Marked (Playing Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Barber

  “Thanks,” I said, snagging a slice and taking a huge bite.

  “What are you doing?” Instead of answering with a mouthful, I pointed to the TV where Bruce Willis and Samuel L Jackson were running through the streets of New York trying to save the day. It didn’t seem to make a scrap of difference how many times I’d seen this movie or the fact I knew exactly how it was going to end, I loved it. It was a classic and I didn’t give a shit who said otherwise. “Sweet! Die Hard!” Bryce kicked his shoes off and sat on his own bed. “Guess I owe Nick fifty then.”

  “What? Why?” I asked, reaching for another slice.

  “I bet him you’d be sitting in here stroking your dick thinking about Tash.” He shrugged like it was nothing.

  Grabbing my pillow, I didn’t even bat an eyelid when I saw the greasy handprint I left on the white cover and threw it at his head, catching him off guard. “What?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Is that what you bet?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Well if that’s what you thought I was doing, why didn’t you knock?” I challenged.

  “Didn’t think of it.” Now that I believed. I’d known Bryce long enough to know he wouldn’t have given two shits if he’d burst through the door to find me, dick in hand.

  “And since when are you calling her Tash?” I think that bugged me more than the stupid bet.

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” My voice was deep and threatening. It was weird. I had no idea why I sounded so…so… jealous. I had no reason to be. No right.

  “Tash and I are friends now.”

  That made me chuckle. “Yeah, okay. Of course, you are.” My voice was laced with disbelief.

  “What? We are. After I dropped her at the hospital and we had a D&M, we exchanged numbers and—”

  “You what?” It came out as a screech I should’ve been embarrassed by.

  “What?”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Ah. I see what’s wrong here. You’re pissed. Which bit was it? The D&M or the fact I have her number and you don’t?”

  With a scoff, I tried to downplay it, but from the smug smirk on his face, one I was barely seconds away from wiping off, I knew I was failing. Badly. “How’d you get her number?”

  “I asked for it.”

  “You asked for it. And she gave it to you?” I couldn’t mask the shock.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “‘Cause we’re friends.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Bullshit what?”

  “Bullshit you two are just friends.”

  “Ah, you see, Logan, that’s where you’re very, very wrong my friend. Tash and I are just friends. You and Tash, on the other hand, well you’re both too damn dumb and stubborn to figure out what the hell you are.”

  “I’m not dumb.”

  “Well do YOU have her number?” Fucker had me there and he knew it. “While you stew on that little titbit, I’m going to get ready for bed. I’m stuffed and I need some ice on this shoulder.” Without waiting for an answer, he slipped into the bathroom and left me sitting there staring at his phone he’d left in the centre of the bed. If I was a betting man, I’d say he left it there deliberately to taunt me. And fuck me sideways was it working.

  Stripping off my shirt, I yanked back the covers and slipped under the sheets. Flicking off the light beside me, I laid in the dark with the movie still playing on the screen in front of me while annoyance gnawed at me. Bryce was an arsehole. There was no two ways about it. He’d had Tash’s details for days. He knew how miserable and pissed I was at myself for failing to get them. And he’d sat on them. Briefly I considered tossing his bag out in the corridor but that’d mean I’d have to see his bare arse and I wasn’t keen on that. Not at all.

  When he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, I jumped up and went and cleaned my teeth. Just as I was splashing some water on my face, I heard my phone beep. At least I think it was my phone. “Was that me?”

  “Yep.”

  Drying my hands, I hung the towel on the rung, ignoring the wet towels piled on the floor and went back to my bed. Grabbing my phone, I saw the message was only from Bryce. I don’t know why I’d even bothered to get my hopes up.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Just open it,” he said with a sigh.

  Clicking the message, I saw what he’d sent me. A number. A phone number. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “If you think its Tasha’s number, then yes. It’s exactly what you think it is. I’m sick of dealing with your moody bullshit. Just call the girl and set up a date. A proper one. If she’ll have you, that is.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well now she’s spent some time with me, you probably don’t look so good. She might want a real man.”

