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Prologue
When she was 11 years old, her dad drove them up to the Petrified Redwood Forest in Calistoga. It was a something of an ill-fated road trip; her mother spent most of the time sleeping in the back seat or begging off on their outings, pleading headaches or fatigue. Upon arriving, Veronica and her dad wandered off on a hiking path near their seen-better-times bed and breakfast. The sky was getting dark but they kept going until they hit a wildflower clearing and saw a single fawn in the middle of an empty field, the rest of its family hidden in the trees. Veronica, her legs locked and stilled, didn’t turn around to see if her dad was also looking. She wanted to run, she wanted to stay. The seconds crackled. Her, the speckled fawn, the nettles scratching her ankles. The idea that this was now and only now, with nothing ahead or behind. The intense expectation. Gun metal clouds gathered overhead and at the first crack of thunder, the deer ran.
They made it back before those first fat drops became sheets of water. Her dad talked quietly with the proprietress in a dining room decorated with tiny porcelain shoes sitting on top of doilies. Veronica played with her fork, digging the tines into the white tablecloth, and made a silent wish to feel that again. No before, no after, only the present. In a place of belonging. The fabric turned to countertop, and the fork became fingers, her own. She was twenty-seven and scared, her dad was in the hospital, and Logan was sitting across from her. He gave her a single downwards nod, put his hand over hers and said, “Hey.”
Spring 2005
SO. Logan Echolls was her friend, again. More. Special gentleman friend? Maybe. If you could call it that. Kissing buddy? Guy she'd accidentally played tonsil hockey with? Too glib. It could be another game, another stealth attack, but it didn’t seem likely. For one, there was nobody to see it, no voicemail message to play for his idiot crew. The performance on that balcony was too earnest by a half and he was never that good an actor. His eyes always gave it all away.
Logan pulled her back at the Camelot and brought his face up to hers in a rush. There was so much feeling to it, everything around them blurred and spun out slowly like one of Lilly’s musicals. Veronica anchored herself to him and nothing had felt as right in so long. It was only them, nobody else, the wet sweetness of their mouths, his hands tightening at her waist, the unexpected softness of the skin on the back of his neck. The tug of fabric, pulling her closer, her jacket bunching up in his fists, the same ones he’d just used to get her away from the Little Fed That Could. She hadn’t had the chance to look at them, his fingers, his knuckles, the aftermath. She wanted to kiss them too. But she forgot. Because her mind was nothing to her, it was gone. That was scarier than any bomb threat. Or any bomb.
It should’ve ended him, that detonation. Instead she’d been the one to run away, her jaw hanging open in shock.
Veronica Mars makes out with boy she hates, news at 11:00. Her head provided the replay. Nice angles. Fine lip work. Kid had a future.
He called her the night after their little Romeo & Juliet make out moment. She didn’t pick up and he didn’t leave a message. He couldn’t be that. Someone that called, like you were supposed to. He couldn’t. This last year might as well have been five with all the distance he’d put between them. Her phone lit up, his name on the screen. She stared at it.
That night was the first time Logan made her come. He didn’t stop by, he wasn’t even there. It was her fingers working at herself, but his face in her mind, spurring her on. The heat of his eyes, the delicate way his lashes rested on his cheeks when he closed them, the thought of his hands pulling her closer to him. The smell of his skin and his nerves and the softness of his suede jacket under her fingertips. The way he let her in so that there was nothing else. She saw him looking down at her, as clear as windowpanes before rain, and kept seeing him as the white flash of pleasure sparked and spread.
Veronica breathed hard, her heart in her ears, satisfaction evaporating off of her like wavy lines of steam. She glanced at the Petrified Redwood Forest postcard propped up on her bookshelf, let her mind drift as her muscles relaxed. He was many things, Logan. Her former friend. Her main tormentor, her bully. Intelligent. Unyielding. Proud. Blind. Lost. Wrong. Sorry. Resilient. Brave. Attractive. Caring. Hers. That last word made her freeze. It didn’t seem wrong necessarily, in either the before or after. If she scanned her past year, mental index cards shuffled, he’d been hers more than anyone else. Logan wouldn't leave her alone, refused to exit the frame, never let her forget that he was watching. This was the boy that got her hot. Veronica turned off the light and smiled fiercely in the dark.
