Core Drive: A Westworld Story

Reverie 2015-F: Logan

Logan dusted the white napkin cloth that decorated his plate in the form of a swan. Joy sat beside him, skimming the menu with eyes that would grow the slightest bit bigger after looking at the price list. She didn't look out of place though, which meant she wasn't a stranger to the high-class. More of a critique of it.

He smirked, "Not impressed?"

Joy noticed and teased, "Is every place you know priced by a three zero mark-up?"

"Maybe," he winked as he leaned closer to see her face. She scoffed when she turned the page of the menu. He said, "Can't blame a man for being born with a silver spoon."

Joy took a sip of her ice water, "No, that you can't. But you can blame him for flaunting his silver spoon everywhere."

Logan didn't bother opening his menu, he knew what he wanted to taste tonight, and she was sitting across from him.

"No one's ever accused me of being humble," he kept up their little game of fire and retort.

"Now that, I believe," she looked up at him through hooded eyes. "So, what's good here?"

"So far, you."

"Smooth, bet most people let you get away with those cheesy lines because of those damned eyes," her lips tweaked.

"Damned is one way I'd describe myself," he licked his lips. "Tell me, ever been tempted by the devil?"

She shifted in her seat, legs crossing over in a subtle enough way that Logan could feel the tip of her shoe graze his leg. "Is this what you're doing?" She gestured to the room of the fancy restaurant. "Tempting me."

He settled back into his chair as the waiter came over, "Absolutely, dove."

She'd stopped correcting him when he called her dove. Instead, her lips would pull up at the ends.

After ordering their food, Logan had done his best to capture Joy's attention. Flirting; long, suggestive gazes; the slow lick of his lips he'd mastered from years of this seductive game; nothing worked. That crease between her eyebrows refused to let up. It had been there since the drive over.

"Something's gotten under your skin," he said easily, swirling his wine glass next to his nose. Savouring the full body and berry notes. "I'm a little offended it wasn't by my doing."

"Something tells me you're used to being the centre of attention," she stopped playing with her veal and drank half her glass of wine. "Must be hard for you, realising your tempting tricks aren't working all that well. Performance issues?"

At that, Logan imagined her in his bed, spread open and slick as he lowered himself into her. He cleared his throat and downed the rest of his wine too.

Oh, so that's what we're working with, Logan realised.

"Wanna blow off some steam?" He whispered conspiratorially.

"God yes," she said with a low, throaty moan. It wasn't suggestive, but when it came to Joy, Logan had an easy time letting his imagination wander.

The club he took her to was one of his regular haunts. Three levels, each to service a desire. Ground floor was the bar, intimate, quiet, fogged over by tobacco and kush. The second level was the dance floor; flooded by stampeding masses all gyrating and sweating to the pulsing bass. The basement...that was too risqué for their first date. First real date anyway.

Logan slipped into a booth behind a roped area. The complimentary champagne was already corked and served in an ice bucket. Joy looked out to the dance floor, a longing in her eyes.