  “Real man? Is that what you think you are?” Bryce was kidding himself. He was basically an overgrown teenager. He thought with his dick, didn’t know what chivalry was. He wouldn’t know what a real date was if he tripped over it.

  “This is too fucking funny. Do you even hear yourself? You sound like a jealous, whiny little bitch.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a prick?” I asked.

  “Nope. You called her yet?”

  “When have I had time to call her? I’ve been arguing with you since I got her number.”

  Ignoring my answer, he continued being Bryce. “Knew you didn’t have the balls to call her.”

  “Fuck off. I’m not calling her tonight. It’s almost midnight. I’m not waking her up. I’ll call tomorrow,” I replied, lying to myself. There was no way in hell I was going to call her. As much as I wanted to hear her voice, I wasn’t going to risk being shot down over the phone. I’d text her. Maybe.

  Without a word, I turned off the TV, punched my pillow and rolled over.

  “Sweet dreams, Princess.” He couldn’t help himself. He had to throw out one last taunt like the knob he was. If I wasn’t so sore and tired, I’d give serious consideration to smothering him with a pillow as he snored.

  I woke up late. I hated being late. After tossing and turning all night, I woke with a crick in my neck, aching and grumpy. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I was expecting to see Bryce still passed out, but there was no sign of life. The bathroom was strangely silent too. Grabbing my phone, I checked the time. “Fuck!” It was already after eight. Breakfast was eight sharp, in the hotel restaurant. As quick as I could, I showered, dressed and made my way down.

  Walking through the glass doors, my teammates or the bunch of arseholes formerly known as my teammates, clapped on my arrival. Unfortunately, I knew exactly what that meant. Not only was I paying for coffee at the airport for the entire team, but I had to take their orders and personally deliver their bloody macchiatos and soy lattes.

  “Oliver! Thanks for joining us,” Coach called out across the room. “Don’t forget the sugar for my skim cappuccino.”

  “Skim?” someone called out.

  “Wanna ride the bench for the next month, Rogers?” Coach returned as he turned his attention back to the mountain of food in front of him.

  Making my way to the buffet, I loaded up my plate with fresh fruit, bacon and eggs. After the disappointing dinner I barely ate, I was ravenous this morning. Pouring myself an orange juice, I ignored the spare seat next to Bryce and headed for the corner. Even though I was awake, dressed and functioning, I wasn’t ready for people. It was just another one of the reasons I hated being late. I needed time in the morning to wake up slowly, properly before I could deal with people.

  In my pocket, my phone vibrated, and I tugged it out as I bit into a slice of overly ripe rockmelon.

  Bryce: Called her yet?

  Instead of answering, I turned around and looked across the room to where he was laughing like a hyena. Flipping him the bird, I went back to my breakfast, shutting the whole world out.

  Three hou
rs later, I’d handed out every variation of coffee, mocha and piccolo known to man. The poor barista looked like she was going to cry when I handed her the list. But she’d nailed every drink. Didn’t even get pissy at me. The twenty I’d thrown in as a tip probably helped.

  Flopping into the chair with my own cup cradled in my hand, I waited to board. I’d barely finished my coffee when we were called and I was shuffling along in line, handing over my boarding pass and collapsing into the seat.

  Even though I knew I was heading home to a mountain of homework and studying, first things first; I needed to go for a run. Work some of the anxious energy out of my body. Having Tasha’s number in my phone was making me crazy. If Bryce thought I’d been restless before, he had no fucking idea the monster he’d unleashed.

  After an uneventful and relatively calm flight, we made it on time. Grabbing my backpack, I swung it over my shoulder and headed down to the baggage carousel. I’d barely had time to scoop my duffle bag from the conveyor belt before I was hounded.

  “Logan! Logan! Is it true?”

