‘Why didn’t you mention Logan?’
‘Are you a Logan hater?’
‘What’s to hate? The man is fiiiiiiiiiinnnnnne!’
‘Why isn’t the whole article dedicated to Oliver?’
By the time I was done, I felt like shit. Reading their words proved to be more effective at sobering me up than coffee ever could be.
Needing to ease my guilt, I text Logan. It was too late to edit my post, too many people had seen it and commented so they’d know I caved to peer pressure if I went back in and started raving about Logan, so texting him, telling him directly was my next best option. My only option.
Tash: Nice game
“Geez, Natasha! ‘Nice game?’ seriously!” I scolded myself, grabbing the pillow and pulling it over my head. When had I become that pathetic that all I could say was ‘nice game’? Kicking my legs like a toddler amid an epic tantrum, I got tangled in the sheets which only increased my frustrations.
When my phone chirped, I scavenged around looking for it. Like me, everything was tangled in the sheets. Trying to get my foot free, I ended up rolling the wrong way, landing on the floor with a heavy thud.
“Fuck it!” I swore as I unwrapped the sheet from around my foot before rubbing the elbow I’d landed on.
From my position on the floor I saw my phone as it chirped again. Lying, smack bang in the middle of my bed. My bed which now had no sheets or pillows on it because they were all piled around me on the floor. Standing up, I kicked a pillow trying to work out the last of my frustrations before snatching up my phone.
Logan: Thanks
Logan: Did you watch?
Staring at his question I tried to figure out how to answer it without giving everything away. Did I watch the game? Sort of. Did I watch the way he dominated and completely owned his opponent? Yeah. Did I see the way his arse filled out those short shorts perfectly and the way the muscles in his arms glistened with sweat, constantly thinking about licking it off? Fuck yeah, I did.
But I couldn’t say that.
I couldn’t say any of it.
Instead I replied vaguely.
Tash: I may have caught a few minutes
Not missing a beat, Logan’s reply came before I even had a chance to set my phone back down.
Logan: Only a few minutes? Was it the highlights on Sports Tonight?
Laughing out loud, I realised while Logan knew what I looked like naked, while he knew what I sounded like as I fell apart, pushed over the edge by his wicked tongue, really he didn’t know all that much about me. And if I was being honest with myself, something I didn’t particularly want to do, I didn’t know all that much about him either. The question that popped into my head, the one now taunting me was, did I want to?
“Shit!”
Deciding my safest option was to ignore the question and shift the conversation in a different direction, I tapped out my reply.
Tash: Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?
Seizing the sheets and blankets from the floor, I made a half-hearted attempt at putting my bed back together so I could climb back in instead of pacing around the room like a caged lion. Once I was satisfied it would do, I ducked into the bathroom, washed my face and brushed my teeth. Deliberately delaying looking at my phone, I shuffled out to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. After downing it in one long gulp, I refilled and went back into my bedroom.
After climbing back into bed, I realised I’d run out of things to do to avoid dealing with the mess I’d created.
Logan: No
Logan: Where are you?
I read and re-read his message trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. Five minutes later and I had no clue at all what he was trying to get at. My only option was to come straight out and ask. Something I’d prefer not to do but since I was all out of other ideas, I guess I just had to suck it up.
Tash: Home. You?
Logan: Same
Tash: So, no celebrating?
Logan: Studying
His clipped answers made me feel like I was interrupting him and now I felt like shit. As a wave of annoyance washed over me, I wrote my reply before deleting it. I could be snarky, I could be bitchy but really, what was the point? Instead, I told him I’d leave him to it, silenced my phone, switched off the light and rolled over.
I woke up the next morning with the headache from hell. It was like a hangover only worse. Beside my head, my alarm blared way too early for my liking. Bashing it with my hand, I shut it up leaving me to groan and moan in painful silence.
Needing coffee, preferably hooked up in an IV and injected directly into my bloodstream, I headed for the kitchen and popped a pod in the machine before beelining for the bathroom. After taking care of my business, I washed my face and grabbed a hoodie from the pile on the floor, tugging it over my head. The moment the first sip of hot liquid touched my tongue, my eyes sprung open.
Sitting down at the table, I tucked my feet under me and stared into space. I was most certainly not a morning person. It took coffee, food and a shower before I was functioning to the point I could have a conversation that made sense to anyone.
When my alarm blasted again, I flinched so violently I spilt scalding-hot coffee all over my hands and bare legs. “Fuck it!” I swore as I set the cup back down and wiped my hands on my butt. Guess these clothes were now dirty enough to go straight in the hamper. After cleaning up the pool of coffee on the table with my sleeve, I made my way back to my room to find my phone and shut that damn thing up once and for all.
Of course, it wasn’t where I left it. That would be too easy. I flicked back the blankets and tossed the pillows to the other end of the bed. When it beeped, I froze. It was in here somewhere. The only question was where the fuck was it? Ten minutes later and I was fuming. I still hadn’t found it and I was running out of time. I still had to shower, get my shit together and get out the door or I was going to miss my train. Missing my train meant I’d be running late to meet Giselle. And after the way she’d busted my balls last night, the last thing I needed to do was give her any more ammunition. God knows she didn’t need it.
