Page 37

CHAPTER 37

ROSE

“S o what are we going to do about this?” I look from my boss to his boss and back, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come. “There has to be something. Do we talk with HR? Put out a statement?”

Dave’s expression is the definition of confusion. “But Rosalina, I thought we were here to talk about you?”

I—Yes. Originally the topic of the meeting was to talk about whether it even makes sense for Logan and I to continue fake dating for social media engagement, and also about what this means for my career now that it’s clear that my expectations weren’t aligned with Dave’s.

But then this happened.

I point at my laptop screen showing a frozen frame from the viral Logan Kim video of the moment. It must’ve been captured by someone from the New York Eagles stadium staff, or perhaps a teammate. The star of the show is Lewis Kim in the middle, and only peeks of Logan can be seen through the open door where Lewis came ejected from.

The whole thing is maybe thirty seconds long, cut to shed the worst possible light on Logan. None of Lewis’s abusive behavior is shown on screen. Instead it’s just about the moment Logan shoves him out and Lewis crashes on his ass.

The comments are mixed. Some hardcore fans recognize that it’s unthinkable for a player from one team to invade the clubhouse of their series rival, and they’re calling for sanctions on Lewis.

But the bulk of the commenters are condemning Logan. People are calling him violent, unstable, unprofessional, and many worse things. They’re calling for his suspension, some even for a full-on ban, even though this was a private incident that didn’t happen during play.

All the goodwill that Logan and I earned is being squandered, and there are even people asking for someone to check in on me in case Logan is also violent toward me. And the worst of the bunch are even wondering if perhaps I enjoy it anyway.

I don’t care about that. I just can’t believe how quick they are to judge Logan, when the real threat to other human beings is his creep of a brother. The hand shaped bruise in my sternum can attest to that.

“Not all the comments are negative,” Tom says while he scrolls through them from his own phone. “Certainly the Wild fans are proud of how Logan defended our clubhouse.”

“Yeah, but those are like five percent of all the comments,” I argue.

“But it’s publicity anyway and at the end of the day, that’s what we want,” Dave says with a shrug. “People are talking about him and therefore the team, so basically our job here is done.”

“He’s getting slandered.” I widen my eyes. “And going by what a creep Lewis Kim is, I wouldn’t even be surprised if he planned the whole scene and we just played along like puppets. And you’re telling me we’re not going to do anything to protect Logan?”

Both men give me funny looks that I don’t understand. They should be just as furious as me.

Dave checks his boss’s expression before turning to me again. “Rosalina, I have a questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes?” I frown and fold my arms, annoyed.

“How come you’ve never gotten this incensed when any of the other players get trash talked online?”

I blink.

Dave’s mouth curls dangerously. Worse still, Tom’s expression also turns amused.

“Well, well.” Dave elbows his boss, since they’re sitting on the same side of the table. “It looks like maybe the stunt wasn’t a stunt all along.”

I gasp. And choke.

“Just so you know, I recognize your excellent contributions to the marketing team and I have no problem with you dating a player.” Tom’s voice is grave, yet his cheeks keep twitching. “Just make sure that the other players don’t feel the favoritism.”

“Ugh.” I push away from my chair and stalk to the door.

“Wait,” Dave calls out. “Aren’t we going to talk about you?”

“I can’t.” I scowl at them. “I’m too annoyed right now. I’ll reschedule this meeting for whenever I can be more professional and not get myself sent to HR.”

I leave them to have a really good laugh at my expense, knowing full well that my face is probably as red as beets and that I can’t deny the allegation.

Technically, the stunt was just that. Logan and I never dated for real. But I do have some serious feelings for him. It’s why I’m trying to protect him. And if that doesn’t work—thanks to my middle schooler bosses not giving the issue any importance—then the least I can do is warn Logan. Even if I had vowed to never be alone with him again for my own sake.

I sit to fume in my cubicle for an hour where I achieve exactly zero productivity. Every five minutes I open the text message app to re-read the last communication between Logan and I, half dreading and half hoping for him to cancel at the last minute.

Me

Let’s meet in the parking lot after everyone else leaves

Fake Babe

Roger that

That’s it. Nothing else. And a big gap between my text today and the last time we talked. Almost two weeks.

But Logan doesn’t cancel, and with every passing second my heart rate increases more and more. Players on rest day tend to leave around five, like a normal nine-to-five job, and I wait until half past to start making my way to the exit. By the time I spot him waiting by his bike, in the middle of a nearly deserted parking lot, I can confirm that my heartbeat is one or two points away from a medical emergency.

I slide back into the lobby before he can spot me and force myself to take a few deep breaths. “You got this,” I tell myself, nodding. “It’s just a work-related conversation. You’re not declaring your feelings for the man, here.”

I turn and almost kill myself from fright.

For a second I think it’s Logan standing right behind me but no, it’s just a damn potted plant.