She’d loathed him. This was a fact. So much she wanted to take him apart, piece by smug piece. She'd dreamed about getting even, fantasized, and those fantasies would invade her private moments, until pleasure and the thought of wrecking him started to overlap. She’d bump into him in the hallways and sparring with him, her lunatic hate-buddy, felt great. He thought so too, she could tell. Because she knew how Logan Echolls stared at something he wanted and what he wanted now was her. If there was any way to crack him, of course it would be this. It had to be something unexpected and wrong. Lilly always said the way to Logan’s heart was his heart. Veronica had never understood what she meant.
Veronica could fake the love, she supposed. Fake it till she made it. The past year had taught her that much. She could fake anything. Lure him in, then blot him out, with nothing but a nasty smile and an expertly delivered comeback. It would be the last thing he’d expect. The perfect revenge. But it was past her skill set, that plan. The getting close she could do, the not caring was the difficult part. He was her friend. The one ludicrous fact she couldn't redact.
Logan surprised her the next day, by her locker, popping up stealthily, making disjointed small talk and studiously avoiding the elephant. They both had it, that off-kilter awkwardness that comes with seeing someone you know after you’ve kissed them. The knowledge of it screaming in your head as you try to act nonchalant. The edges of everything bright with expectation. Logan Echolls, the guy who used to make her laugh by reciting lines from Fletch. The same one who made her life miserable when he emailed everyone a photo she’d sent Duncan when they were still dating, her lifting up her shirt to show him her stomach and the barest peek of white bra. Who’d smiled at her as she passed him the next day in the hallway, her locker scrawled with the word slut over and over and over again in someone else's handwriting because she could still recognize his. The boy who left her favorite cardigan damp with tears and tried to pay her for caring. The one who showed up when she needed someone and couldn't ask outright. Who picked up her meaning and acted, hitting Agent Chipmunk so hard that she still felt the arc of his fist rippling in the air. It made her breath catch. It made her reckless. It turned her on.
The first time Logan Echolls made her come, Veronica was all alone. She used both hands, her head full of him and the way his face stilled after she’d kissed him, too close to his mouth, too near to ignore.
Summer 2005
The radio should be playing music but they forgot to turn it on. He was so close, she could see his pores, the faint acne scars on his cheek, the bluish tint to the skin under his eyes. She wanted him so badly that more than half the time she met him for lunch, they wound up in his eyesore of a car, rutting away like, well, the teenager that she hated that she was. And even more surprising, she found that she didn't care that she was in the Neptune High parking lot, in the middle of the day in a slowly rocking car. She just wanted him, aligning himself underneath her, the hardness in his jeans pressing up right where it needed to. He kept his eyes closed as he kissed her and it didn’t take much. There was a connection from groin, grinding down on him with squirming abandon, and mouth, open and desperate, on his. His hands were on her shoulders and her neck, his tongue was warm and wet. They were literally swapping spit and it wasn’t gross, it was magic and oh, there it was. She couldn’t say his name, too difficult, she stuttered out a single L. He opened his eyes.
“Watch me,” she managed.
And he did. Her climax was nothing compared to his reaction. He looked alert, startled and not smug, not smug at all. He pulled her even closer, her name on his lips, taking in every tremor, moving his hips up into her, following her lead.
Afterwards, she justified her choice to have him look at her as control. She chose. He had nothing to do with it. Yes, he was hot and Logan and hers. But it was her choice.
Veronica wanted him so badly and it infuriated her. It was confusing and overwhelming. She wanted to sit with him, hold hands the way boyfriends and girlfriends were supposed to. She wanted that calmness. Yet she felt like she was pretending every time she smiled and nodded when he asked her to go for fully-clothed, rated G walk. Pretending that what she didn’t want more than anything was to get as close as possible and break through.
She wanted the sweetness but she wanted this more.
Snap out of it. Snap out of it. Snap out of it. She’d written that on someone’s check at The Hut. She crossed it out in frantic strokes.
“Frustrated?”
