Logan Chapter 35

-Logan-

After another interminably long day waiting for Emory to get out of work, I honestly can’t wait to just get back home and hang out with her on the couch some more. The last few days have been nice in a way that I’ve never managed before- I’ve never really taken time to relax and just stare at a television with someone. I’ve invested my entire life in being at the top of every strata I’ve been exposed to. I knew for as long as I can remember that Dad was grooming Landon and I to be alphas, and when I showed more interest in leading than he did, we really buckled down. When I was chosen Alpha of our pack and I found that Dad indeed trained me well, I had to find something else to strive for. I’ve always needed something to push myself toward.

We’re walking home when Emory gets a text and checks her phone. “Get hot, bitch? What is that supposed to mean? Cora is up to something, Logan-dog. But it shouldn’t hurt to humor her.” I absolutely think it will hurt. I don’t see this ending well at all, not when I know the kind of person Cora could turn out to be. She also doesn’t seem to treat Emory all that nicely- there’s friendly ribbing and then there’s just plain catty behavior. I’m noticing more and more that Cora falls into the second camp and for some reason Emory doesn’t see it. But of course, when we get home, Emory takes off the stupid leash and harness and heads back to her room.

I must admit, if I have to be on four legs and hang out with Emory platonically for a month, I almost wish I couldn’t see what I was missing. Now that she’s put a little weight back on and looks healthy again, I’m just torturing myself every time I see her change. Taking Cora’s edict to ‘get hot’ seriously, my little rose is in the hottest lingerie I’ve seen on her yet. It’s a deep cherry red that almost matches her hair, a full lacy set with the garters and everything. It seems she doesn’t just have expensive taste in shoes.

As if watching her don each piece wasn’t bad enough, now she’s got three or four dresses laid out on the bed, debating the merits of each. I can’t even absorb the details of them because every time she paces from one end of the room to the next my eyes are pulled in her direction like I’m caught in some kind of tractor beam. She doesn’t have heels on yet because the pair depends on the outfit she lands on, but her tits and ass are all jiggling and her legs look a million miles long and I don't know how much more I can take.

She finally settles on a little black dress with a low neckline that drapes across her tits like they’re the only thing holding it up, and some barely-there straps connect that to the same effect in the back. I’m grateful to notice that it looks lower cut than it actually is on both sides, but the tops of her stockings keep peeking out the bottom of the dress and I’m panting. Stars, how in the fuck does she think it’s okay to go out like that? She’s finished off with some black heels and looks like a black and white movie starlet and I can’t think of anything other than how much I wish I could be on two legs right now so we could make up physically. Opposable thumbs would at least be nice.

I’m jolted out of my haze of arousal when Cora knocks way harder than necessary on the door. When she comes in, I finally get the… privilege?... of meeting her in the flesh. She’s surrounded by the acrid scent of lies- she must be such an accomplished actress in her everyday life that it’s become a permanent part of her. She’s pretty, of course, in a bland, blonde, willowy kind of way. The kind of face you’d see a dozen of trying to catch a big break on Broadway or in Hollywood. There’s no character to her face or figure except the stubborn set of her chin and an almost malevolent look of ambition to her eye. Cora isn’t a woman so much as a shark on stilettos. The only part of her I like on first blush is the fear I can smell as soon as she spots me.

“Fuck, Emory, I thought you said you got a dog. That thing’s a damn bear. Aren’t you afraid he’ll kill you and eat you in your sleep?” I try hard not to roll my eyes. I wish I could eat her. She wouldn’t actually mind it if I did.

“He’s just a giant breed, Cora, relax. He’s some kind of cattle dog. You know they have to be huge. Remember the Higgins’ dog? That Irish wolfhound? He’s not much bigger than that.” I am, but whatever she needs to tell herself is fine.

“That thing shouldn’t have been a pet, either. Motherfucker ate more than all three of their kids. Put him in his kennel so you can come out with me. We’re checking out a hot new bar tonight. It’s exactly what you need to drag your ass back to the side of the living. Nice makeup job on the giant hickey, by the way.” I’m not super happy that Emory covered my mark on her, but I understand that a scarf would not have worked in a club. I’m just glad she’ll be covered by her overcoat on the way there. I realize I have no right to dictate what she wears or where she goes right now, even if I could, but I wish I could at least bring up the argument that Cora is clearly a sociopath.

“Whatever. Let’s go to this new bar or whatever.” Emory puts her coat on and grabs her clutch, clearly ready for her night out. She turns back to kiss my nose and scratch behind my ears. I whine at her in a last-ditch effort to get her to stay home, but I know it won’t work. “I know, buddy. I’ll be home late tonight. Keep the apartment safe for me. Mwah!”