Logan

76. Moving On

*Logan's POV*

Working in the record store could be fun sometimes, sorting through the old cases of vinyl could be stimulating. Today I was sorting through 8-Track tapes, and I had no idea when I would get a break. I'd woken up with a headache, just a slight tinge from the drinks I'd had last night. I thought back to the figure watching me from the bar, and I couldn't place them. I tried to get it out of my mind when a woman came in the store. Her black hair reminded me of a 50's pinup, curls accentuating her face, a form fitting white button up paired with suspenders and a tight pair of red skinny jeans. Her coke bottle John Lennon sunglasses shone in blue against the light reflecting from the sunshine outside.

"It's not very often I see a woman wearing suspenders," I commented, "What can I help you with today?" I walked closer to the section she'd settled on, Elvis, in the corner of my eye, holding a Motown's compilation record. The woman's hand grazed my arm, tugging lightly on my own suspenders.

"Its rare I see young men wearing them now too," she laughed, "I'm looking for some deep stuff, if you've got any Beatles or The Everly Brother's I'd really appreciate it." She smiled, lifting her glasses up into her hair.

"Uh, we've got some," I flicked a few records over to reveal a few albums. "Here we go. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

She shook her head, leaving me to my own devices. I pointed to my cheesy nametag, "I'm Logan, by the way."

Her eyes never looked away from the records, "Whitney."

I nodded, bowing out and headed toward the record player, playing a bop from The Ronettes, "Be My Baby." I grinned as I looked up to see Whitney dancing to the song, lip syncing with her glasses still perfectly balanced on her head. I looked away before she could see me, and as the song ended she brought up a few records. As I rang them up, she tossed a few CD's on top and a cassette tape, "For the road," she added, before rifling through her purse for a $50 bill.

I handed her the receipt and she proceeded to walk out the door. But she stopped midway, trailing back to me.

"When's your shift over?"

"I've got about another half hour, forty-five minutes, tops." I smiled, "Why?"

"Logan I want to take you for a drink, maybe coffee? Dinner? Who cares, you choose."

I felt a pang in my chest, "I don't know, I'm not that interesting."

"Doll, I'm coming back in a half hour, I'll wait for you. We can be boring together. There's something about you, I just can't pin it." She turned for the exit, and in a few steps she was gone from sight.

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A half hour later I was walking out of the shop, and Whitney sat on a bench at the corner of the building.

"See, I told you I'd wait for you." She stood, "Come on, let's get something to eat, I'm starving." She entwined her arm around my bicep, "Seems like you could use a little something, too."

I nodded, "Okay, but you should know something. I just got of a relationship and-"

"Logan," she stopped, putting her hand on my shoulder. "I didn't ask you to marry me, I just want to get a cheeseburger with a like-minded music lover."

"What makes you think I like music?"

Whitney huffed, tilting her head sideways "Doll, The Ronettes? Only old men and band geeks know about old time songs. You know your music, let me guess, you play in a band? Drummer, hmm," She continued to walk, pulling me along, and then looking back at me, "No, you're not as toned up here," her hand drifted to my own, feeling along my wrist, "You're a guitar player." She laughed, "Oh, wow, I hit the motherload, you're going to make me fall for you and then you're going to leave me while you and your struggling band tour for some washed-up band from the 80's."