Logan stood there smiling. His bruises almost faded, his hair wet from the shower. He must’ve gone home. Good. Home meant not with the brain dead lackeys starting unwinnable wars. Home meant safe.
“A little.” Veronica's lip tugged up on one side.
His eyes flared slightly and she realized he hadn’t meant any innuendo, and was just catching on. He swallowed and looked around. Was Logan Echolls… nervous? Huh.
She brought her hand up to his chin. “Hey. I’m going to go punch out. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
They held hands as they walked out, they held hands in the car. He hummed along tunelessly to Bob Marley as he drove with one and rubbed his thumb on her palm with the other. She loved him like this; content, relaxed, like she was enough. Like he was finally back.
When he parked in front of the Sunset Cliff Apartments, he leaned in to kiss her and she realized with a terrible clarity that she was going to have sex with him, if not tonight, then soon, because that’s what she wanted, more than anything. Like a regular girl. Like she was finally normal. She wanted his quiet, his humming, and his noise. The warmth of his mouth on her neck and his hands underneath her shirt. Veronica Mars wanted to touch Logan Echolls with nothing between them. She wanted it now and whatever happened a year ago or a year from now didn’t matter. She believed it like burning until the glass shattered over them both.
Winter 2007
Sex was getting easier to understand. It wasn’t always serious, it wasn’t always fraught. Frequently, it was a mix of fun, excitement, and thigh trembling lapses in judgement. Like anytime things got out of hand in public and the idea of caring about outcomes was suddenly about as important as a single cloud on a blue sky day.
Not that she’d tell Logan that. He was funny that way. Sometimes he looked at her like she was a puzzle he’d solved, crooked little grin on his gleeful kid face. Pushing up into her, pressing hard and talking her through the fall-out because he was a talker and he knew she liked it. His words lapping waves in her head, all soft, susurrant encouragement. Or he was watching all the ways he could take her apart and put her back together, cause and effect, making mental notes in his head, that does this, and this does that, for future reference. Another chapter in the Veronica Mars manual he was always threatening to write. At other times, he seemed as lost as she was, all instinctive, unfocused drive, beautiful and messy. Skin, peachy and red, scratched-at and licked, the briny, underneath-the-soap-and-aftershave tang of him filling up her nostrils. She didn’t know her body then because it seemed to exist outside of her head, run better, run best. Then somewhere in the middle of this feverish grace, someone fell off the bed (not naming names here), got a foot cramp, toes stretching angrily apart, or their bodies made that farty suction noise and they’d laugh; stupid, easy, endless. It stretched out, this joy, it mutated. They pulled at one another and met again, back to purposeful, connected.
They’d always worked well as a team. From table tennis to this. She muffled her laughter into the side of his thigh. It was a good spot. He circled himself with his hand and pumped upwards once and she opened her mouth wide in a c-shape around the base of cock, sucking just below his fingers and he gasped.
Tonight it was serious.
There was a blue glow to their bodies courtesy of the headboard light and the only noise in the suite came from him. He sounded like he was falling away, helpless, a single oh that curled upwards, and faded, jolting her out of the moment. The sudden awareness made things no less heated. It was arousal as power and she had it. She had power over him and here was the visual. His eyes fixed on her with an even mixture of vulnerability and lust, and she pulled her face back when he tried to kiss her. Not because she didn’t want his lips, parted and wet, on hers, and not to fuck with him, though she could, but so she could keep looking at them, his eyes, like this, this close, large and open. They were so beautiful. She'd never tell him something so direct but he must know. It’s there in the way her own eyes widen to his, every single time since she first saw them up close, years ago, in the afternoon light when he was suddenly so much taller. He’d linked hands with her to pull her closer. She can’t remember why. She remembered his eyes though. Warm and dotted with tiny, hidden specks of gold. She’d wanted to tell him how beautiful they were then too. Her 14 year-old lips were smart though, they stayed sealed.
Logan brought a thumb up to his mouth and sucked on it with an insolent sort of deliberation, then lowered it between their bodies. He ran the slickened pad of it on her clit, and using his index finger in tandem, gently pulled. She whined, high and reedy, and the power shifted again. This time, when his face got closer, his hand on her neck, she met him, her lips parted and ready, moaning loudly into his open mouth, echoing off of his teeth. She pulled back, but kept her forehead against his, didn’t break eye contact.
