Page 3

Peyton

I wake up near dawn with Logan wrapped around me like a furnace on the couch, one giant hand on my boob, the other on my ass as if he's trying to keep me as close as possible. My stomach immediately clenches at his possessive hold, sending a wave of heat through me.

I lay there for a long moment, just reveling in the heat of his body against mine. The world's hottest goalie is snuggled up against me, mumbling in my ear, his dick prodding me in the side.

For once, the judgmental little voice that never shuts up has absolutely nothing to say. I think she's still riding an orgasm high.

Is it too soon to want to do this again?

Judging by the way my whole body aches faintly…probably so. Who knew sex was a full body workout? Maybe I can convince Logan to be my personal trainer. Who needs a gym when you can just have cock?

I giggle to myself and then grimace and carefully slide out from beneath him. I need to pee and then call Serena to let her know I'm still alive. She's probably worried that I didn't come home.

As soon as my feet touch the floor, Logan grumbles, rolling onto his stomach. I unabashedly stare at his firm ass for a long moment. His body is incredible. Every inch of him is hewn from thick, corded muscle. He has a tattoo across his shoulder blade and another across his ribcage.

I want to trace them with my tongue.

"Lord have mercy," I mumble, stumbling away from the couch in search of the bathroom.

The first door I open is a home gym, full of equipment I'm convinced was designed in the dungeons of castles centuries ago. I close that one so fast my hair actually flutters in the breeze left behind. No way am I going in there.

Riding Logan was my cardio for the week, thank you very much.

The second door opens onto a home office. I smile when I realize Logan is a neat freak. Everything is perfectly arranged, right down to the pens in the cup beside the keyboard. They're even grouped by color.

The massive display case behind his desk houses more trophies than I can wrap my mind around. The only medals I've ever won have been the ones they hand out so kids don't feel bad about sucking at their activity of choice. I've never been athletic or creative. I didn't win science fairs or spelling bees. I was just…mediocre. I got a lot of medals for sucking. Honestly, the only thing I ever really excelled at was organization. I'm a planner, not a doer.

Logan is a whole different level of doer. There are dozens of trophies in that case, dating back to his childhood. They aren't all hockey related, either. Figuring skating, taekwondo, archery…is there anything the man can't do? I have a feeling the answer is a resounding no.

I quietly close the door, feeling like I'm intruding onto parts of his world he hasn't invited me into yet.

Yet? Maybe he doesn't plan to invite me into them at all. This was one night…right?

It doesn't feel like it. The way he looked at me last night felt more substantial and real than just one night. But what do I know? Maybe he looks at every girl he brings home the same way. Maybe he's attentive and perfect to everyone.

And maybe you're full of crap, Peyton Luanne Cloud.

Great. My demented angel is back, rendering judgment from her perch on my shoulder. A literal demon possession would be preferable to dealing with my subconscious. Thank you, Catholic school.

I bet Logan didn't go to Catholic school. Am I allowed to ask him that?

"Ugh," I groan, grinding my palms against my eyes. "Stop thinking." Right. That's what I need to do. Just stop thinking. Whatever this is, we'll figure it out. If it's just one night, I can handle that…right?

Crap.

I pull open the next door.

My heart slams against my ribcage, a sick sense of dread twisting through me as I gape around me.

Logan has a kid. No, Logan has a baby .

Kids don't sleep in cribs. They don't have changing tables and mobiles and baby toys and a year's supply of diapers, either.

He has a baby.

"Oh my god," I whisper, stumbling into the room. My eyes fall on a framed photo on the dresser. I snatch it from the top with shaking hands, and tears immediately spring to my eyes.

Logan Moreno has more than a baby. He has a freaking wife.

They're in the photo together, sitting beside each other under a Christmas tree. He has his arm over her shoulder. His wife is holding the baby. They're smiling, shiny, happy people.

I drop the photo, my stomach churning.

That's why he was on his phone at the bar last night. He was texting his wife. And I…

I slept with a married man.

"Oh my god." I slap my hand over my mouth, trying not to throw up or pass out. I slept with a married man. I'm a homewrecker. A cheater. "I'm just like my father."

My whole life, the only thing I've ever wanted was to be nothing like him . I was an affair baby. He lied to my mom, told her that he was single. And when she found out she was pregnant, he told her to get rid of me, like I was an inconvenience he couldn't be bothered with. The whole ugly truth came out then. He was married the whole time, with kids at home.

My mom had to prove paternity just to get him to sign away his rights. He never came around, never wanted anything to do with me. As far as he was concerned, once he signed his rights away, I never existed at all.

He cheated, and my mom was the one who suffered. I was the one who suffered. And he got to go on with his merry little life like nothing happened. Literally. People judged my mom for living in poverty as a single mom. She was the homewrecker for sleeping with a married man. You know what they did to my father? Patted him on the back for being a good Christian man who kept his family together even when the devil was trying to lead him astray.

