Page 5

Peyton

" W e should go out tonight."

I look up at Serena through bleary eyes to find her standing over me with her hands on her hips, smiling like she just solved all my problems. She's still dressed for work in black slacks and a cute pink blouse with her hair pulled up into a bun. I look exactly like I haven't left the bed since I crawled into it yesterday morning.

"No, thanks," I mutter.

"Peyton!"

"You go." I fling myself backward, dragging the pillow up over my eyes. "I'm staying right here."

She huffs before sitting beside me. A second later, my pillow disappears, snatched away by a tyrant masquerading as my best friend. "You can't mope forever."

"I haven't been moping forever. It's been one day."

Her lips curve into a triumphant smile. "At least you finally admit that you're moping."

"Do not. I'm plotting revenge. It takes a lot of brain power, so I'm doing it from bed like a normal person would."

"Oh, yeah? What have you come up with so far?"

"Thumbtacks on the ice. Poison ivy in his jockstrap. Setting his stupid truck on fire." I scowl. "Preferably with him inside it."

"Savage." She nods. "I like it."

"Telling his wife," I whisper, squeezing my eyes closed.

She gives me that big-eyed, startled look.

"I know!" I cry, dragging another pillow over my head…which she immediately steals. Trying to hide from your problems when you have a tenacious roommate is hard work. I roll my head in her direction. "It's probably a bad idea. They have a kid. I could blow up their entire life. I just…"

"You feel guilty."

"Yeah," I whisper. "But I'd want to know if it were me. Besides, isn't that what we're supposed to do as women when a man cheats? We're supposed to have their backs, and out the cheater. No one should have to go through life cluelessly being cheated on."

"Maybe she already knows what he's doing."

I eye her sideways.

"A lot of women who marry men like him are fully aware of their…activities. They just choose to ignore them because they like the lifestyle." Serena shrugs. "It happens a lot."

"That's depressing."

"I know. But it's also true. I'm not saying it's right or fair or that I understand it. I'm just saying that it happens."

"And somehow, none of this make me feel any better," I groan.

"Have you talked to him?"

"Why? So he can lie to me? No, thanks. I'm never talking to him again."

"You might not have a choice," she points out. "Your interview is on Monday. And this is probably the worst time to bring it up, but have you considered the possibility that he's the one you'll be int–"

"Do not finish that sentence," I warn her.

She snaps her mouth closed, holding up her hands. "I'm just saying. It's a possibility."

She isn't wrong. Isn't that part of the problem? Somewhere between running out of his place without my shoes and arriving at mine—also without my shoes—the truth dawned on me. The sick sense of dread battling around in my stomach since I got home is mostly because I slept with a married man…and a tiny bit about the fact that I'm pretty sure said married man is my maybe future boss. I'm not sure why I'm so confident of that fact—perhaps because the universe currently hates me—but I am confident.

Micah Rushing isn't the player in need of an assistant. It's Logan. And he freaking knew it when he decided to take me home with him and chose not to tell me that he was the player I was worried about. I'm mad as hell about that. Was it all just a big joke to him? Was I supposed to walk into that interview on Monday and be humiliated when I saw him sitting there?

I thought I was a pretty good judge of character. I've never been more wrong about someone in my life. That stings. I trusted him enough to sleep with him, something I've never done. And the whole time, I was just a joke to him. There are no words to describe how that feels.

I don't want to talk to him. I never want to see him again. And I'm absolutely not going to that interview Monday. Whatever pleasure he hoped to get out of humiliating me, he isn't getting.

He can go kick rocks.

I'll be right here. Wallowing until I come up with a better plan.

"You can't stay in bed forever," Serena says.

"Watch me." I grab the only pillow remaining on the bed and drag it up over my head. "Do not steal this one, Serena. I mean it."

"Fine," she sighs. "I'll leave you to be sad and miserable while I go buy ice cream and find us a movie."

I tug the pillow down to look at her. "You should go out."