“Don’t close your eyes.” Her voice was a dull knife.
“Veronica.” It sounded like it hurt.
“Don’t. Close them.” She surprised herself sometimes. Little Ronnie Mars, always such a bossy bitch. She heard it in Logan’s voice, on repeat, a fucked-up loop, and shook it out of her head. She focused on him, the now-him, staring up at her.
“Okay.” It came out small. Instead of nodding acquiescence, he rubbed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes for seconds, then fluttered them open again. Remembering.
“Good.”
She angled her head to the side and ran her forehead across his cheek. His breath was labored, loud, hot by her cheekbone, tongue darting out to swipe at her, catching a drop of sweat. It was too warm in this room and their bodies were slick, making those sounds that used to make her roll her eyes and wonder if people could really hear themselves in all their absurd noise, slowed down, amplified, the way she heard it sometimes through headphones doing surveillance on a cheating spouse case— would it give them pause? The rhythmic, wet slap of no thought, or care, would they ever do this? Yes. Yes. Yes. She kept her eyes on him and let him see her break, surge by surge, soundlessly. Her eyes narrowing as she slowed down the pace, dragged it out, so that he could feel every pull. Logan begged her. Don’t stop. Please. Her name, over and over. She liked hearing it, the way he said it, so much that she slammed down harder, digging her nails into his shoulders with each rough grind of her hips. She let her knees slide out, her thighs trembling and parting as far as they could, and that did the trick. Logan's pupils loomed large and black, then shrank back down, a supernova flash and there, that was what she wanted. Proof.
Veronica slid forward and melted against him, allowed herself that blank, boneless feeling. He kissed her softly, still panting, sliding his hands up and down her back, his fingers smoothing out the muscles along her spine. She pushed herself up and gave him a quick kiss. Logan laughed a little. It was breathless, and she loved that sound. She extricated herself and he groaned and rolled in her direction but she was too fast for him. She closed the door to the bathroom and locked it. What was the opposite of an invitation? A locked door.
When she finally came out, she’d already showered, dried and dressed. He was still naked and the sight of her, put together, made him sit up, shaking his head once as if he was clearing his thoughts. A gesture so subtle it would take an expert to read. She approached him briskly, accented by the sound of her jeaned legs rubbing together, and gave him a quick peck on the lips.
"I thought you were staying,” Logan mumbled, looking down at his hands.
"Nah, I got some preliminary work to do on a case and a paper to finish." She raised her eyebrow at him. "Some of us go to our classes."
"Right."
"I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?"
He furrowed his brow and reached out to her but then put his arm back down. "Yeah."
She left without looking back.
Veronica didn't hear from him for two days. Logan showed up at Mars Investigations right at closing time, the night her dad had a planned surveillance techniques conference in San Francisco. Somehow she knew and dressed accordingly, a short skirt with a lot of swing and a couple of tank tops with straps that constantly threatened to fall and did. She crossed a bare leg in what she hoped was an enticing manner and bounced her foot to draw attention to it. Veronica could hold off on the interrogation until later. There were more pressing needs to attend to first.
She lowered her voice to a rough, tough guy squack. "Hey gorgeous, are you lost or do you need help with something?"
He sighed and sunk down into the client chair, pointedly not looking at her. "Yeah, I think my girlfriend is using me for my body."
“That sounds like a real problem.”
“It really is.”
She stood up and walked over to him. He tried, she could see the struggle to keep his eyes towards the stained glass window but they bounced back to her, her legs, the section of bare skin now closest to his fingers. He moved that hand away and rested it on his thigh, curling it into a loose fist. Veronica stepped daintily around his feet, placed one leg on either side of him and lowered herself down to hover over his lap, almost on but not quite. Just enough to rub herself on his knuckles and see his mouth open the moment that she sighed. She knew Logan, he couldn't help himself, he always followed her cues. The next time she lowered herself, he lifted his knuckles to meet her, the pressure hard and gasp inducing. She leaned into him, pressing her lips to his and saw that his eyes stayed open. She got up slowly, and willed her legs to stay still.