  “Have you seen it?”

  “Do you have any comment?”

  “Do you have a reply?”

  “What do you think about the comments?”

  Paparazzi surrounded me, blocking me from everyone else asking me a barrage of questions that came from left field. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I had a really bad feeling that whatever it was, I probably wasn’t going to like it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TASHA

  Mondays seemed to be coming faster and faster every week. Today was a particularly Monday Monday, though. Gerard had summoned me to the offices of the Advocate. I hadn’t been there before, so I had no idea what I was expecting. Part of me hoped it was like all the newspaper offices I’d seen on TV; people running out the door on assignments, taking calls from their informants, a tray of donuts sitting beside the coffee station which was the central hub of activity, and then there was the big guy. Not Santa, not that big guy. The Chief. The one who called the shots. The one who everyone sucked up to, trying to get their name on the article on the front page. He’d wear suspenders and glasses and yell a lot. Smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in my skirt, I stepped inside the cold, almost unwelcoming lobby and made my way to the bank of elevators against the wall.

  Picking at my nails, my nervousness was flooding me. I had no idea what Gerard wanted to see me about, probably to fire me. I’d sent my article in on Saturday, an hour before deadline and all he’d written back was ‘Try again.’ When the elevator arrived, I stepped inside and got bustled to the back corner behind a couple of guys in suits. Unable to press the buttons, I leaned to the side to see someone had already hit the fourth floor.

  “See the Adelaide game on the weekend?” suit one asked suit two.

  “Some of it. Saw the first half but ended up turning it off. It was pathetic,” suit two replied.

  “Rumour is coach is on his last chance. Board meeting’s been called for Wednesday.”

  “It’s settled then. He’s gone. Who’s in the running for replacement?”

  The elevator pinged and they both stepped out. Following them, my mind was spinning. They were already looking for someone’s replacement before anything had happened. Even though I knew it was probably true, I found the whole thing a tad cut-throat.

  Stopping at the reception desk, I found a sour-looking girl with a ring through her nose and blue hair scowling at me like I’d interrupted her, not that she looked busy at all. “What?” she snarked at me.

  “I’ve got an eight thirty with Gerard.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Natasha North.”

  “Nice name…not.” Someone had rolled out of bed and put her bitchy pants on this morning. And I thought I wasn’t a morning person. Even after stepping in a puddle in my high heels, putting a hole in my stockings, forty-five minutes squashed on the train in morning peak hour and trudging from the station up here, I was still in a better mood than this chick.

  “Thanks,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

  “Sit down. I’ve sent him a message to let him know you’re here.”

  Cutting my losses, I perched my butt on the edge of a black leather ottoman and clamped my knees together as tight as I could. There were men scurrying every which way, men I hoped would one day end up my colleagues; the last thing they needed to see were my Minnie Mouse undies. It was just my luck. The day I had to get out of bed, look professional and together and the only pair of clean underwear I had in my drawer would’ve suited a five-year-old.

  Before I had too much time to freak myself out, standing in front of me in scuffed black runners, jeans and a polo, appeared a friendly face. “Natasha! You in trouble already?” Robbo teased, taking a sip from the gigantic coffee cup in his hand.

  It took all my restraint to not take it from him and pour it down my throat. With everything not going to plan this morning, the one thing I’d missed was my very necessary dose of caffeine.

  I must’ve looked like I was on the verge of freaking out when he hastily added, “Breathe. I’m sure you’re fine.”

  Finding my big-girl words, I replied, “I hope so. I have a meeting with Gerard at eight thirty.”

  Robbo looked at me with a crooked grin. Then he glanced across to the girl I’d now dubbed as the world’s worst receptionist. “Did Kylie offer you coffee or anything?” Even though she wasn’t someone I wanted to cross, I shook my head. Just because I was trying to avoid her shit list didn’t mean I was going to lie for her either. “Come with me.”