"And leave you here to be sad and miserable alone?" She shoots me a patented Serena look. "No way. If you're wallowing, I'm wallowing."

I smile despite myself. "Are we pigs now?"

Her nose wrinkles. "I do not love that comparison, Peyton."

"I just meant they wallow. They're social. They love being in groups…" I roll my eyes at her. "You know damn well there is nothing piglike about you." I pause, frowning. "Actually, that's not true. You're a lot like a pig in all the best ways."

She narrows her eyes on me. "And now you're getting pistachio ice cream."

"It was a compliment! Pigs are intelligent, playful, clean freaks. Like you." I smirk, batting my lashes at her.

"Only in your weird brain is that a compliment," she mutters.

"So you admit it is a compliment in my weird brain."

"Shut up." She smiles at me.

"I love you too."

"Pistachio ice cream."

"You hate me. Understood."

She laughs evilly, spinning on her heel. I watch her practically dance from my bedroom before I pull the pillow back up over my face with a groan.

Being a pig would be so much easier.

I bet male pigs aren't total dicks like Logan Moreno.

"Uh, Peyton?"

"My wallet is by the door," I mumble without even moving the pillow.

"Logan is here."

I sit up so fast my head spins. "What?"

Serena stares at me with wide eyes. "I practically ran into him on my way out the door." She grimaces. "He asked to talk to you."

"Did you tell him to go away?"

"Yes." She bites her bottom lip. "He brought flowers."

"Of course he did." I scowl, hopping up from the bed. Of all the freaking nerve… He really thinks he can just show up here with flowers and reel me back in? Absolutely not.

I march toward the bedroom door, ready to kick his proverbial ass, but Serena quickly jumps in front of me.

"Maybe you should change first?" she suggests. "Or at least brush your hair?"

I glance down at my nightie and then shrug. She's probably right. But he isn't worth the effort. I can kick his ass in a nightgown with my hair messed up. And be back in bed in five minutes. Win-win.

"Nope," I say, gently steering her out of my way. "I am not putting on a bra for him."

"Oh boy," she mumbles behind me.

I march through our apartment, gathering righteous indignation around me like armor.

How dare he show up here?

How does he even know where I live?

I practically rip the door off the hinges, my gaze landing on him. He's leaning against the banister with his head bowed. For a second, I forget that I'm mad as hell because he actually looks…wrecked. Like his world is caving in. And then he lifts his head, his gaze raking down my body. When they darken, I wish we were back in his house again. And I wish I had launched myself over the sofa to strangle the truth out of him.

"I thought you looked good naked," he rasps, lifting his gaze to mine. "But goddamn, angel. You look even better in that nightgown."

He just can't help himself, can he?

"Leave," I growl. "Now." My gaze falls on the massive arrangement at his feet. "And take your gaslighting flowers with you."

"Gaslighting flowers?" His lips twitch. "What the fuck species of flower is that, angel?"

"How did you even get my address, Logan?" I hold up a hand before he can respond. "Let me guess, you got it from my application, right?"

"You going to quit being pissed if I say yes?"

"You're the one in need of an assistant, aren't you?"

He actually manages to look regretful. "I was going to tell you."

"Right," I snort. "Just like I'm sure you were going to tell me that you're married and have a kid."

"I'm not fucking married," he growls, taking a step toward me. "And Lachlan isn't mine."

"But you are the one in need of an assistant because he's struggling to juggle his family and his responsibilities with the team," I point out. "I could drive a tank through the holes in your story."

"It's not like that." He takes another step towards me. "Jesus, Peyton. I may be an asshole, but I wouldn't do that to you."

"Just like you wouldn't fail to tell me that I'm interviewing for a job with you, right?" I retort, backing away from him.

He clenches his jaw, frustration stamped across his face. There's a tiny bit of guilt lurking in the depths of his eyes, too.