I need to be way less keyed up for this. Puffing my chest, I finally make my way out of the building and head over to him.

What was it that Lucky called it earlier? Skimpy? Because Logan’s in another of those outfits that are like catnip—a black muscle T-shirt that clings so tight to his body that I can even make out the shape of his belly button, black cargo pants with a little black pouch tied around his left thigh, and black combat boots. I’m sure he’d look great in other colors but goodness, the all black ensemble makes my knees buckle.

Somehow I manage to stand upright in front of him. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He tips his chin. I wish I could tell him to unfold his arms so all those muscles, the veins and the tats weren’t so in my face. It makes me want to lick them.

Clearing my throat, I start speaking. “Thank you for meeting me here. Er…”

He cocks one eyebrow but patiently waits for me to gather my wits, now that they’ve scattered all across the place at the sight of his incredible arms. But then I remember that the topic isn’t a fun one, and that I’m not supposed to have any fun with this man.

“Right, I’m just gonna cut to the chase.” I adopt his same posture, hoping it helps me brace myself. “You might have already seen this on your social media feeds, but you’ve gone viral again and this time it’s not good.”

“Is that so,” he says flatly, not as a question, and it doesn’t let me glean if he was already aware or not.

“Yes, someone recorded the altercation between you and your brother. The clip they published makes you look like the complete villain because there’s no further context. I’m…” I swallow hard but press on. “I’m thinking the whole thing might’ve been orchestrated. By your brother.”

For a second, all Logan does is hum from his throat like I’m just telling him about something that happened to the friend of a friend of a cousin.

“That wouldn’t surprise me.”

I frown. “Then why are you so calm?”

He shrugs those powerful shoulders of his. “Not my first rodeo with him.”

“So—” I splutter. “You’re fine with being dragged through the mud? With everybody talking shit about you like you’re some two-bit villain? With your reputation going down the drain overnight? Is that fine with you, Logan?” I’m only conscious of how my voice has risen when I stop yapping to catch my breath.

Even worse, he just stares at me calmly. His hair is damp from a shower and still drips on his muscle shirt, and I’d much rather look at that than into his all-seeing eyes.

“What’s it to you?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“Huh?” In contrast, mine is squeaky.

“Why do you care about what people say about me when even I don’t?”

I—I?—

Mierda.

He finally loosens his arms and puts his hands in his pockets. Then takes one step closer. I try to breathe deeper so I can get oxygen to my brain, desperately needing it to work, but that just brings that manly piney scent that clings to his skin into my lungs.

“Why do you care, Rose?” he repeats, looking down at me.

“I just—I just think it’s unfair, that’s all.”

“So you’d react the same way if this was happening to, say… Machado?”

I lift my chin. “Of course.” And that’s not entirely a lie. The current crop of Orlando Wild players is made out of pretty standup guys.

But it’s true that I don’t care about all of them the same way.

Logan’s eyes roam around my face, looking for a hint of that truth. My mind screams at my legs to run, to take me away from the danger I’ve put myself in. They stay rooted on the asphalt, though. The traitors know the feeling of being wrapped around Logan—on his bike, that is—and would rather do that again than run.

Wordlessly, Logan lifts his hand and carefully, as if the motion could hurt me, he slides a finger into one of my curls and tugs gently. And I feel it right down to my toes.

“You care about me,” he whispers, returning his hand back to his pocket. “Why?”

The one-word question snaps me out of the haze.

Taking a deep breath like I’m breaking out through the surface of pool water, I retreat by one big step and tighten my arms around me. “Beats me because I clearly shouldn’t,” I admit bitterly.

“Right.” His expression changes. A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows and he reels back a little. “It’s best if you don’t get tangled with a bad apple.”

“That’s not it,” I snap, annoyed out of my mind. “I already told you, you’re nothing like your relatives. But even then you’re not right for me.” He stays quiet and I’m not even sure he understands why, so I add, “I don’t want a repeat of Ben Williams—a guy who just wants me for my body and doesn’t care about the rest of me. And I know that you’re not like him at all, but that’s all I am to you anyway. You are attracted to me, I can tell from the way you look at me and you can’t deny it?—”

He cuts in. “I don’t.”

I suck in air through my teeth but continue, “But you yourself said that you just want my body, and that’s not at all what I envision for myself anymore. So yeah, I care about you, but from that night on it’s only going to be as a friend.”

“Friend?” Logan laughs the word out and punctuates it with a scoff, and this is the most emotion he’s shown in this conversation. “I can’t ever be your friend, Rose.”

“Why the hell not?” I complain.

“I want you too damn much for that. I would be a stinking liar if I even tried to treat you as a friend.”

My mouth opens.

“Damn it,” he mumbles, running his hands through his damp hair and pulling at it as he looks away.

