Page 29 of Overtime Goal (Buffalo Warriors Hockey #4)

logan

After seeing Quinn, I went down to the Via del Brigantino, overlooking the beach, and had genuine Italian pizza. I drew that out as long as I could, then stopped at a ceramic shop before heading back up the mountain. It was almost eight, so Riley would surely be gone.

Fucking Riley. I still couldn’t believe he’d known about the date all fucking day and didn’t say a word, even when we were making plans.

That was a form of lying, inexcusable since we’d promised to be honest about seeing other people.

Of course he wanted to go out with Natalie Langdon, and he should have said so as soon as he talked to his agent.

I don’t know if I’d have taken it much better then, but at least I wouldn’t have felt like he waited until he had no choice to drop the bomb.

And fuck his fucking agent too. Threatening to quit was the oldest trick in the book, and Riley should have been smart enough to realize that.

Did he think Frank would forego his cut of Riley’s three-million-a-year salary?

The Warriors were almost sure to double or triple that figure next year when it was time to renegotiate his contract, and no agent in his right mind would miss out on that.

I have to go because he threatened to quit. I mimicked Riley’s stupid voice as I navigated up a trail, ignoring the chirping crickets and strong jasmine scent in the air.

So, despite all my resolutions to be calm when he went out with a woman, I’d had a fit, and Riley had gone on his date.

I wondered if they were eating dinner. For all I knew, they’d skipped the meal and were fucking at that very moment.

If not, they’d be doing it later. He certainly wouldn’t be home anytime soon.

Since I’d known all along what to expect, I had no one to blame but myself.

I was hurting because after a lifetime of keeping straight men at arm’s length, I’d let myself fall for one.

Why hadn’t I pulled away as soon as I realized what was happening?

Had I really believed he’d change, that he’d want to spend his life with me?

Ridiculous. The sex had been the best of my life, and although I’d never forget it, the memories would always be bittersweet.

If he came home tomorrow, I’d talk to him. Not about being in love, but about how close we’d let ourselves get. I’d tell him it had to stop, that we needed to find people who could give us what we needed. I’d even bring up my date with Quinn and tell Riley to go spend the night with another woman.

The car was gone when I got home, and the villa seemed to be holding its breath. Without Riley pacing around barefoot, rifling through snacks, or tossing out dumbass jokes to make me roll my eyes, the place was stripped of everything that had made it good.

I’d better get used to it, because back in Buffalo, things couldn’t go on the way they had before.

There would be no more movie nights that turned into sleepovers, and no lazy mornings pretending we weren’t as much as living together.

I’d find a boyfriend, someone I wouldn’t have to share with supermodels and social media, a man who could give me what I needed and wouldn’t break my heart.

My book was still by the chair where I’d left it earlier, so I read until I got sleepy and then took the book to bed.

I set an alarm for eight-thirty, but before I settled back into my book, I opened Instagram.

My PR person insisted I post once a week, and a few photos from Italy would look good.

I scrolled through my feed, hoping to get a glimpse of what some of the boys were up to, when I stopped cold.

My stomach clenched so hard I thought I might throw up.

The photo was like a car wreck I couldn’t look away from, and I stared at it until my eyes hurt.

My heart pounded, my throat filled up, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks.

It was a picture of Riley and Natalie, glued to each other outside a restaurant.

He was wearing his gray suit with the goddamn tie I’d given him because it was perfect with his eyes.

She was in a dress someone must have painted on, with a slit running so far up one side he could probably see her ass when they were walking.

Their eyes were as bright as stars, and they were both smiling like they’d won the lottery.

A sob burst out of me because the last of my hope had died. There was no way I could ever compete with women like that, and though it hurt worse than any injury I’d ever experienced, it was time to accept it.

I slammed my phone down on the nightstand and went to the bathroom to wash my face. When I got back into bed, I’d just picked up my book when the front door clicked open. Oh, hell no. Surely he hadn’t brought her back here so I’d have to listen to them fucking through the wall.

There was only one set of footsteps, so after a moment, I relaxed.

I listened as he wandered through the villa, then out onto the terrace and back in.

When he started down the hall toward the bedrooms, I dropped the book on the mattress beside me, sank into the pillow like it could soften any of this, and closed my eyes.

He knocked once before opening the door. “Logan?”

I kept my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep.

“Logan,” he repeated, louder.

I rolled onto my side and squinted at him. He looked like shit. Gorgeous, but still like shit. He’d loosened his tie, and his face was haggard. He looked much older than he had in the photo.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you sleeping?”

“I was.”

He cleared his throat. “I hate to ask, but please get up. We need to talk.”

About what? Are you leaving in the morning to follow her somewhere?

Nervous laughter was a thing with me, but I managed to hold it back. “No. I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Please.” His voice was small and fragile. “It’s really important.”

“So was your date,” I snapped. I hadn’t meant to sound like a jerk, but the words shot out like barbed wire. “Why are you back so early?”

He looked across the room into my eyes. “Because I wanted to see you.”

Hope surged after all, and I almost got up. But that one thing would have shattered every boundary I’d been putting in place since he left. Since I had to put myself first, I didn’t move.

Jesus, I’d seen the photo, and I could still taste the bitterness of seeing him dressed to impress someone who wasn’t me. His bright eyes and big smile had been for her. If I didn’t draw the line now, I never would.

I kept my voice calm. “You’ve seen me. Now I’d like to go back to sleep if that’s okay with you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

His face didn’t just fall; it toppled to the floor. Had he actually thought this would go differently?

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll wash up and come to bed.”

What fucking dimension was he living in? Fuck him if he thought he was sleeping with me.

Why was he home so early anyway? Maybe they hadn’t made it through the entire meal.

They could have found a corner or bathroom where they could fuck, or perhaps they’d done it in the back seat of the car.

He’d told me about a lot of his exploits over the last four years, and neither of those options would have been new for him.

God, I wanted to cry out and chase the thoughts away, but they were insistent.

I pictured her model legs around him, telling him how handsome he was and how much she needed him.

He’d eaten it up because that was what he was after, for women to want him.

In my mind, I heard their grunts and groans, their strangled cries when they came.

Fuck him because he wanted a straight life with straight sex.

And now he wanted to crawl into my bed? He probably still smelled like her, and there was no fucking way I could handle that.

“No,” I said. “I need some time alone. See you tomorrow.”

He stepped into the room. “Logan, I’m trying to?—”

“Please close the door behind you.” I turned onto my side, facing away from him. “See you in the morning.”

He made a pitiful sound in his throat, and after a few seconds, the door clicked shut. In the silence that followed, I stared at the wall and tried not to break.