing from him.

The thought scared her more than a little.

He took his time, preferring a slow warm-up to an outright assault. The day stretched before them, no place to be, no demands other than what they placed on each other. Under his hands and his mouth she let herself be more and more exposed, pressing her heels into the side of his neck when he grabbed her hips to get at the deepest part of her.

A long, slow growl worked its way through her throat as she grew close, closer. One of her elbows hooked under her and she raised up, using her free hand to push Logan's face in as he fucked her with his tongue.

Her orgasm slammed through her with the force of a sledgehammer, and her throat ripped raw from the scream that clawed its way out. Which is when she realized she was eye to eye with Piz, who stood slack-jawed in the now open doorway.

"Crap." She bucked Logan's head away. "What the hell are you doing here?" Her robe lay bunched up underneath her. As she scrambled to a sitting position the arms of the garment eluded her and Logan used his body as a shield.

"Piz," Logan nodded. He backhanded his mouth with the nonchalance only a true jackass could foster. "What's up?"

"I thought—Veronica and I had breakfast plans…" he trailed off, looking between the two of them. "I guess I was mistaken. About a lot of things."

"It happens."

"Yeah, I— " Piz brushed his Bieber locks across his forehead self-consciously and backed away. "Sorry."

"Piz, wait." Veronica finally got her robe belted and moved to step between the two men. "I don't remember making plans, and I never would have wanted you to walk into—"

"It's okay, Veronica." He looked down at her, his mouth pressed down in a way that was sad and tender. "I think I finally understand."

"You do?"

"Yeah. You could've told me."

"I didn't know how. I didn't want to hurt you."

His voice thickened so he had to clear it before he talked, leaving her with the knowledge this was a hurt he'd carry for years to come. "Just be happy, huh? I'll see you around."

When the door closed, Logan moved up behind her and laid a kiss at the top of her head. "That settles it."

"What?"

"No more breaking up. Every time we do, we take someone down with us."

She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Lives ruined? Bloodshed?"

"That's a little overkill, but sure."

His eyes showed no recognition of his long-ago, drunken speech. Maybe she had one or two secrets, after all. She bit back a smile and nodded. "Okay, no more breaking up."

"It's our civic duty to stay together."

"Mutual destruction or bust."

"Look at that," he smirked, "our wedding vows practically write themselves."

She rolled her eyes. "Logan?"

"Yup?"

"Shut up and get in the shower."

Fin

A/N: Story Image create by the lovely and incomparable Lilamadison11