“Don’t…” My voice trembles and I breach the distance again. He braces himself, rightfully so, because I smack his chest. “Don’t you dare freaking say that. You can only want all of me, Logan Kim. Not just a piece. And if you can’t do that, then stop. Just stop!”

Logan makes a sound like I’m hurting him, even though we both know it’s my hand what’s smarting.

But then his hands are around my waist and he pulls me against him just like he did one week ago at the photoshoot. My purse strap slides off my shoulder and it clatters on the ground, but none of us move.

“I told you, you’re the one who calls the shots but I…” he whispers, lowering his forehead to mine. He takes a deep breath that makes his nostrils flutter, and sighs. “I really need to kiss you right now before I lose my mind.”

My hands close against his chest and pound softly. “Is that all you want from me? Just a kiss? After everything I just said?”

His voice comes out like gravel. “I don’t deserve all of you, Rose.”

The words echo in my head. Something lurks beneath them that makes me even more upset than before.

“But I deserve more,” I say.

Logan freezes and I take advantage of that to push him away.

My whole body trembles with anger and with want, but somehow it still functions. I still breathe. I still manage to pick up my purse and glare at him, and even take a few steps away until my willpower falters.

I turn over my shoulder. Like that night after the pool party, he stands exactly where I left him, but now that he’s not wearing his helmet the desire is openly on display on his face. His dark eyes are like fire as they take me in, and they beckon me to return to his arms, to kiss him. To surrender.

I want him, too—more, even. I would take all of Logan Kim gladly. His crankiness, his silences, his smiles, his frowns, his hopes and fears. I want him mind, body, and soul. And the fact that he doesn’t want me the same way is a gaping wound the size of a chasm between who I was before him and after.

If it hadn’t been for my ex, I would run to Logan’s arms right now and set myself up for an even bigger heartache.

My chin trembles and the vision of him distorts with oncoming tears.

Logan notices and his eyes widen, one of his hands reaching in the air toward me before he drops it.

That tiny gesture makes my resolve crumble a bit because deep down I know he cares about me, just not enough.

Wiping my face with the back of my hands, I decide to call one last shot. “If a single kiss is all I can get from you, then I’m going to take it for my own sake, and after that we’ll go back to being strangers. Not friends. Not exes. Two people who have nothing to do with each other. Are you fine with that?”

Logan hesitates for a second, but then he tightens his jaws, his fists and every muscle. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“ Fine ,” I spit out, a loaded word between us. Tossing my purse wherever it falls, I launch myself at Logan and crash into him.

He stumbles back against the impact but catches me as our lips collide. His arms come around me and one hand settles at the back of my neck, grabbing it possessively. I land with my chest pressed up against his, his thighs around my legs, my hands cradling his jaw not so gently, savoring the feel of his stubble against the palms of my hands.

There is nothing sweet about this kiss. The need for him that I had bottled up for weeks—months even—drives me to possess every inch of his mouth.

Logan isn’t a subtle kind of guy either, and his lips press against mine, forcing my mouth open for his invasion. A raw moan tears from my throat once his tongue finds mine, gliding and molding so perfectly that it doesn’t feel like we’re kissing for the first time. I run my fingers through his hair and close my fist around the silky strands, pulling slightly like I saw him do earlier.

Logan growls—straight up makes a sound I’ve only heard from an animal.

His mouth closes until his lips are the only thing in contact with mine. “Damn it, Rose. I?—”

I don’t want to hear anything else, and I rise on my tiptoes to interrupt him by trapping his lower lip between my teeth. I scrape it softly and say, “I’m in charge, am I not? And I didn’t say this kiss is over yet.”

Because when I do, this thing between us will officially end.

Logan makes that desperate, guttural sound again and steals my mouth. I try to press closer and he does the same. I try to memorize the texture of his lips, of his tongue, the taste of his skin, the tension in his scalp, the way he curves his body over me, the scorching heat between us, the sound of our breathing and our lips sliding and sucking. I try to convey in a single violent kiss that I want him, that I love him—or that I could love him if he let me. That he’s enough. That I’m not afraid of him. That we could do this everyday for the rest of our lives.

But I’m not going to beg him. I’m done with that.

Gasping, moaning, whining—all of the above—I tear myself away from Logan so forcefully that even his arms can’t hold me anymore.

Slowly, I raise my eyes to his face. It’s red, like I’ve never seen it before. And Logan is panting harder than after a full day of training, his wide chest rising and falling frenetically, hands still suspended in the air, his fingers curling slowly once he realizes it’s over. We’re done. This is it.

I only realize I’m crying when I bend down to grab my purse again and tears fall on the asphalt. The cards are on the table and I no longer give a frick if he sees how much I care—how much this hurts.

“Don’t talk to me again unless you’re ready for all of me,” I say between gasping breaths.

And then I run to my car, sobbing like a damn princess in a cruel fairytale, and because Logan is a damn gentleman he doesn’t follow.