10. The Joker
CHAPTER TEN
the joker
ROMAN
“So?” Logan asks, barely keeping up with me.
We’ve been running partners for a long time. Well, sort of. Logan spends more time complaining about running than actually doing it. Me? I treat this like therapy. The second my feet hit the cold hardwood floor in the morning, I feel a drive to put on my running gear and head straight outside. I call it discipline, Logan calls it obsession.
It’s probably a bit of both.
“So what?” I huff.
“What the hell do you think I want to know about? How was your date last night?”
“Is that the only reason you came running with me?”
He looks like a summer camp counselor, decked out in a pair of blue shorts, a red hoodie, mismatched socks pulled up to his calves, and all topped off with an 80s sweatband and a pair of battered sneakers.
“No, I just like to look at your gorgeous face, sweetheart!” He barks, in that fake Boston accent of his.
I smile as I shake my head, sweat trickling down my back.
“It was fine.”
“ Just fine?”
It was way more than fine.
We exchanged numbers and we texted all night and again early this morning. She’s funny, and she loved the pictures of my dog, so that’s a plus. We’re meeting up again tomorrow. It was supposed to be tonight, but she’s got plans and I got roped into this student teacher mixer. It’s usually the one outing in a year I can’t avoid. Frankie says the whole department needs to make an appearance, and at least pretend that they care about socializing.
“Yeah,” I reply flatly, trying to focus on the run. “Like I said, it was fine.”
It wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to divulge the details.
“You seem a little looser,” he remarks. “You get laid?”
I raise a brow and glance over at him as sweat drips down his face. He looks like he might be sick, and we’re not even running that fast.
“You good?” I laugh, grateful that his nausea allows me to seamlessly change the subject. “You look a little green around the gills.”
“Yeah, ice cream for breakfast was probably a bad idea.”
I snort as we round the corner. This fucking guy.
“Especially considering your relationship with dairy.”
“And yet she calls to me, that temptress,” Logan sighs. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“You know I don’t kiss and tell,” I mutter. “It’s disrespectful.”
What I don’t want to tell him is that every time her name pops up on my phone, my heart leaps into my throat. She’s so easy to talk to, and while I found myself nervous at first, multiple times now I’ve quickly melted into conversations about literally anything.
“Fine,” Logan sighs. “I can respect that. But you do look different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know, just a little lighter.”
I take my shot.
“Like with you and Abi?”
Logan lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head as I chuckle.
“Equivalent exchange. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Flynn.”
He lets out a frustrated groan as I push myself a little harder, relishing that deep burn in my thighs while I pull away from him. This afternoon, there’s a little bit of fog clinging to the ground, giving the trail an eerie feeling. It gives the campus an ethereal feel.
“Come on, slow poke!” I shout.
“Did Frankie say something to you about that?” Logan pants as he struggles to catch up to me.
“What, that you’re slow as molasses? Get those bird legs going, Flynn!”
He whines, lurching toward me like Frankenstein’s monster on steroids.
“No, you asshole! About me and Abi!”
He’s guarded, and a little more angry than I expected. That could be the running, though. He hates every second of working out, and only began when Abi started working here a couple of years ago.
“Nope. You two just seemed pretty chummy at her birthday the other night. It may have been a bit of a clue when you called her your date.”
I’m almost certain he’s got it bad for Abi, but whether or not it's just an unrequited crush remains to be seen.
“I was two beers deep!” Logan motions to me that he needs a break, putting his hands on his knees. “Nice deflection from talking about your date, by the way.”
I lean up against a tree and stretch my quads.
“Thank you, I worked hard on that.”
“Abi’s just a friend,” he mutters, pulling his hair back with both hands. “We’re just friends, that’s all.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me want to encourage him to be reckless. He and Abi always seemed closer than just colleagues. More than once, I’ve heard her giggles spill out from beneath the crack in Logan’s office door as I walked past. I don’t think it would come as a shock to anyone if they wound up together.
“I’ve got to be super careful with my sister in the house, too. I don’t need her getting the wrong impression about all of this.”
“About all of what? Your secret affair?” I tease.
He’s smiling, but I can see I’ve gone too far, and raise my hands. It’s our silent signal to show that we’re done going at each other. I can see his body language relax a little as we return to running, and after a few minutes of silence, I speak up.
“I still can’t believe your parents didn’t stop at one kid after you.”
“Iggy’s not so bad,” he laughs.