"Do you want me to stop?"
His response was to close his eyes and pull his hands from his lap. Veronica sat and breathed into his neck, licking a line along the path of his pulse.
Logan's eyes squinted open and his breathing sped up but he avoided her eyes, even as she felt him hardening beneath her. Veronica dragged herself forward, along the clear length of him, and slipped her hands under his shirt, dragging her nails, light and teasing, up his sides. He didn’t lift his hands, he held them limp at his sides and she wondered then, idly, how he’d take to being tied up.
“This isn’t helping,” he whispered.
“No?”
He looked at her, his gaze sad and it bothered her. She couldn’t place the anger. He lifted her off of him and stood up, bending his knees to look her in the eye. “I don’t like what you’re doing.”
“Evidence proves otherwise.”
“Oh, I want you. You know that. But it might be nice to be wined and dined, talked to, not at, you know? Conversation. Understanding.”
“Snuggling?”
“Yes. Even hugging. I want… ” Logan stepped away from her, running his fingers through his hair. "I want all of you."
In that moment, Veronica felt utterly embarrassed, foolish and underdressed. She pulled up the straps of her tank top and left her arm there. Across herself, holding the other. It was protective, the gesture. “So basically... you want me to take you out on a date before you put out?” She aimed for blithe but couldn’t stop the defensive upwards jerk of her chin.
Logan was watching her carefully, so carefully, and she hated this careful creature. His tentative steps forward, his hands soft in her hair. Hated. It’s like he knew because he sounded almost apologetic. “Something like that. Yes.”
“Deal. Should we go somewhere now? A movie maybe?" She walked back to the desk, businesslike, fast. Shrugged on her jacket, grabbed her keys. Turned to him expectantly, forced herself to smile.
He rolled his eyes and huffed, annoyed. "My, aren’t we eager?"
"What can I say? I’m a people pleaser. I hear the new Del Toro is good."
Veronica fixed the collar of her jacket in the mirror and watched him as he stared into space, blank and unstudied. She loved him, she thought. But she didn’t want to be in his thrall. It was bad enough as it was. Wanting to be near him all the time, the home she circled back to. Feeling so furious when he disappointed her. It was just easier this way.
“Logan.”
He looked up.
“I’m sorry. You’re not just my booty call. Sometimes it’s hard for me to negotiate the two...” she trailed off, holding her hands up in front of her like a weak-willed prizefighter.
“The two what?”
“My boyfriend and,” she rolled her eyes, embarrassed, “My lover. Ugh. It sounds like something Lilly would say. Sorry.”
Logan’s face softened. He walked up behind her, never taking his eyes of hers in the mirror and rested his chin on the top of her head. “I’m both. Right?”
“Yeah.”
She grabbed his arms, wrapped them around herself, and sunk into his warmth. He broke away first, sauntering towards the exit, stretching, the outline of his fingers black against the yellow-tinged streetlight glow coming through the windows.
Winter 2013
There was one guy who licked her ear.
The one who kept blowing on her nipples, rubbing his stubble on it, then looking up and winking at her.
The athlete who liked to pick her up and carry her around like she was a doll. Or a football.
The film major who sensitively discussed the themes in Persona on their nearly perfect date and barked, “Take it, take it” when she made the mistake of sleeping with him.
The smirky fellow law school student that she couldn’t stand and how she mistook her dislike for attraction (understandable, given her history).
The MA acting student at Columbia that she’d feverishly made out with in front of St. Paul’s and a group walked by and yelled get a room. They did not. And they did.
“I believe they call it a knee trembler,” Veronica mused.
“Now, hold up, what happened to that guy? I remember him. He was sexy as hell.” Sharifa pointed her fuzzy sock clad toes for emphasis. Veronica had gotten her those socks as a gag gift, never thinking the stylish, slim, top-of-her-class law student Sharifa Woodson would actually deign to wear them. She did, she was, and like everything she wore, they actually looked fashionable instead of ridiculous.
They were taking a break from their late night Professional Responsibility study session in Sharifa’s Riverside Drive sublet to yawn and bitch. What Veronica would give for this place. She even loved sleeping on the lumpy couch; knowing she could get to school in ten minutes did wonders for her sleep. So what if she was rumpled, she was rested. Even complaining seemed more luxurious there.
