Marked (Playing Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Barber

  Sitting beside me in the box was one of my heroes Robbo. Robbo was the type of journalist I wanted to be when I finally grew up. Even sharing the same media box with him was a dream. He was someone I could learn everything from. The stuff that couldn’t be taught, Robbo could teach me.

  “What’s your angle?” he asked as he stuffed a handful of potato chips in his mouth.

  Hanging out with him, I was learning a lot and not just about journalism either. I was seeing the man behind the words and he wasn’t at all what I expected. For some reason I had this ideal image of journalists in my mind. They carried leather satchels, were constantly calling in stories and had ink stains on their fingers from the handful of leaky pens stuffed in their shirt pockets. Instead, he carried a laptop which he’d forgotten to charge and a mobile phone. A phone he spent more time playing games on than he did jotting down notes.

  “Not sure yet. Gerard didn’t really tell me what he wanted,” I admitted. This was my first day as a newspaper employee on the payroll, and I really had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. I’d been sure he would’ve at least given me a hint.

  “Of course, he didn’t. What’d you think? He was going to drop a story right in your lap?”

  “Well…”

  “First lesson. Find your own story. No one’s going to hand it to you on a silver platter. In fact, they’d stab you in the back and steal any half decent idea if you share it with them. Be tenacious, Tasha. Hunt for the story that captures your attention and then chase it to the ends of the earth.”

  “Isn’t that a bit…a bit… I don’t know. Selfish?”

  “Selfish? Hell no! In this profession, it’s imperative. Don’t let your idealistic view of the world cloud the reality. It’s survival of the fittest.”

  “Okay.”

  “Look, Tasha, I don’t want you to become jaded on your first day, but you need to look beyond the surface. I’ve read your work and your observations are spot on, but now it’s time to take it to the next level.”

  “How do I do that? It’s not like I can go down there and ask them.”

  “Why the hell not?” he asked bluntly, and the shock on my face must’ve been evident. “See that thing dangling around your neck, it’s a press pass, Tasha. It gets you access to people and places you’ve only ever imagined.”

  You know what? He was right. Everything had changed. Now, not only could I afford to go to the games, but I was actually paid to attend them. I was no longer sitting in my lounge room, screaming at the TV, writing for myself. Now there were people out there who wanted to hear what I had to say and what I thought. It was a power that up until this moment I hadn’t understood or appreciated but one I wasn’t going to take lightly.

  The siren sounded and the second quarter started. I straightened in my seat and fixed my eyes on the game. Considering the wind, it was fast paced and fairly accurate. Unlike the first quarter where goals had been hard to come by, this quarter seemed to be a shootout. Before I was ready, the siren blared, the quarter was over, and I’d written exactly zero words. What’s worse, I had even less of a clue what words I was going to use or even what I wanted to write about.

  To say it was stressing me out was the understatement of the century. My deal with Gerard was pretty loose. He wanted me to stay as true to my approach as I could. It’s what had caught his eye and built a cult following. It’s why he recruited me. He already had an army of writers who knew more than me when it came to the technicalities. He wanted me to push the boundaries. Use my simplistic, young look at the world to see beyond the carefully crafted media releases to get to the nitty gritty. Find out what the hell these guys got up to. Wouldn’t Gerard be surprised if he knew just how up close and personal I’d been to his precious golden boy.

  “You coming, Tasha?” Robbo asked.

  Shaking off the thoughts about dirty dancing in dark corners of night clubs, I realised that everyone else was already halfway out the door.

  Grabbing my purse, I leapt to my feet and scurried after them. Halfway down the hallway I managed to catch up and ask where we were headed.

  “At half time we go down to the member’s area and have a drink. It’s a good place to see what’s going on and be seen. There’s often ex-players hanging out schmoozing some potential sponsor or employer.”

  “Ex-players?” I asked incredulously. “Really?”

  From the way I sounded you’d be correct in saying I was barely seconds from fainting and fangirling down the stairs. Even though I was desperate to be seen as professional, I could barely contain myself.

  “Yeah. There’s usually a couple.”

  “Wow!”

  “You’re not going to go all girly on me and squeal in my ear, are you?” Robbo teased. At least I think he was teasing. Maybe he was but he was also just nervous that I would lose it and embarrass him. I couldn’t blame him. I was shitting myself that I’d end up doing exactly that and humiliating myself.

  “Of course not,” I confirmed more for myself than anyone else.

  Robbo looked at me with disbelief written all over his face but remained silent. I was grateful he didn’t call me out on my bullshit.

  Pushing open the heavy glass door, he led me into a huge function room. The noise in here was insane. It was jam packed, wall to wall with people all of whom seemed to be talking at the same time. Turning towards me, Robbo mimicked the motion of a drink and I nodded. As I slipped into the corner, I watched as he wove his way through the crowd towards the bar, stopping to say hi and shake hands with seemingly everyone.

