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“… wish you were here. It’s ass-numbingly cold up here this time of year, and it sure would be nice to have you here to keep me hot. Take care of yourself, kid. I’ll be home soon. -L”

I finished reading Logan’s latest letter. He always ended with the same two sentences. I recounted in my head; Logan had been gone for about a year now, but had been assuring me that he would be home soon for several months. I had gotten used to it.

It wasn’t like I was just sitting in my room, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for his return like some sort of whaling widow. There was plenty to do around the mansion. I was in a transitional phase, of sorts: I was done with school, but I hadn’t moved on to become a teacher, yet. I figured I would eventually, but for now I was enjoying my time off. My friends, for the most part, all still lived in the mansion as well, so I had plenty of people to keep me company. However, I had to be honest and admit that it would have been nice to have my favorite friend around.            

Logan had stuck around to see my “graduation” before taking off. I use the word graduation loosely, as we don’t really have an official matriculation ceremony here at the School for Gifted Youngsters. It makes sense, when you think about it. Most of the kids here wouldn’t have anyone to invite to the ceremony since many were disowned by their families a long time ago. And the majority of the kids who do still talk to their parents have kept the school’s true purpose a secret. Mom and Dad just think their kid got into a hot-shot prep school on a killer scholarship. So, a true graduation would only bring about painful or awkward feelings for most of the kids.

Instead, we have an end of the term banquet for the seniors. It’s a nice time with sumptuous food and everyone all dressed up and behaving themselves. There’s also dancing, but I’m not much of a two-stepper, so I sat out most dances at my banquet. At least until he approached me.

Logan’s not exactly the kind of guy who likes to gussy up, but as he stood before me in clean slacks, pressed shirt, and tie, I had to admit, he didn’t look too bad. I think I prefer the lumberjack look, but this wasn’t too bad either…oh, who am I kidding? The man could wear a tutu and still look smokin’. A slow dance had started, and he gruffly asked me to dance, seeming a little embarrassed. I couldn’t blame him; he was clearly out of his element.

            I agreed to the dance, and as we swayed I couldn’t help noticing how warm and strong his embrace felt. Having recently found the off-switch for my toxic skin, I was enjoying having the freedom to wear a strapless dress. We had hugged before, and he had had to carry me out of some dangerous situations, so I was no stranger to his arms, but this was the first time I felt like a woman in them instead of just some kid he was protecting. We danced two more songs together before a set of fast-tempo songs started. We withdrew from each other, knowing that neither one of us enjoyed that sort of thing. He mumbled something about going up north again, and that he would return at some point and that I shouldn’t worry. I nodded my head, which was still swimming from our dance. I couldn’t help feeling a little sad. He had left on these excursions before, it was nothing new, but I really didn’t want him to go this time.

            I looked down, willing myself to improve my sad-puppy countenance and hold back the tears. Tears, I might add, which were a surprise to me. I heard Logan sigh, and felt his fingers gently lift my chin up. He opened his mouth to say something, but apparently decided against it. Instead, he gave me a look I had never seen him give me before and stroked my face. He then turned and left without another word.

            Since he had left that night, he had been dutiful in his correspondence to me. He always was. Whenever he left he would make sure that he wrote every other week or so, letting me know how, or, when he could, where he was. His letters would ask how I was, even though he knew I had no way of responding. When I was younger he would remind me to study hard, and sometimes he would send a small token along with the letter. Being that it was Logan, said tokens were likely to be a beer label he found amusing or an Indian arrowhead.

            Yet, this time the letters really had a hold on my attention. He had sent no trinkets, but his letters had definitely been changing. It had started innocently enough, saying that he had been travelling along the road when he picked up a scent that reminded him of me. That’s nice, I had mused, and hadn’t given it another thought. But, slowly, the messages had become more, dare I say suggestive? Maybe not quite that, but definitely flirty.

“…I was bunking down for the night, and thinking of you, kid…”

“…met this amazing woman at the bar last night, she looked just like you…”

“…in the middle of an incredible dream, and you were in it…”

And then had come the letter in which, out of the blue, he had inquired as to my relationship status:

“…got me wondering if you had shacked up with some guy yet. It’s weird for me to think of you being with a guy, kid, probably because you know I think no man is good enough for you.”

As usual, his query went unanswered, but I couldn’t help but wonder what he had meant by it.

            And now this latest letter. “…sure would be nice to have you here to keep me hot.”