"What was the plan, Logan? Wait until I showed up so you could see me squirm? Then run back and tell your teammates how hilarious my expression was? I actually believed you when you…" My voice cracks, so I quickly shake my head. "It doesn't matter. Just leave."

"No!" He lunges for me, dragging me into his arms before I can dodge him. I end up pressed up against the door, trapped between it and his hard body. "You weren't a fucking joke, Peyton. Jesus Christ, is that really what you think of me?"

"Why shouldn't I?" I demand, glaring up at him. "You lied to me."

"I didn't lie. I just…fuck." He blows out a breath, curving his hand around my jaw. His forehead rests against mine squeezing my waist, and damn it, my knees quiver. Even now, my body remembers the feel of him all over me. It hasn't caught up to the fact that he's a liar and a cheater and God only knows what else. It still wants him. "I knew you wouldn't give me the time of day if you knew I was the one looking for an assistant, so I withheld that information. I wanted you, and I was willing to play dirty to get you. It was a dick move, but I don't regret it because it got you in my bed. I'm not fucking sorry about that, angel. I'm fucking sorry you're mad as hell right now. I'm sorry you aren't still in my bed. But I'm not fucking sorry that you gave yourself to me."

"You're married with a kid, Logan."

"I'm not fucking married," he grits out, his eyes flashing unholy fire at me. "Lachlan is my nephew. It's complicated, but I swear to you, I'm not married. I don't have kids. Until you…"

"Until me what?"

"People say a lot of shit about me, baby. I act like an asshole. I do a lot of dumb shit so they'll keep talking. But most of what they say isn't true. I don't sleep around. I've never fucked a puck bunny." He swallows hard. "Until you, I never brought a woman home with me. There was never anyone I wanted to bring home until you."

"You're lying."

"I haven't been with anyone in years, Peyton." His nose brushes mine. "And for the record, there's only you. There are no wives, no girlfriends, no fuck buddies, none of that bullshit. It's only you, sweet girl."

Damn him. He's way too good at that. I feel my resolve weakening, feel myself caving. And that has bad idea written all over it. I won't end up like my mom, dangling on his hook until he decides he's bored with me or I'm not good enough. He's already too dangerous. We slept together. Didn't even use a condom. I can't go down that road with him again, especially now that I know that I can't trust him.

Maybe he's telling the truth now—I'm surprised to find that I actually believe him. He isn't married with a kid. He probably doesn't sleep with every woman who throws herself at him. But none of that changes the fact that he didn't tell the truth when it counted.

He knew I was supposed to interview to be his assistant, and he didn't say anything. He just took what he wanted without considering how that'd work out for me. And I let him do it because…well, because he's dangerous to me.

There's something about him that's magnetic and irresistible and I like the way it feels when he looks at me like I'm the only thing he sees. But girls like me don't end up with guys like him. We work for them. We're toys to play with until something better comes along. And then they discard us and move along like we never existed. Their lives continue uninterrupted while ours fall apart.

We end up as heartbroken, struggling single moms to little girls the Logan Morenos of the world won't even acknowledge. And then we die alone, too afraid to put ourselves out there and trust anyone else when the one time we did that, we paid for it.

I won't repeat my parents' mistakes. Not even for Logan.

"You need to leave," I whisper, ducking under his arm. "Whatever happened between us is over, Logan."

"Goddammit, Peyton." He grabs for me, but I jump back a step, evading him. "Please don't do this."

"I didn't," I say quietly. "You did when you decided to make decisions without giving me a choice. Now, I'm making my choice. I don't want to see you again."

"You have your interview on Monday."

"I'm canceling it."

"Don't."

"I can't work for you. We slept together."

"Please, angel," he pleads quietly, his eyes locked on my face. He kneels in front of me. Literally drops to both knees. "Don't walk away from me now. Come to the interview. Give me a chance to prove to you that I'm not a complete asshole."

The plea in his eyes is deadly. I don't think he's the kind of man who has to beg for much, but he's begging me right now. He's on his damn knees, pleading with me to give him this.