He's the upstanding politician they applaud.

She was the homewrecking welfare queen.

I was twelve when she died. Child Protective Services called him. He told them that foster care would be the best place for me. He didn't even show up at her funeral. He never came to check on me. My whole life, I never existed to him. I was just an inconvenience, something he only acknowledged when it suited his narrative.

And in one single night, Logan turned me into a replica of him. He turned me into my mom. He has a wife and a baby, and he slept with me in their house. At least my father never did that. He kept my mom in an entirely different city than his family.

I stumble out of the nursery, my mind reeling. A tangle of emotions surge through me—fury and revulsion collide with guilt and regret. There's a heavy dose of betrayal in there, too. I liked him. I trusted him. And he deserves neither. He's just an asshole like my father. And just like my father, he pretends to be a hero when he's anything but. He didn't rescue me from a creep last night. He tangled me in his web.

I practically race through the living room into the kitchen. For a split second, I consider launching myself at his sleeping form and strangling the truth out of him, but what's the point?

He'll either deny it, or act like he did nothing wrong. The thought of him doing either makes me want to throw up all over again. So I completely ignore him and scurry into the kitchen in search of my phone and my clothes.

They're scattered around like the wreckage of some happier time. Seeing them makes me feel cheap as hell. This is as much my fault as it is his because I didn't ask. I didn't question. I just assumed that he was a decent person who wouldn't cheat.

I was na?ve as hell.

"Stupid," I growl to myself, yanking my bra on before I snatch up my phone and request a car to pick me up. I don't even know the address so I have to drop a pin. "Never again, Peyton. You are never sleeping with a man like Logan Moreno ever again."

I pull my shirt on over my head before starting the search for my panties…only to remember that he destroyed those. I snatch my pants from the floor and quickly yank them up my legs before going in search of my shoes.

"Peyton? Baby?" Logan calls from the living room.

I bolt for the back door with my shoes in my hand and my heart pounding like a jackhammer.

"Peyton!" Logan shouts from behind me when I'm halfway there. "What the fuck? Where are you going, angel? What's wrong?"

What's wrong? Is he kidding me right now?

I spin in midstep, launching a shoe at his head.

"Jesus!" He barely manages to duck before it sails into the living room.

"You are such an asshole!" I shout, glaring daggers at him.

"Baby." He takes a step toward me, his face scrunched up in confusion. "What happened? What did I do?"

"As if you don't know," I sniff, clinging to fury so I don't cry.

"No, Peyton." He shakes his head. "I really don't."

"Where's your ring, Logan?" I demand, shooting him a scathing look. "Was last night a one-off? Or do you not wear it because you make a habit of bringing home random women and turning them into homewreckers when you have a wife and baby waiting for you?"

"Shit." He glances over his shoulder toward the living room. "They're home?"

Unholy rage courses through me.

I launch my other shoe at him, watching in immense satisfaction as this one cracks him in the back of his stupid, gorgeous, cheating head.

"Goddammit," he growls, spinning toward me again. He reaches up to rub the back of his head. "Will you stop throwing shoes at my head and let me explain? I didn't mean it that way."

"There's nothing to explain," I mutter, turning toward the door. "You're a cheating asshole. And you can go to hell. End of story." I grab the doorknob, ready to get the hell out of here before he sees me cry. Hell will freeze over before I allow this man to see me cry. He's done enough damage for one night.

Apparently, he doesn't agree. Before I can wrench the door open and throw myself out, he grabs my arm.

"Peyton, it isn't what you think. Stop and let me–"

I don't stop. I don't think. I spin on him, bringing my knee up as hard as I can. It connects with his groin.

"Fuck!" he groans, doubling over. His grip on my arm loosens, allowing me to yank it free.

"Don't ever touch me again," I snap, rushing through the door into the backyard. Of course there's gravel. Of course there is.

I'm in a shoeless hell of my own making.

I hobble across the gravel toward the front of the house, cursing Logan the entire way. If I ever see him again, it'll be too soon. Way too soon.

So I keep telling myself.

Right up until I'm in my Uber and he's chasing after us down the driveway, naked. My stupid heart betrays me then, a tiny piece of it splintering away from the rest.

Serena was right. Logan Moreno is trouble. Too damn bad I didn't take her advice and avoid him before I slept with him and got my feelings involved. Because they're all kinds of involved now. And they are hurt .

"Friend of yours?" my driver asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror as Logan gives up chasing us halfway down the driveway and clutches his head in his hands, staring after us like he's losing something important. Except…we both know that's a lie.

I wasn't important. I was just something he used to pass the time.

"Nope," I lie, closing my eyes to hide the tears. "I don't know him at all."