  Picking up my bag, I slipped it over my shoulder and followed Robbo as he led me through the office. It wasn’t anything like I imagined. A lot of cubicles sat empty. A few scattered pens and Post-it notes abandoned. There wasn’t even a computer or a phone on their desks.

  “We hot desk around here.”

  “Hot desk? What’s that?”

  “Basically no one owns a desk. You come in, you grab whichever one is free, plug in and do what you need to,” Robbo explained.

  “Makes sense, I guess.”

  “Well, very rarely do we actually need to be in the office these days. Most of the time we’re all out and about, scattered all over the place covering whatever it is that needs covering. Then, like you, we email in our stories and move on to the next one.”

  As he led me into an office in the corner, I glanced out the window at his view. It was straight across the river, the parkland with the MCG standing majestically at the end. You could be forgiven for thinking it was a print the way the window framed it.

  “Is this a free desk too?” I asked, my eyes never leaving the window.

  “Ah, no.”

  “Why?”

  With a deep chuckle in his voice he replied, “‘Cause this is my office.”

  I spun around so quickly, I lost my balance and fell forward, grabbing the corner of the desk to stop myself from face planting but instead making a huge mess, sending papers flying every way.

  “Shit, Natasha! Are you okay,” he asked as he helped me right myself.

  “Fine,” I spat through gritted teeth, humiliation burning my cheeks. Bending down, I began trying to clean up the mess I’d made when someone behind me cleared their throat.

  “Natasha? I thought I might find you here when you weren’t at reception,” Gerard said, his voice, like his face, unreadable. My stomach clenched. I should’ve stayed exactly where I was.

  “Cut the shit, Gerard. I was just showing Natasha around.”

  “Were you now?”

  “Yeah. I was about to get her a coffee after I dumped my shit at my desk, but she got distracted by the view.”

  “It is quite distracting.”

  “Natasha, did you want to come with me? I’m sure your coffee can be delivered to my office.” There was something about Gerard’s comment that ensured I knew that saying no was not an option. Nodding, I followed him out the door, glancing back
to see Robbo mouth his apologies. Not that I was blaming him. I was my own worst enemy and this, yet again, proved it.

  Following Gerard through the maze of cubicles that were filling up, we came to an office directly opposite Robbo’s. Briefly, I wondered if they were separated for a reason. They didn’t seem to get along that well.

  “Come in, please.” Gerard softened as he waved me through the door before closing it with a definitive click.

  Glancing out his window, I noticed his view was even better, if that was possible. Same image, different perspective. “Have a seat, Natasha.”

  Dropping into the uncomfortable chair, I folded my ankles together and dropped my hands in my lap. With a huge breath, I raised my head, straightened my spine and prepared myself for whatever was about to happen. Although I’d already decided exactly what that was. I was leaving here today with a pat on the back, having been given the ‘nice try’ speech and back to the unemployment lines, my dream in tatters and questioning my whole life.

  “Did you hear anything I just said?”

  Shit! He’d been talking and I’d been already mentally eating my body weight in dumplings, trying to bury the disappointment and the pain.

  “Sorry. No.”

  Determined to pay attention, I focused on Gerard and nothing else. He rocked back in his chair and threw a ball into the air only to catch it and repeat. I took him in and realised he looked as casual and relaxed as Robbo, something I never thought could happen. Now I felt overdressed in my black knee-length skirt and white silk blouse. It was my businesswoman outfit. My only businesswoman outfit.

  “I asked about your articles. What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I read your column before you joined us, your writing was different. It was raw, honest, unafraid. Now it reads like just another report.”

  “Oh.”

  “What changed?”

  My heart sank. I’d stuffed this up all on my own. “I…I…” Before I had the chance to stutter a reply, a hard knock at the door interrupted us and bought me some time.

  The door opened and Robbo appeared. “Coffee delivery.” He set two mugs on the desk between us, offered me a conspiratorial wink before vanishing as quickly as he appeared.