Playdates and Permission Slips

05. Spare Me…

Author: OriginalCeenote

Summary: Play date, or some cleverly conceived, inescapable ninth level of Hell? You decide.

Author's Note: Tag, Reiko!

“What do you MEAN, I can’t wear my own shoes?”

“House rules, ma’am. If you wanna bowl, you have to wear them. We rent them for two dollars for the duration of your game.”

Ewwww… Bowling shoes…

“I don’t know whose feet have been in these!”

“The feet of someone who liked to bowl and who followed the rules.” The clerk was wholly unsympathetic. Ororo sighed, mentally cursing him with a case of foot fungus. She settled on the red pair with white stripes, asking for an eleven and a half. She sputtered in outrage when he handed her a pair of thirteens.

“I can’t wear these. I’ll look like Ronald McDonald.”

“Sorry, ma’am. Bowling shoes are one size up from what you normally wear. And we don’t have that half-size on hand tonight.” He slapped the shoes on top of the counter with a shrug. “Special tonight at the snack bar is the nachos,” he offered lamely, as if that would pacify her. Ororo stalked off to the lanes she reserved, feeling a surge of irritation when she noticed Lucas furtively shrugged over his Gameboy Advance, his shoulders jerking periodically as he worked the controls.

“Luke,” she snapped, “what did I say about leaving that in the car?”

“Mom…”

“Don’t Mom me. You knew good and well it was supposed to stay in the car.”

“I didn’t want anything to happen to it,” he whined.

“Then you should have kept it at home,” she pointed out, folding her arms as imposingly as she could despite the pair of ugly, humongous bowling shoes dangling from her fingers.

“Wow…those are big shoes.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re still in trouble.” Luke cringed, staring down at his game that he had on pause. Ororo set the shoes on the sorry excuse for a cramped little table that was bolted onto the bench and held out her hand imperiously. He gave a long-suffering sigh and placed the Gameboy into her grip and silently kissed it goodbye. He gave her his best wounded puppy look before settling in for a good, long snit. Ororo’s hands itched to start up a game herself, even if Sonic the Hedgehog wasn’t her favorite, but anything was better than bowling.

Before she could contemplate that, she heard her name rasped closer than she expected it, nearly startling her out of her skin. “Hey there, Ororo. Hey, Lucas. Ready fer Laura an’ me ta wipe the floor with ya?”

“Thrilled,” Ororo deadpanned, silently admiring the casual ease with which he carried himself. He had excellent posture, and his shoulders were broad and solid, emphasized to perfect advantage by his black leather jacket, lined in cream sherpa fleece. The leather was weather-worn and broken in when he nudged her, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

“Ya look like it,” he smirked. Drat; he her a dimple when he smirked, too. “Laura’s pickin’ out a pair of shoes.” He peeked at the red pair on the table and grinned. “Check out those gunboats! Somebody leave those behind?”

“A-HEM!” she grumbled, hands propping themselves against her shapely hips. It dawned on him, then, and he recovered quickly.

“Right. See ya got yer shoes…ya picked out a ball yet?”

“Uh-uh.” She sighed heavily, rubbing her nape as if she felt a tension headache coming on. He recognized that look; Silver made it often enough and blamed him every time.

“I can help with that,” he offered, shrugging out of his jacket and laying it on the bench. He moved to the shelves and perused the balls. “Best if ya start out with a lighter ball til ya figure out how much spin ya put on it when ya throw.”

“Lovely,” she muttered sourly.

“Just tryin’ ta help,” he muttered back. “C’mon, don’t be a sourpuss. It’s s’posed ta be fun; yer familiar with the concept? I tell ya a joke, ya laugh ta humor me, and ya get the bug outta yer butt long enough ta let yerself have a good time?”

“There’s no such bug,” she sputtered. “I BEG your pardon!”

“’Kay; ya got it. No need ta beg, darlin’!” He turned back from the rack, enjoying the little ticked off look she was giving him. “Try this one,” he rumbled, handing her the sky-blue enameled ball with iridescent white swirls on its surface. “It’s a ten-pounder.” She took it from him, lifting it experimentally. Their fingertips grazed each other, and he swallowed roughly at the faint contact.