Logan’s got some pictures of his dad on his desk, but that’s pretty much it. Otherwise, it’s horror movie posters, his degrees, and some plants, so I’ve never seen what she looks like; I’m assuming it’s a hell of a lot like him.
“I believe you referred to her as ‘a royal pain in my ass’. Did I get the quote right?”
“That’s just the kind of shit you say about your sister. And she’s gonna be your new TA, so you’d better be extra nice to her. I know you’ve made a couple of them cry over the years.”
“That was because they weren’t showing up to classes, and one was nearly a month behind on grading.”
Frankie’s rarely worked this quickly to get me a replacement in the past, so I was relieved when Imogen sent me a short message of introduction this morning. She seems perfectly normal over email, but then again, so does Logan.
And then he comes crashing into your life like the Kool-Aid Man.
“Yeah, well, she’s coming to the mixer tonight, so you better be on your best behavior.”
“You got it, doc.”
We pause again as Logan doubles over, gasping for breath, with his hands pressed against his thighs. I know what comes next, so I point to some trees as I watch him suppress the urge to vomit.
“In there, and nowhere near my damn sneakers.”
Logan stumbles over to the bushes and gags, but nothing comes out. He spits and wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out.
JADE: Something to tide you over until tomorrow.
I open the text messaging app to see her in a black leather bra complete with thick leather straps that cinch her waist. No panties, just her hand barely covering her pussy. My jaw hangs open, nearly dropping my phone as I stare.
“God, this sucks,” Logan groans as he stumbles toward me.
I jam my phone into my pocket as quickly as I can.
“You offered to come. I didn’t drag you out here by your hair.”
“Yeah,” he hisses, wincing with every step. “I’m trying to get more toned, you know? Pick up more chicks.”
“Well, the Jack Skellington socks are really pulling the whole sickly Victorian child look together.”
“Can’t we walk the rest of it?” Logan whines. “I’ve got beer in the fridge at home. We can pregame before we get to the Hi-Dive.”
“I’m 43, Logan. I think pregaming is out the window,” I chuckle.
I forgot that I agreed to go to his place before the mixer. He texted during a moment of weakness and I agreed. Ever since last night, I’ve been thinking more and more about pushing myself beyond my comfort zone.
“Okay, so I’ll get you a beer and a V8,” he replies, ripping off his hoodie and slinging it over his shoulder. “I don’t know why you do this to yourself.”
“Again, you didn’t have to come with me,” I chuckle.
“Hey, you should bring your lady friend tonight,” Logan says, ignoring my comment. “I’d like the chance to make fun of you for a change.”
I pat him on the shoulder as we walk the rest of the way back to my car.
“Not a fuckin’ chance.”
The drive to Logan’s place is short, although it certainly begins to stretch when he starts whistling along to the Prince song that’s blaring from the speakers. I keep having to resist pulling my phone out to look at that picture of Jade one more time, going over the details in my head instead. By the time we get back to Logan’s place I’m practically drooling at the thought of getting my hands on her again.
Logan ushers me into the house, and I can’t help but notice it’s deathly quiet as I kick my shoes off.
“Where’s your sister?” I ask, glancing around.
There’s no indication that another person besides him even lives here, other than a bright pink leather jacket that hangs on the coat rack. Definitely not Logan’s color.
“She went out to some thrift store in Tacoma with her friends,” he replies. “She’ll be at the mixer, then you can say you’ve had the honor of meeting almost all the Flynns in person.”
“Can’t wait,” I reply in a flat tone.
Logan punches me in the arm and I smirk, adjusting my small duffel bag on my shoulder.
“Is that bathroom downstairs still free?”
“It's Iggy’s bathroom now, but you’re welcome to use it,” Logan replies as he heads toward the stairs, massaging the back of his thigh as he goes. “I’ve gotta put some Tiger Balm on these gams.”
“I’m not sure anyone’s used the word gams since the ‘30s.”
“You’re not sure? Isn’t that when you were born?”
“I’m only seven years older than you, jackass!” I bark, feigning a lunge at him before peeling off and heading down to the basement.
It smells a hell of a lot better down here than it did when he first bought the place. This whole house was a dump and Logan insisted that he could fix it up himself. Three days later, he found a nest full of wolf spiders in the basement and decided to call in the professionals. Logan’s the kind of guy who will trap spiders and set them free outside, but even he couldn’t stomach that many of them all at once.
The door to the guest room is open, and I head towards it, unable to help myself. I linger in the doorway, taking in the ornate vintage furniture, the massive bed, and the horror movie posters lining the walls. It looks so personalized, infinitely more lived-in than the concrete husk of a room it was when I was last here.