An odd choice of words. Why say “hot” instead of just “warm”? “Hot” certainly had a different connotation, surely Logan knew that. “Hot” implied that it would be more than just some innocent body heat keeping him nice and toasty. “Hot” implied some sort of…friction. I posed my quandary to Jubilee at dinner, shoving the newest letter in her face.

She read it over and her eyebrows shot up. “Well, if it was only in this letter that he mentioned something suggestive, then I would write it off as bad word choice or his general horniness coming through.” She continued, putting a finger to her chin as if to stroke an imaginary goatee, “However, we must take into account his previous missives. Seeing as how he has constructed a preset code of flirtation, I would have to conclude that by using this particular word he is, at least subconsciously, telling you he wants to bone ya.”

            “Okay, first of all,” I started, staring at my friend, “you really need to lay off the Law & Order. Second of all, you know how he is. This could just be his way of saying he’s missing me.”

“You must be the only girl in this mansion who is willing to fight the fact that Wolverine, the guy most girls around here consider to be sex on a dish, is after you.”

“I just find it a little hard to believe, seeing as how until recently he’s never shown one iota of interest in me…or at least in that way. I just assumed he thought of me as a little girl,” I said, shrugging.

“Well,” Jubilee said, smiling, “I think he knows you’re a woman now.”

I let my friend’s words swirl around in my head for a couple of weeks. I went about my business as usual, but it was always there on the back burner. Until I got another letter. I ripped open the envelope and read over the trade mark scrawl that was Logan’s handwriting. It sounded routine enough, until I came to the last paragraph:

            “I’ll end with some great news. I’ll be home at the end of the month, darlin’, and I cannot wait to be with you. I’m getting excited just thinking about. So, get ready! Take care of yourself, Marie. I’ll be home soon, I promise this time.”

            My stomach all but dropped out. He was coming home? With this knowledge came a rush of nerves. It had been one thing to sit and read through his little intonations. It would be quite another thing to have to face him, a real, live, possibly hot-for-me Wolverine. I fought the desire to faint and instead ran to Jubilee’s room. I burst through her door. She was painting her toe nails on her carpet. Jubilee looked up at me, then at the piece of paper I clutched in my hand and smirked. I supressed my urge to smack her.

            “So, another letter?” she asked. I nodded and closed the door behind me. “Does it say anything good?”

            “Um, I think so, but I’m not sure. Here, you read,” I said as I gave her the letter. I directed her, “Last paragraph.”

            Her eyes moved back and forth as she read. A Cheshire grin spread across her face. “I think he’s being pretty clear, hon! I mean, ‘be with you’? You don’t say that unless you mean “with” in the sexin’ sense.”

            I breathed out heavily and tried to control my heartbeat. Logan wanted me, “with” him. I must have looked like I’d gone into a space coma, because next thing I knew, Jubilee was up, snapping in my face and asking if I was all right. I could only nod.

            “So, I guess the most important question here is what are you going to?” she said. “Are you gonna go through with this? I mean, you’ve never really said anything about being into him.”

            It was true. I had never given Jubilee (and her big, fat mouth) any hint of how I felt about him. But, to be fair, I had never really given myself time to honestly think through what I had come to call ‘The Logan Issue’ in my head. Whenever my mind went there, to images of him, and maybe me, tangled up in sheets, I had always resolutely shut those thoughts down. We had a great friendship, and I didn’t want to ruin it by cultivating some crush. But, now it looked like I would have to face the problem head on and be truthful with myself. The answer came almost immediately. Of, course I wanted to go through with it. The fact that I was repressing steamy thoughts of the man, well, the fact that there were steamy thoughts to repress was enough evidence that I wanted him.

            “You know what, Jubes? I think I will. I guess I never really allowed myself to think of him that way, but now that I am…yeah, I want to be “with” him, too,” I confessed.

            Jubilee let out a loud whoop.

            “SHHH! Shush! I don’t want everyone to know. So, shut your mouth about it ok? Promise?” I glared at her.

            “Fine, fine, fine,” she said, rolling her eyes, “But, you are going to be screwing Logan. Wolverine! I bet it’ll be hot. Oh, I’m getting warm just thinking about him,” she began fanning herself. “I bet he’s hung like a…hey, what’s the matter? Don’t go space cadet on me now!”

            The realization of what I had just decided to do had finally hit me. Like a load of bricks. “Omigod, Jubes, what the hell am I supposed to do? I’m going to fuck Logan,” I whispered to her.

            She glanced at the letter again, and then said decidedly, “I think we should do what the man says, and get you ready!”