“Not bad,” she murmured. “Goes with my outfit.”

“Matches yer eyes,” he countered. “They’re nice.”

“That sounded like flattery, Mister Howlett.”

“Guess that means yer hearing’s fine then, Ms. Munroe.” She peered down at him with hooded eyes, suppressing a smile. He caught the twitch of her lips.

“Dad, can I have some quarters? Rachel’s in the arcade,” Laura whined. She noticed Lucas pouting in his seat, attempting to ignore her, and her father standing too close to his mother. “Is that the ball you’re gonna use?”

“Probably,” Ororo agreed affably, giving Laura a warm smile.

“I’m already up to an eleven-pound ball,” Laura boasted.

“Big deal,” Lucas grumbled under his breath. Ororo remembered her reason for their encounter and approached her pouting son.

“Why don’t you give Laura her gift?”

“Okay, FINE,” he griped, as though she’d asked him to eat liver. He trudged over to the opposite bench and retrieved the carefully wrapped package topped with a glittering pink bow. “Here,” he insisted, shoving it at her. Laura accepted it from him and he shrank back as though she had cooties.

“That was smooth,” Ororo muttered helplessly. “Way to be hardheaded, Lucas.”

“What do ya say, Laura?”

“Thank you,” she recited, already peeling back the paper and gasping at the doll. “Awesome! It’s a MyScene Fab Faces Barbie!” The doll had dark brown hair and a glossy pucker, Logan noticed, and even looked a bit like his daughter.

“What’s so fab about her face?” Logan didn’t pretend to have a clue.

“Watch!” Laura hurried over to him, beaming as he pressed the “Try Me” button through the perforated plastic. The doll squawked “Wait till you hear what I heard!” in a tinny voice, and her mouth actually moved in an almost fishlike manner, making Logan wonder who stayed up all night dreaming this shit up.

“That couldn’t have been cheap,” he murmured. “Ya didn’t hafta go through the trouble.”

“Are you kidding? I would have given my right arm for a doll like that when I was her age. No trouble,” Ororo said dismissively, but she saw a flare of wounded pride in his eyes and wondered why.

“Anyway…Luke, we gotcha something. Laura picked it out.” He handed Lucas the bag and watched Laura scamper off to the arcade. Lucas’ face broke out into a grin when he pulled the action figures out and examined them.

“Cool,” he breathed, looking up at Logan with something akin to respect. “Triple H!” Mom, Laura didn’t even pick me out a lame one! THANKS!” Loagn’s shoulders shook, while Ororo wanted to sink into the floor with embarrassment.

“Glad ya like it, Big Man,” Logan chuckled, shaking his head, content that his gift was appreciated.

Ororo heard a flurry of footsteps as Lorna came running down the wide aisle with Rachel Summers in tow. She was dressed in pink camo pants and a long-sleeved Hello Kitty tee shirt with sparkles, and she’d made laughable attempts at makeup, her eyelids sporting a layer of green TInkerbell eye shadow. Trudging after them was Rachel’s brother Nathan, whose eyes lit up as they landed on Ororo. She gave him a small wave and smiled at him, making him puff out his chest. He slumped next to Lucas and they exchanged a high five.

“Whassup?”

“S’up. Check out my Triple H.”

“Hm. I’ve got Edge and Sean Michals,” Nathan offered, but he eyed Luke’s action figures with interest. This one had removable knee pads. “I want Chris Jericho, too.”

“He’s all right,” Luke agreed. “Mom, can we get nachos?”

“You just ate ten minutes ago,” Ororo reminded him, mentally adding up everything that she’d fed him since waking up that morning. Eggs and bacon. Toast. Almost a quart of orange juice, prompting her to threaten him that he’d turn into an orange if he drank any more. A bag of microwaved popcorn. Grilled cheese and carrot sticks. Six Oreos with milk. A handful of pretzels that he’d snatched up before they got into the car to come over. She didn’t know where he put it all, and it was nearly impossible keeping him in sneakers, since he seemed to inherit her own big feet AND his dad’s.