“Yo, Pump Up the Volume. Wake up. The fine ass actor. Where’d he go?”
“Julian? Nice guy but not very bright. I will say this. Hooking up with him was one of the highlights of my life, truly. Kissing him was a privilege. But man, talking to him?” Veronica let out a low whistle. “Rough.”
“Hooking up? Since when do you hook up?” Sharifa yawned and slumped forward onto her knees on the carpeted floor, in a modified child’s pose, her braids fanning around her. Veronica joined her.
“It was an experiment,” Veronica said, her voice muffled by carpeting. “I wanted to see if I could. I had to pick my mark carefully. He had to be someone who I was attracted to but had no chance of falling into any kind of relationship with. Someone who cared about their career above everything else. Someone whose work took them out of town… ”
“Shit, girl, did you compile a dossier?”
Veronica opened her mouth and looked to the side sheepishly. Sharifa laughed and grabbed Veronica's phone from her back pocket.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“I’m getting his number from your contacts and Imma call him and ask him out. See if I can get some of that twelve pack action.”
Veronica jumped up to snatch it back but Sharifa leapt away from her easily, laughing her warm contralto laugh.
“Sorry, lady, I think he’s engaged now. To another actress.”
“Ah well.”
Veronica took her phone from Sharifa's outstretched hand and opened up the Facebook app. Julian was one of her ten Facebook friends, he was bound to have pictures. Jackpot.
“See?” Veronica held up a photo of his wife, resplendent in red, her slender arms snaked around his neck. Sharifa leaned in for a closer look.
“Fuck, she’s gorgeous.”
“Told ya. And they’ll have beautiful, dramatic, IQ-challenged children. The end.”
Sharifa smiled, her large, tawny eyes thoughtful. “I don’t get it. I’m starting to think you do this on purpose.”
“What do you mean? Do what?”
“Pick men that have no chance with you because you’re not interested in committing.”
“That's accurate.”
Sharifa raised her eyebrows.
“What?”
“I hadn't expected you to agree so easily. Sleep-deprivation's made you weak, girl.”
Veronica shrugged. “I want… a lot. I want someone I can talk to, who is caring but not soft . Or at least not all the time. Hey yooo! Gimme some skin.”
They high-fived.
Veronica closed her eyes. “Someone who is funny, fast, gets me but is also calm, peaceful, balances me out. He has to be able to feed me in the manner which I am accustomed. He has to have career goals, a life separate from mine, something interesting and inspiring.”
“Aaaaand?”
“AND…”
“AND he’s got to turn you out.”
“Right. That’s not a lot to ask.”
Sharifa pursed her lips and nodded, patting her head at the crown absentmindedly.
Veronica reached for her ankles, feeling some of the tension in her lower back dissipate, and then propped herself up on her elbows. “This man does not exist. I know this. And it’s okay. I’m not looking for him anyway. I've got bigger fish to fry.”
“You’re wrong, you know. This man does exist. Believe me. It’s possible to find a man who can give you what you need and be someone you want to talk to all the time. You gotta stop fucking ‘round with dudes who only have one interesting thing about them, meet some interesting friends of friends and just let yourself be friends with them too. Eventually one of those friends is going to do something that makes you realize that you could have more with them.”
“But see, here’s the real issue. I don’t want to be with anyone. Not right now.”
“Okay.” There was no mistaking the judgmental scoff in Sharifa’s one-word response.
“I’m serious. If I were to start seriously dating again, it would have to be something so comfortable, so uncomplicated, that I would never have to worry about neglecting it or failing.”
Sharifa tsk-tsked loudly, her voice coming back a hair higher, a slight Southern lilt creeping in. “What you are talking about is a dog, like an actual dog, that you can walk and give treats to. No, nevermind, dogs need more attention than that. What you want is a plant. A cactus. Something that only needs to be watered once erry two months.”
Veronica did not refute her statement. She walked over to the window and looked out at the gray stripe of Hudson visible through the trees. She sighed. “I miss getting turned out.”
“You got turned out, boo boo?”