  From my spot tucked away in the corner, I started people-watching with fascination. It was something I’d always done and was probably the reason journalism had called to me in the first place. And this afternoon was a smorgasbord of people watching. There were women tottering about in sky-high heels, with dark red lipstick and jeans so tight they must have been painted on. There were balding men, dressed in perfectly pressed suits with bulging bellies testing the strength of their shirt buttons as they reminisced about their own glory days. There were representatives from both clubs, their monogramed polo shirts making them stand out from the crowd as they networked and generally kissed arses.

  Then there was him.

  My breath caught and I coughed violently.

  Taller than most.

  Younger than almost everyone.

  The sexiest man I’d ever seen.

  The same man who had a recurring starring role in all my fantasies.

  Standing there, wearing the shit out of his navy suit, white shirt and navy tie, he had the crowd surrounding him hanging on his every word. Shifting even closer to the wall, my eyes never left him, but I wanted to make sure, I needed to make sure he didn’t see me. The last thing I could afford to do today was come face to face with Logan Oliver.

  When I’d accepted the job, I knew this was a possibility. And I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been a very appealing upside, but I wasn’t prepared today. Knowing he was out injured; I hadn’t given any thought to what he’d actually be doing on game day.

  Before I had a chance to slip into a full-blown panic attack, Robbo appeared at my side handing me an icy glass. “What are you doing hiding in the corner?” he asked, confused.

  I couldn’t blame him. I was confused. “Just watching.”

  “Ah. One of my favourite pastimes. One thing you’ll learn in this room, wandering through the middle, just hovering around, you never know what you’ll find out.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, while I was headed to the bar, I ran into an old friend who happened to mention that a certain million-dollar player may be looking to change clubs at the end of the year when his contract expires.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me!” I exclaimed, startled. That had to be bullshit.

  The stunned look on his face had me apologising like the bumbling idiot I was. “I meant, you’re kidding me.”

  With an amused chuckle, he said, “Don’t sweat it. I�
��m glad you were the first one to drop the ‘f’ bomb. I really thought it would’ve been me. And no, not kidding. It’s no secret his contract is almost up. I don’t know if he’s shopping around, the club is, or other clubs are testing the waters.”

  “How will you find out?”

  “By not hiding in the corner against the wall.”

  Yeah okay. I get it. I just hadn’t been prepared to run into him today. Or ever again. Oh, I wanted to. Hell yeah did I want to. The way he’d touched me, the way he’d spoken to me, the way a single look lit up my whole body; I’d give anything to run into him again.

  “Come on. We should head back upstairs. The crush will start in a few minutes and trust me, you don’t want to be caught in that.”

  The rest of the game passed in a blur. I was buzzing in my own skin. My phone was full of notes and ideas. I needed to get home and get to my computer as quick as I could. I wanted to get some words down before I forgot everything.

  After thanking Robbo for all his help, I unwrapped my lanyard from around my neck, tucked it in my pocket and headed for the gates. Trying to navigate the maze of corridors in the bowels of the MCG proved harder than it should’ve been. Turning down yet another empty hallway, I dug my phone from my pocket determined to get myself out of here and back to the station to get on the train sometime today.

  Not looking where I was going, I walked straight into a glass door, crashing my head on the glass, knocking me on my arse.

  “Shit! Are you okay?” a deep voice asked from behind me as I rubbed the now-sore spot on the centre of my forehead.

  “Fine,” I grumbled as I found my feet and brushed off my bum. I don’t know what hurt more; my head, my arse, or my pride.

  Turning around, I came face to face with the dimples that haunted my dreams and drenched my underwear. Logan Oliver was standing right in front of me. Determined not to look like a scared little girl in front of him, I mentally adjusted my big-girl panties, ignored the racing of my heart and lifted my chin to meet his eyes.

  “It’s you.” Was it just me or did his words sound breathless?

  “Hi.” It was the dumbest thing I could’ve said but it was all I could manage.

  “Hi? That’s what you’re going with?” He folded his long arms across his chest testing the seams of his jacket. Damn, the man knew how to wear a suit.

  “Yep,” I replied, popping the ‘p’.

  He took a step towards me, crowding me against the locked door. I shivered. I wanted to believe it was from the cool glass, but there was a damn good chance it was the man standing in front of me.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LOGAN

  I couldn’t fucking believe it. Seriously. Where the hell had she come from? The one chick I’d been jacking off to every day for way too long was standing in front of me looking completely edible, and she was giving me the same sass she had in the club, and my dick didn’t miss it at all.

  “Want to tell me where you disappeared to?”

  “I had to go,” she lied easily. Too easily.

  Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were wide as she stared up at me. I took another step towards her. I could feel her short, shallow breaths against my neck as she stubbornly held my gaze, refusing to look away. This close to her and I could see the pulse in her neck drumming rapidly, giving away her secrets.

  “You had to run away you mean.”

  “N-no.”

  Bending down, I breathed in her scent. I regretted it almost instantly. The scent of toasted vanilla made my dick weep. “You ran. And I wasn’t finished with you.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “I’d barely got started.”