"I always knew I was going to live long enough to regret being a pushover," I mutter, sighing heavily. "Fine. I'll go to the interview."

His eyes light up.

"But that doesn't mean I'm taking the job."

He bounds to his feet with so much power and grace it's overwhelming. One second, he's on his knees at my feet. The next, he's in front of me, dragging me into his arms.

His lips come down on mine in a hard kiss. And damn me, but I kiss him back. Even as I tell myself not to do it…I do it anyway.

"I missed that," he groans against my lips, his hands digging into my waist.

I jerk out of his arms, glowering at him. "You cannot kiss me."

That wicked smirk tells me I might as well be talking to a brick wall. Are all goalies so unholy contrary or is it just this goalie? Maybe I need to learn more about this sport if I'm going to be dealing with this man. I need to learn what makes him tick so I can figure out how to counteract it.

"I mean it, Logan."

"I hear you." He doesn't hear me. He isn't even in the same dimension as hearing me. He reaches out, running his thumb along my bottom lip. "Come to the game tomorrow, baby."

"Uh, no."

"Why not?"

"Because you've stressed me out enough for one weekend."

He grins, those dimples wreaking havoc on me. And dammit all, before he even says another word…I know I'm going to that game. Just like I know I'm going to take the job if he offers it on Monday.

I'm more like my mom than I'd like to admit.

I picked a hell of a time to figure that out.

Hockey is intense. I spend most of Sunday's game on my feet, screaming my head off like a crazy person. I'm not even entirely sure what's going on, but Serena does her best to fill me in on the action. Not that I'm really paying much attention. My eyes are on Logan in the goal most of the game.

The man is a menace. I may not be the best judge but considering the way the crowd goes nuts every single time he manages to stop the puck, I'm guessing they think he's pretty talented too. He twists and contorts and ducks and dives like his life depends on it, utterly fearless of the puck and players flying toward him. I've never seen anyone move as fast as he does.

It's impressive. Really damn impressive.

"What did you think?" Serena asks once it's over. The Carvers won. Unsurprisingly. Logan wasn't letting anything past him.

"I think I need to learn more about hockey," I mutter.

She clutches my arm, laughing loudly as we join the throng heading toward the exits. As we pass by the glass partition near the ice, Logan glances in our direction.

His eyes land on me, darkening. He abandons his conversation, skating over.

"Crap," I mutter, my heart jolting against my ribcage.

"I'll just be…yeah, bye!" Serena says before abandoning me. The traitor. Her evil laugh echoes in her wake as she darts away, leaving me to face him alone.

I walk up to the glass where he's waiting. Smirking. His hair dripping wet with sweat.

God, he looks delicious.

"What did you think?" he shouts.

"Meh," I say, casually shrugging.

He chuckles, watching my face. "You had fun, didn't you?"

"I did," I say softly, fully aware of everyone looking at us as they file past. "Thanks for getting us tickets."

"Anytime, angel. You heading home?"

I nod. "Serena is waiting for me."

"You going to call me later?"

"Uh, no?"

He narrows his eyes at me. "Fine. Are you going to answer if I call you later?"

I should say no. That's the reasonable thing to do. I have an interview to be his assistant tomorrow. Do I even trust him? Not entirely. Have I forgiven him? Also not entirely. So whatever this is obviously can't continue. It's insanity.

"Yes, I'll answer," I say, rolling my eyes when he growls at me.

His smirk tips me a little further into madness.

"Hello?" I groan three hours later, blinking in the dark.

"Shit. Did I wake you up?" Logan drawls into the phone.

My heart immediately picks up the pace, pounding like a drum.

"Um, I think so. What time is it?"

"Almost midnight. I just got home."

"From where?" I yawn, stretching my arms over my head.

"The bar."

"Oh." I drop my arms back to the bed.