“I got turned out.” Veronica pouted with a put-upon sadness that was shamefully and secretly somewhat genuine.
“Details?”
Veronica frowned. “An old... friend. It’s complicated.”
“So what happened?”
Veronica rubbed her eyes with her hands. She was exhausted and didn’t have it in her to talk about it. Sharifa didn’t push, just got up, did a few jumping jacks, and went straight to the coffee maker. This is why Veronica adored her. Sharifa was bold, direct, honest but she never pried. She understood that some people had walls that couldn't be breached.
Within a few minutes, the merry sound of percolation pinged and popped and Veronica felt her shoulders relax, the smell of coffee a pillow for her head. Mmm, French Roast.
Sharifa yawned. “Maybe the sex wasn’t that good and your mind’s made it sweeter than it actually was because it’s in the past. I used to think this guy I dated at Bronx Science was really good at giving head when really he just used a lot of spit. Ya know?”
Veronica turned her head slowly at Sharifa. “Is this the part where I say LOL?”
“NO, bitch.” Sharifa clapped and stomped her feet. “No internet-speak in my apartment!” She grabbed the index cards off her countertop and handed them to Veronica. “Hurry up, quiz me on Successive Conflicts.”
As Sharifa cited Analytica v. NPD, her voice echoing in the room, Veronica let her mind wander. So many boys, precious few men, and herself: round hole, round whole, square peg, don’t fit. Sharifa was right. She needed a dog.
Winter 2016
So maybe sitting on someone’s face, albeit a much beloved face, after nine years of not being in touch was something of a bold bedroom move. True, Veronica wasn’t doing much thinking, mostly gasping soundlessly like a hooked fish held in his hands. She’d lowered herself forward onto his stomach, his five o’clock shadow kitten whiskering her legs and took him in her mouth, making sure to pop off the tip after every long suck, because she still remembered how much he liked that. His answering groans vibrating against her confirmed it. He flipped them over, a slow crepuscular wave, and the angle was much better. She took him in further, her throat constricting in time to the erratic thrust of his fingers inside her. They writhed together incrementally, her fingernails scraping the sides of his torso, the ridges there, the dip at his hips. God, his body was insane. She wanted to devour him and she was devouring him. Logan withdrew his fingers, slid out of her mouth and sat up, pulling her to him in a move that was the much missed Logan combination of assertive, yet gentle. Veronica sat down onto him, easy and smooth, moving up and down with him, first halting, then frantic. Logan moved his hips in a slight twisting motion, getting the curve of his cock to go right. Where. It. Needed. To. His hair was so short she had nothing hold onto, so she grasped at his neck and shoulders, barely holding on.
Logan wrapped her hair around his hand, pulling it out of her face to kiss her but also keeping her in place, as he pushed up roughly, making her keen, long and loud. The light in the room was dim, dimmer than the living room, but she could still see his face. His eyes burning into hers. Oh god. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She kissed him, all over his cheekbones, tiny, little blasts of grateful, delirious love and he laughed-moaned, then kept laughing as he followed her into the cliff-fall, returning her kisses, until they curved into one another, breathing hard, done.
Veronica sat back. “Fuck,” she uttered, sharply.
He looked up, noting the tone-change.
She kissed him quickly, and laughed. “We... forgot. Again.”
“Forgot what?” he said, tilting his head and pushing back the wet strands of hair out of her eyes.
She kissed him, to reassure him but also because she didn't want to stop. “To talk. Before. To do ‘the talk’. Again.”
“The talk,” he repeated. “Oh. Um, we don’t have to talk.”
“No, not about our feelings.” Veronica slid off of him, dimly thinking make time for laundry tomorrow, pushing Logan back on the pillows and making herself comfortable on him before continuing. “Though we could do that. I’m not averse. I meant the safe sex talk. We always skip it. Neptune High health classes didn’t stick, I guess.”
Logan breathed out slowly. “Right. Umm, I’ve been tested twice in the last six months, I’m good. Haven’t been with anyone since Carrie.”
She nodded and burrowed into him, instinctually. “I was tested a few weeks ago. Yearly GYN appointment. I’m on the Pill but I used condoms with Piz. So we’re… good, I think.”