“So can we get some?” His voice was hopeful and clueless. Ororo sighed, then reached for her purse, pawing through it for her wallet. She fished out a five-dollar bill and tucked it into his hand.

“Bring me back my change,” she admonished.

“Okay!” Roughly translated as “what change?” He and Nate ran off to the snack bar with visions of the biggest nacho plate they had and enough soda to sail a yacht dancing in their heads.

“Laura’s got a hollow leg,” Logan grumbled. “I just brought bread and cereal two days ago. I’ve gotta buy ‘em again today.”

“Time to buy stock in General Mills.”

“I’ll have my broker sign me up fer as many shares of Cocoa Puffs as he can get his hands on.” If he had a broker, Logan mused to himself. He fed what little drabble of extra money he had into a credit union savings account he’d opened for Laura as soon as she was born, with a deposit of one crisp dollar.

“What do you do?”

“Aside from watchin’ my little girl eat us outta house and home? I fix cars and heavy machinery. Body work, too.” He returned to the shelf to select a ball, choosing a black fourteen-pound with an iridescent finish. He set the ball on the floor and sat down to slip on his shoes; they were a dingy blue with laces missing their binders, but he looked at home in them, not to mention the chambray shirt he wore over a gray tee, tucked into well- broken in Levi’s. “Ya wanna keep score, darlin’?”

“Do we have to?” She gave a dramatic, long-suffering groan.

“Usually how it works. It ain’t like playin’ tee ball, when yer not out even when they tag ya.”

“Really?” She looked surprised. “Lucas never played tee ball. His dad never signed him up for it. He was more into soccer and rugby.”

“I can go for watching some soccer,” Logan agreed. “Laura’s aces at it. She’s a mean goalie, but she likes playing right halfback. Loves ta be all over the field.”

“Some people are born to play the field,” Ororo replied, and he couldn’t tell if it was a double entendre. Her eyes revealed nothing, but they still drew him in. Cerulean blue, the irises ringed in violet. Damn.

“Depends on the game.” She sat by the score monitor to begin putting on her shoes, laying her Mary Janes protectively beneath the table. She paused when he reached over her, grazing her as he began punching in the initials of each bowler to start their game. She caught a whiff of his unique scent, mostly a crisp, clean mingling of Old Spice, detergent and his own skin’s pheromones. She fought the urge to grasp his sleeve and hold him there so she could lean in and take a deeper breath. Certain scents evoked a feeling of comfort and visions of things that made Ororo feel warm inside. Logan wore them all like a blanket.

Her reverie was dashed to bits at the sound of a perky soprano that managed to rise above the cacophony of rolling balls thundering down the lanes and crashing pins.

“Ororo! It’s been ages since I saw you! Where are the kids?”

“The boys are getting nachos,” Ororo explained casually, taking in Jean’s outfit with a note of admiration and amusement. Like her, she’d chosen to overdress for the play date, just because she could. She wore Seven jeans and a bright red Baby Phat top with the logo picked out in rhinestones, and she left her red hair loose and wavy. She dangled her own pair of six bowling shoes – Ororo fumed at the unfairness of it all – from her fingers, looping her free hand through her husband’s arm.

“How are you, Ororo?” Scott beamed, enjoying the view and removing his sunglasses, letting them hang from the collar of his polo shirt. He nodded at Logan briefly, then leaned over and kissed his wife’s temple with a calculated gleam in his eye. “Logan,” he nodded. Jean leaned up to her husband and patted his cheek before descending the short steps to the lanes.

“I love that top,” Jean gushed. “Gucci?”

“Nope. Raindrops. Raided my own stash. This one’s part of my new line.” Jean’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“Shut UP! You’re kidding! Wow! You’re so…talented.” She made the universal half-snort of ‘get outta town!’ and nudged Ororo’s shoulder playfully. “It’s sickening.”