  Not giving her smartarse mouth a moment to come up with a reply, I grabbed her arm, hauled her towards me and crashed my mouth over hers. At first, she was hesitant, but it took barely seconds before she’d dropped her bag and her hands were clawing at my shoulders and back. When I heard a moan, I wasn’t sure if it came from me or her, but fuck me did I want to hear it again.

  By the time I remembered where we were and pulled back, her lips were swollen, her eyes were half closed and her cheeks were flushed. Pride flooded through me knowing I was the one who put that look there.

  While I was patting myself on the back, she was freaking out and getting ready to run. Again. Not this time, sweetheart. She bent down and picked up her bag, causing her jeans to pull tight across her perky arse. I’d never loved and hated a piece of clothing more in my life. When she straightened to full height, she looked up at me.

  “Was good to see you again. I better get out of here, though. I’ve got a train to catch.”

  “Not yet you don’t.” I heard my own voice and barely recognised it. It was deep, desperate and raspy. I guess it made sense. With all the blood rushing south, there wasn’t much left in my head to use common sense.

  “Ah, yeah I do.”

  “You don’t think I’m about to let you run away on me again?”

  Like the defiant little minx she was, she didn’t back down. “I didn’t run.”

  Not wanting to piss her off, I conceded on this one. I was a smart guy. I knew when to pick my battles and when to back down. And right now, if I had any chance of getting a repeat performance out of her, then I had to play my cards right.

  “Fine. You didn’t run. But you did leave without saying goodbye.”

  Running her hand through her mussed-up hair, she let out a heavy sigh. “I did do that, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. That was rude. Forgive me?” She looked up and smiled so sweetly it almost gave me a toothache.

  “I’ll consider it. On two conditions.”

  I had no idea what I was doing. Playing with this girl, taunting and teasing her had my blood pumping. The fact that she gave as good as she got made the game even more fun.

  Trying to look tough, she folded her arms across her chest which only pushed her boobs up, catching my attention. I mean, how could I not look? They were there. They were perfect. And I was a guy.

  “Hey, buddy.” She clicked her fingers in my face. “My eyes are up here.” Damn it! She must have caught me staring. Oh well. Shit happens. I wasn’t embarrassed about it. I should’ve been. But damn it. I wasn’t. And there was no way I was going to apologise for it.

  “Well then, what are these conditions?” she asked boldly.

  “Firstly, you tell me your name.”

  “And the second?”

  She wasn’t going to make this easy for me. Something that I think I liked even more than her pouty lips or perky boobs.

  “You come to dinner with me,” I threw out there casually.

  For a full minute we stood there, staring at each other. Daring the other to blink first. Behind me, I heard the chatter of people, but I didn’t budge. There was no way I was breaking eye contact.

  “Natasha,” she murmured so softly I barely caught it.

  “Natasha?”

  “Yeah. That’s me.”

  “Well then, hi, Natasha. I’m Logan. I’d love to take you to dinner tonight.”

  She swallowed deeply. I was pushing my luck, but I couldn’t stop. I doubt anyone could’ve stopped me.

  “Fine.”

  “Really?” I was shocked she gave in so easily. I was expecting a lot more back and forth from her.

  “Sure. Why not? Besides, I’m starving. But I have a condition of my own.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. You want to have dinner with me, then you have to play by my rules.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “That’s easy. We say goodbye and I head home.”

  “To do what exactly?”

  Natasha stepped forward, crushing her breasts against my chest. I could feel her warmth through my jacket. My dick pulsed in my pants. If this foreplay didn’t end soon, I was in serious danger of busting through my zipper and embarrassing myself. Something I was sure my teammates would find hilarious.

 
; “If you don’t play by my rules and I end up going home by myself, I’d walk through the door, stripping off on my way to the bathroom. In there, I’d turn on the shower. Wait for the room to steam up before stepping under the scalding water and using my favourite toy to try and ease the ache building inside me.”

  The growl escaped my throat. Fucking woman was a tease. The only upside I could see was that she seemed to be as worked up as I was. Pushing my luck, I stole another kiss. When her tongue snaked out and tangled with mine, things escalated quickly.

  Breaking the kiss, I pulled back reluctantly. Panting, I confirmed, “Whatever you want, it’s yours. We just need to get the fuck out of here right now before we put on a show.”

  Lifting her finger to her lips, she blinked before looking up at me. I expected her to protest. To argue. To set her own agenda. Instead she murmured. “Let’s go.”

  We made it out to the car without dragging each other into any of the storage closets or bathrooms we passed on the way. I’d adjusted myself half a dozen times and when we stepped into the elevator to take us down to the parking lot where my car waited, Natasha stepped in front of me. Part of me was extremely grateful she’d hidden my now-very-obvious predicament from view. But being the minx she was, she wasn’t just being helpful. Instead she wriggled her arse against my cock, only adding to my problem.

  Refusing to let her have all the fun, I leant down an nipped her neck, earning me a moan that I felt all the way through my body. “Keep that up and the only thing I’ll be eating for dinner is you.”

  As she dropped her head back against my shoulder, my needy fingers reached out and held her hips steady against me. I was so worked up I was more than ready to explode. The air was thick with chemistry and we were already both panting desperately.