He sat up slightly and she couldn’t help herself, she reached and ran a hand on his chest. He took a hold of her wrist, tenderly. He took it with both hands, like a precious thing.
“I can uh, take the hit for this.”
Veronica propped herself up on her arm; she scowled, then yawned. “Sorry. What do you mean?”
“I can talk to Piz for you, explain. With your dad and everything-”
“Oh.” Veronica laughed, a different sort of laugh, short and hard. “Umm. That’s not necessary. I’m not… We’re not together. I wasn’t committed and he rightly called it off.”
“When was this?”
“Today. I mean, yesterday.” It sounded pretty bad to her too. Oops. Had a lot of explaining to do. To everyone. She yawned again.
“I’m sorry, Veronica,” he whispered.
“No, no, no. Don’t be.”
She touched the long lines of his clavicle to his shoulders, letting her fingers skitter over the freckles there. Hello, old friends. Logan was silent. Veronica was exhausted suddenly, her eyes were closing of their own accord, but she knew she needed to say something before passing out.
“I don’t belong in New York. It took all this to make me understand it. I want to talk to you about this, us, everything but I’m so tired. Can you stay with me, can we sleep?”
He squeezed her to him, stroking her back. “Yeah,” he whispered.
“You’re so nice, Logan,” she mumbled into his skin. “You’re like beach furniture. The big cushions. White with red piping.”
He laughed softly. Veronica didn’t remember anything after that. Hours later, the silvery early morning light forced her eyes open. She woke up slowly, dragging her arm across her face. There was a leg draped over hers. Logan’s. She turned to him and kissed his shoulder. He didn’t stir. Not even when she got out of bed.
After calling the hospital and speaking to the doctor on duty, she let herself cry with relief into her hands. She took a shower, got dressed and made coffee. Walking around the living room, thinking, she stepped on something. Looking down, a small white button was pressed against the bare heel of her foot. Veronica put her coffee down and picked up all the shirt buttons scattered around the living room like evidence. She put them in a sandwich baggie and placed it on the table.
Veronica snuck a peek at Logan’s sleeping form, his breathing even and deep. His lips pressed in a serious, solemn line, the same way they always did in sleep. Fuck Gia. Whatever her and Luke thought they could get away with ended today. She was 100% done. Veronica made a quick mental check list of what she needed to accomplish and finished getting ready.
Logan got up soon after. He stood, kissed her softly and held her. She let him, her antsiness settling into something better, deeper, a kind of focused determination. He took a quick shower and walked out dressed, his button-less shirt hanging open like curtains framing a fine vista. A fine vista. He accepted her coffee and ogling without comment. As he sipped, Logan noticed the buttons on the table and asked her for a needle and thread. Materials procured, he sat on the living room couch, leaned forward and sewed every single button back onto his shirt. He did it efficiently and silently, with exact, quick tugs of thread, in no time at all, yanking off the excess strands with his teeth after each one. Veronica watched him, too weirded out to comment or quip. When he was done, he slipped his shirt back on and buttoned it with a precision that was pure theater, eyeing her with a small flirtatious moue. There he was.
Veronica crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Well, somebody thinks he’s hot shit.”
Logan shrugged, biting his lip to keep a grin in. Cute. He was cute. Veronica stepped into his personal space and ran her hands down the line of buttons. She smiled up at him. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he replied.
“Apologies for my lack of social graces.”
“None needed.”
She got up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Sleep well?”
“Very.”
“Yeah. Me too. Surprisingly.”
“Did you call the hospital?”
“Yeah.”
She filled him in on what the doctor had told her and then, far less shakily, outlined her stakeout plan for the day. He nodded and stroked her wrist with his thumb as she talked. Logan Echolls, her friend, her oldest friend, who always knew what she refused to admit she needed.
“Okay, enough logistics, buddy. Let’s make this happen.” She slung her already-prepped bag over her shoulder and stood by the door.
Logan grabbed a green apple off of the counter, rolled it across and caught it when it fell off the edge. He kissed her on the forehead as he passed and strolled out into the sunlight. She laughed, shaking her head, and closed the door behind her, calm in the fact that despite their current predicaments, she was finally, unquestionably, home.