“Jeannie can’t even sew on a button,” Scott chuckled. Jean shot daggers at him with her green eyes and began slipping into her shoes.

“Bet I’ll beat your score again,” Jean bragged. “What do you say, Ororo? Should we take these guys to the cleaners?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Feel free ta try,” Logan grinned, enjoying Ororo’s narrowed eyes, which she promptly rolled before retrieving her ball. He finished keying in Scott’s and Jean’s initials on the monitor and took his turn first. The ball rolled smoothly down the lane, and his form was perfect. Logan pumped his fist, chanting “c’mon, all the way, ALL THE WAY! YEAAAAAHHH! WHOOOOOO!” He waved his fist in a circle and crowed “Who’s yer daddy?” Ororo’s jaw dropped open as the last pin teetered and wobbled back and forth before falling obediently over to join its brothers. A strike. She groaned, and Jean smiled.

“Scott, hon, could you get us some sodas? Be a sweetie,” she urged prettily. Scott shrugged and patted his pants for his wallet.

Logan took his last three shots, picking up a neat spare. Ororo sighed and moved the indicator down to her slot, rising to take her turn. Her only consolation was watching Logan’s lean form lunging neatly into his throws. The man had a niiiiiiiice backside, oh, yes, indeedy. She did feel indignant, however, when she noticed Jean shooting him – and it – the same dreamy little look.

Wasn’t this heifer married?

“Need any help settin’ it up, darlin’?”

“No, she doesn’t,” Jean shot back, leaning back on her elbows against the table, letting her breasts jut out provocatively as she gave him an indolent look, swinging the leg that she had crossed over the other.

Ororo sent up a silent prayer and tucked her fingers into the wholes, drawing back and feeling her wrist twist at just the wrong moment. The ball hit the lane with a hollow thud, rolling and wobbling just this far shy of the gutters before taking out one lonely pin.

“Ya gotta follow through. Watch yer stance,” Logan encouraged. She looked thoroughly out of her element and cute as a button. She made an exasperated noise and tried again, this time moving more quickly toward the line, trying not to mince in the enormous bowling shoes. Still awkward, and the ball ran straight into the gutter. Drat.

“Yer all stiff,” Logan educated her, and she felt him approach her as she waited for her ball to come back to her. He took it before she could even lay a finger on it. “C’mere. Try this.” He tucked her fingers into the holes, closing in on her until she felt his chest brushing the back of her arm. His chambray shirt was clean and worn to velvety softness, his wonderful scent tickling her nostrils. His hands were strong and warm, slightly callused fingers wrapping around the ball and spreading her fingers across its surface. “See this? Yer arm’s hooking in a little, puttin’ too much slant on the ball. Keep it straight when ya bring it back,” he advised.

“Er…like this?”

“Naw. Let’s do it again…there. Like that.” His hand made its way to her waist, and she suppressed a tiny shiver at the contact as he commandeered her hand as it held the ball, giving it a sample swing. He urged her body to mimic his follow-through, and it felt…funny. Butterflies danced in her stomach.

“She’s getting the hang of it, Logan, let her throw!” Jean carped impatiently. Ororo heard a snide note in her voice and tsked.

“Better get this over with. I can handle it from here, I think,” Ororo assured him, moving reluctantly away from his solid warmth. He held up his palms in surrender and stepped back.

“Have it yer way.” Her next throw wasn’t much better than the first two, but she knocked down three pins. She stood back with her hands on her hips.

“There,” she beamed.

“Right. Think I’ll just stay on Scott’s team,” Jean decided, winking at Ororo and patting her on the back as though dismissing her before she took her turn at the lane. Her expression was downright saucy as she dropped into her lunge, her leg kicking back in a perfect flick as she sent the green and yellow glitter-speckled ball hurtling down and taking out seven pins. She picked up the spare, and took down all but the last one on her third try. Ororo silently contemplated how far up Jean’s sassy butt her oversized Ronald McDonald bowling shoe would fit if she shove-

“Jeannie, here’s your Diet Pepsi,” Scott announced. He set down a 7-Up for Ororo, which she gratefully accepted. “Who’s winning?”