It makes me wish I had the energy to do more around my own apartment. It’s been two years and I barely have the emotional strength to look through Christa’s things, let alone hang up a single one of her paintings.
I sigh and head into the bathroom, preparing myself for the second night in a row of stepping out of my comfort zone. I used to feel like I was trapped in this goddamn purgatory with no end in sight, but now…
Well, life goes on.
“Scratch!”
Frankie cackles as the cue ball bounces against the bumpers on the pool table.
“Goddamn, Flynn! I thought you said you were a shark!”
“Amateur hour,” Abi calls across the table, shooting Logan a wink as his face goes bright red.
It’s Logan and I versus Abi while Frankie provides colorful commentary from the sidelines. We initially thought it might even the playing field, but it’s quickly becoming clear that more players does not equal more wins.
“I thought I had that one,” Logan murmurs, passing me the cue.
Some grad students from the sociology department are already here, playing their own games of pool or mingling at the bar. It’s the same every fall, we book the place and they shut it all down for the night. It’s kind of like a company Christmas party, which we’re no longer allowed to have after the ‘bobbing for pigs’ incident at the Hilton in Seattle.
That one was Frankie’s fault. He got drunk off his ass, stole a tray full of pigs in a blanket from another Christmas party, and then started throwing them in the pool and telling people to dive for them. Like apples, he said. Abi’s got the whole thing on video, which Frankie finds very not funny.
“Hey! Roman!” Abi barks as one of her balls just barely misses a pocket. “It’s your turn!”
I pull myself out of my stroll down memory lane.
“Sorry, I was miles away.”
“He’s thinking about his giiiirlfriend ,” Logan teases, leaning forward.
Abi’s eyes light up.
“Girlfriend?!” She squeaks. “You’ve been hiding a girlfriend from us?!”
“No! No, Flynn, don’t start this shit.”
“Look at him!” Logan shouts. “He’s glowing!”
“That’s the run we went on earlier,” I bite back, moving in to line up my shot.
“I didn’t know Logan could run, I thought he always just flapped his big bird arms and flew away,” Abi replies.
Frankie chokes on his beer, high fiving her.
“Don’t you have a house to haunt, Abi?” Logan fires back.
I use the laughter as an opportunity to take my shot, sinking one in the corner pocket.
“Ooooh!” Abi giggles into her drink. “Catching up!”
Abi’s sunk all but three of her balls while Logan and I have sunk a grand total of three of our own. Frankie keeps saying he’s about to take over the game, but he’s all talk. The guy can’t play pool for shit.
Logan begins slinking around the table like he’s hunting for something, and I pass him the cue.
“Who’s the girlfriend?” Abi asks, only half paying attention as she watches Logan with rapt amusement.
“Yeah, I’m curious who could possibly bag Roman Burke,” Frankie chimes in.
“There’s no girlfriend,” I laugh. “It’s just casual. We’ve just been… hanging out. We played mini golf once and we’re texting. It’s really not a big deal.”
“Frankie?” Abi sips her drink, arching a brow. “Confirm for me, is he blushing?”
“Hard to tell. Logan, touch his face.”
Logan looks up at me from across the table, grinning but quickly thinking better of it.
“Nah, I’m not getting hit tonight.”
“Why didn’t you bring her?” Frankie asks.
“Because I wouldn’t want to subject her to the three of you and your asinine questions.”
Frankie nods, sagely.
“As a researcher, I resemble that remark.”
I smile as Logan takes the shot, hitting his target, but missing the center pocket by a mile. Instead, the ball ricochets off of the bumper, slamming Abi’s solid orange one straight into a corner pocket.
“Yes!” Abi shouts, just as Frankie rushes over and tries to blow one of our balls into the pocket.
“Hey, outside interference!”
She shoves him away, the two of them laughing hysterically.
“I gotta help my friends!” Frankie insists.
“ I’m your friend too, asshole!”
I glance over to see how Logan’s taking the loss, but he’s not even paying attention anymore. Instead, he’s waving his hands in the air like a madman.
“Iggy!” He shouts. “C’mere!”
I turn around, expecting a carbon copy of Logan Flynn, but the image I’m met with causes a boulder to form in my gut. Long, lavender hair that flows down her back in gorgeous waves, those eyes that remind me of my favorite brand of smoky bourbon, and those lips that were wrapped around my cock and whispered the filthiest shit I’ve ever heard in my ear.
“Shit.”