Well, sort of. Except when their knees bumped, or he breathed on her skin, or he played with her hair like it was the most innocent gesture in the world. But if he ever heard her heart speed up, or smelled the salt of sweat on her palms, he didn’t show it.
Marie was thankful for that, to be honest, because Logan wasn’t like Bobby.
Bobby had been cute, a little bit scrawny, and just as inexperienced as she was. Bobby was safe. They skittered around each other, took turns working up the courage to make the next move. Passed notes with words they were too scared—too immature, really—to say out loud. They discovered things together: how good it could feel to whisper secrets in each other’s ears, to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend, to be two in a world full of ones.
And later, they discovered much more. Like how it made them sweat and shiver and gasp when they moved against each other in bed, even through layers of clothes. A little fumbling, a little embarrassment, but a lot more eagerness and desire. Tentative kisses, testing just how long they could go before they had to pull apart.
And even on those rare times when Bobby pushed too far, or his touch got clumsy and rough, she didn’t mind, because those were the times she was most reassured that he really wanted her. She figured it wouldn't make sense to anybody else. People would think she was crazy for wanting that. But it made her feel paradoxically secure, knowing he couldn’t control himself sometimes, any more than she could control her treacherous skin.
Yes, Bobby was safe.
She had a feeling things wouldn’t be that way with Logan. For all that he promised to protect her, Logan did not make her feel safe or secure. She was a little bit afraid of him. Sometimes a lot afraid of him. And if she really thought about it, she figured maybe she was scared not of Logan, but of her own inexperience.
She was afraid she would do something wrong, something stupid. He was a grown man, and she had no clue how to go about satisfying him, sexually or otherwise. Even if the hopeful side of her did think he was attracted to her. Even if that attraction was mutual.
Even if he had begun in recent months to call her cute and play with her hair. Even if he kissed her on the lips once. A long, wet, sliding kiss, his tongue tracing firmly over her lips, distracting her from the pain after she suffered a Colles’ fracture from a fall in the Danger Room. He acted like it was no big deal, just rubbed her forearm afterwards and asked, “Is it all better?” Of course it was. So were a week’s worth of paper cuts, bruises, sore muscles, and a toothache that had been nagging her. She had called later that afternoon and cancelled her dentist appointment. And they had never brought up the kiss again.
It was really pretty nice of him to let her pretend, keep her innocence intact. He seemed to know that she wasn’t ready to face all those scary grown-up feelings.
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