“Don’t ask,” Ororo grumbled, taking a thirsty gulp of soda. Scott’s eyes lingered too long on her mouth sucking the straw. Jean caught the change in his posture as he seemed to puff up to his full height while he studied her.

“Ororo’s not really into the game,” Jean explained. She poked Scott in the ribs. “Your turn, hon.”

“Bossy,” he grinned, but obediently took his turn. Jean was right; her husband’s form was good, but his aim was always just a little off. He managed one spare by the skin of his teeth, only because he chanted a prayer at the last pin to fall. He ruffled his wife’s hair smugly, enjoying her consternation as she scowled at him. Her hands flew up and preened it back into place as she peered over to Logan to see if he was watching.

“Yer up, Ororo.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Then she had a brainstorm. “Shouldn’t the kids be back here? We came to let them bowl.”

“Eh. True. Hold on…Laura, get yer tail over here an’ bowl! Bring the rest of the kids with ya!” he bellowed down the aisle, noticing his daughter already looking like she and Rachel were getting into it with Nate over how many gaming tokens they had left. Laura whipped her head back to her father and gave a long-suffering shrug before she returned with Rachel in tow. Nate and Lucas were slower to follow, dispatching the rest of what looked like an enormous basket of nachos.

“Nathan, you already ate!” Jean complained, shaking her head. “Why do you kids love that junk?”

“Ms. Munroe let Luke and me get some,” Nathan bragged. “Mom, can Luke and his mom come over to our house for dinner tonight?” Rachel clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled, elbowing Laura, who scowled back.

“It’s ‘Luke and I’, and it’s up to Luke’s mom what her dinner plans are,” Jean chided him winning herself a pout. Poor Nathan’s attempts were spurned again…

“Luke’s going back with his father again tomorrow. We have to turn in early tonight and pack. Maybe next time,” Ororo replied good-naturedly. Jean smiled pleasantly, her relief shining in her eyes.

“Still your turn, Ororo.”

Drat, and double drat…

She took her next shot, rolling a gutter ball.

“In one ear and out the other,” Logan scolded cheerfully. She was so much fun to watch, that soft mass of white waves flowing and swishing every time she leaned over. Watching her bend to retrieve the ball in that crazy little top didn’t hurt things either. She was easy on the eyes; her caramel cleavage pushed up against the low neckline of the blouse and waved at him from his vantage point on the bench. He was too glad to swing in to help her with her form. “Remember what I told ya about keepin’ yer arm straight…”

“I know, I know,” she harped back, rolling her eyes. Yes, I suck; don’t rub it in.

“C’mon, just get a good, strong grip on it and pull back, darlin’,” he rumbled, and he was back behind her, bringing that yummy scent of his with him, and she felt his hand at her hip, gripping it presumably to help her balance, but she began to doubt his motives as his lips whispered in her ear, “Betcha have a good, firm grip when yer really tryin’, kiddo.”

“C’mon, Mom, throw it already!” Lucas complained. He was getting bored, and Laura and Rachel were getting on his nerves. He began to pry his action figures out of their plastic packaging. Laura’s dad was standing waaaaaaay too close…Nathan was scowling, too. He was a GREAT bowler; why couldn’t Ms. Munroe ask HIM to help with her shot?

Embarrassment and frustration flooded Ororo’s cheeks as she brought back her arm, letting it swing…

…and nearly caught Logan in the nards as he stumbled back out of her way with a curse, nearly falling on his butt. Scott smothered an “oh, SHIT!” behind him as Jean’s shoulders heaved with laughter. The ball hit the lane with a thunk. Gutterball. Again.

“GRRRRRRR…” Ororo stomped off to her bench, shooting Logan a venomous look. “Luke, sweetie, how about you take Mom’s turn?” He stood indignantly and waited for his mother’s ball to come back up the ramp, and took his two shots. He knocked down five pins with little effort and helped Nate polish off the rest of the nachos.