"It's not like that," he says quietly. "It's tradition for the team to go out to celebrate after a game. We're supposed to see and be seen or some bullshit like that. We go out, have a few drinks, let people congratulate us, and then take our asses home to bed."

"Did you have fun?"

"Would have been a helluva lot more fun if you were there stealing our beer," he teases.

"I didn't steal your beer. I borrowed it."

His chuckle sends a pulse right to my clit.

I don't know why I do it, but I immediately slip my hand down my body, sliding it into my panties. I bite my lip, fighting a groan as I roll my fingers over my clit.

This is so wrong. I don't even need my judgmental little angel to tell me that. I'm using his voice like audio porn. But…I don't stop, either.

"So you enjoyed the game, huh?" he asks. "What was your favorite part?"

"Watching you land on your ass over and over again," I lie.

"Why am I not surprised?" He chuckles again. "I'll have you know, that's all skill, baby."

"Mmhmm. I'm sure it is." I throw my head back, squeezing my eyes closed as I touch myself, imagining that it's him doing the touching. He's the one with his hand between my legs right now. He's in this bed with me, grinding against my clit like he did the other night.

I whimper softly, arching toward my hand.

"Fucking hell," he growls. "Are you touching your pussy, Peyton?"

"What? No." I thrust two fingers inside me, only to whimper again.

"You little liar. You're playing with it right now, aren't you?"

"Yes," I moan. "God, Logan. I'm so wet."

He growls like an angry bear. "Goddammit. I want to see you. I want to eat you again. I'm losing my fucking mind over you, Peyton."

"You only w-want me because you can't have me."

"That's bullshit," he snaps. "I want you because you're mine."

"No, I'm not."

"No? Is that why you're fucking your fingers right now? Because you aren't mine?" His voice is silky sin and black as night. It scrapes against my clit in a way that should be criminal. "We both know you're lying, baby. You're thinking about me inside you, aren't you?"

"M-maybe."

"How hard am I fucking you right now, Peyton? How hard are you squeezing my cock?"

"So hard," I whisper. "I hate it."

"Liar," he groans through a chuckle. "You fucking love it."

"Do not."

"No? Then why are you ready to come all over me, hmm? If you hate it so much, why are you whimpering and moaning, desperate to shatter for me?"

"Logan," I whimper in response, losing the damn plot as I throw the blanket off and spread my legs, giving myself room to work. I thrust my fingers faster, chasing the pleasure dancing just out of sight. I'm so close, so damn close. "Please."

"You want to come, baby? Tell me the truth."

"I already t-told you."

"No, you didn't. Tell me that you're mine, Peyton."

"I'm not yours."

"The hell you aren't," he growls. "As soon as you stop being so fucking mad at me, I'm going to show you again just how much you love being mine, angel. I'm going to show you over and over again until you're screaming the fucking roof down."

"Please," I plead, right freaking there. But my body is betraying me, refusing to obey. It's completely on Team Moreno now, dammit.

"Say it," he croons. "You can have what you want as soon as you tell me the truth."

Damn him.

"Yours," I whisper, my heart clenched in a vise. It's the most terrifying word I've ever spoken. Mostly because it feels all too true. I think I belong to him. And I don't even know where to begin processing that. How can I when I'm not even sure I trust him?

"Good girl," he breathes. "Now, come all over that perfect hand for me, angel. Let me hear you unraveling for me."

I give in to the temptation, give in to him. I can't help it. I want it too damn badly to resist. My back arches from the bed, a whimper escaping my lips as I shatter into pieces, coming all over my fingers.

When it's over, I bury my face in the pillow, panting. Reeling.

Logan Moreno is a dangerous, dangerous man.

"You are mine, sweet Peyton," he whispers. "Sooner or later, you're going to forgive me. When you do, all bets are off, baby. See you tomorrow."

He disconnects before I can respond, which is probably for the best because God only knows what I'd say. I can't think of a single thing that isn't utterly terrifying.