Forgetting my phone, I jumped in the shower and got ready. In a new record time too. Twelve minutes later, I was out the door running towards the station hoping I’d still make it with enough time to buy coffee before my train pulled in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LOGAN
Standing under the barely warm water, I tried to force the cold from my bones. Whichever dickhead dreamt up the idea of walking into the freezing cold, early morning surf as a means of recovery needed their arse kicked. My muscles didn’t feel any better. Or maybe they did; I just couldn’t feel them at all because they’d all frozen.
“Hurry up, Princess! Some of us want some hot water too!” Jack heckled me as he stood on the other side of the wall, shivering. His lips were blue and his teeth chattering, and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“Keep your hair on,” I countered, ducking my head under the steady stream, letting the water warm me. At least warm me enough I could get dressed and get home and have a proper shower.
Ten minutes later, I yanked the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and made my way out to my car. We had the rest of the day off and I, for one, had big plans. After a wasted night last night of avoiding the books, I was locking myself in my room and finishing this damn essay even if it killed me. With another away game next week, I needed this done so it was one less thing I had to worry about. Next week was going to be a bitch without having schoolwork to worry about on top of everything else. Between the scheduled TV appearance the club had lined up for me – one I’d tried to get out of but PR Alison had used her scary eyes on me and I quickly dropped my protest – the training, and a school visit planned, I was barely going to have enough time to scratch myself let alone get any decent studying done. Today was my only chance, and I wasn’t about to let anything or anyone ruin it. The moment I got home, my phone was being switched off and p
ut in a drawer until I’d submitted the damn thing.
I’d made it halfway around the grocery store before anyone recognised me. I was standing there staring at the wall of breakfast cereal, trying to decide which sugar-laden concoction I wanted to indulge in this week when a young boy asked me if I was Logan Oliver. Behind him, his mother blushed as she tried to steer the trolley around me.
“Alex, leave the man alone,” she chided as she reached for his hand.
“It’s okay,” I explained, offering her a smile.
As much as I didn’t want to be recognised, I couldn’t disappoint the kid. I remember what it was like the day I met my idol. Dad had driven us down to the MCG to watch a game for my tenth birthday. Even though it was freezing cold and pouring with rain, we’d waited outside the rooms for the players to come out after the game hoping Darrell Jameson came through the door so I could ask him to sign my jersey. Other players came out giving me high fives and shaking Dad’s hand, but Jameson never appeared. Just when we were getting ready to leave, there he was. Letting go of Dad’s hand, I ran straight up to him and basically started babbling about how awesome I thought he was. Thankfully, he was a good guy and stayed and chatted with me for a few minutes before he not only signed my jersey but gave me his cap. If he hadn’t already been my hero, from that moment on, he most certainly was.
Squatting down to meet Alex’s eye level, I ignored the creak in my knees. “How are you doing today, Alex?”
“Mum!” he whisper-yelled. “He knows my name!”
“I know, sweetie. But why don’t you turn around and talk to him?” she encouraged patiently.
As he turned back to face me, she mouthed over his head, “Thank you.”
Nodding, I focused on the little kid in front of me, bouncing on the balls of his feet unable to stand still. “How old are you, Alex?” I asked, having no idea what else to say.
“I’m seven!”
“Wow! Do you play football?”
“Yeah. I play for the Puma’s.”
“Yeah? What position do you play?”
“I play in the forwards. I kick the goals.”
“I bet you kick a lot of goals too, don’t you?”
“I kick all the goals,” he gloated like a typical seven-year-old.
“That’s awesome!”
Running into Alex and his mum was exactly what I needed this morning to snap me out of my funk. I was blessed in so many ways, but some days I forgot to be thankful for all the opportunities I had been given. It didn’t seem to matter how many times I promised myself I wouldn’t take this life for granted, sometimes you needed a reminder but seeing the excitement on Alex’s young face, feeding off his energy and enthusiasm brought perspective crashing down on me.
“Who’s your favourite team?” I asked, knowing it was always a loaded question. Adults would automatically tell me what they thought I wanted to hear. Kids though, kids were unpredictable. Bluntly and unapologetically honest.
“I like the Lions.”
“The Lions, hey?” His mother blushed behind him, obviously embarrassed Alex didn’t tell me what she thought he should’ve. “Why them?”
“‘Cause a lion will eat you!”
I laughed. I laughed hard, attracting attention from the other shoppers who looked at me like I was crazy. “That they will, Alex. That they will,” I agreed.
“All right, Alex. Come on. Let’s let Mr. Oliver finish his shopping,” his mother said, steering him back to the trolley.
“It was good meeting you, Alex. Hope you have a good game!”
Breaking out of his mother’s grip, he came barrelling towards me. Thankfully I was standing up again before he launched himself at me. Dropping my still-near-empty basket at my feet, I managed to catch him and keep us both upright. Just.
“You’re my favourite,” Alex whispered as he hugged my legs before letting go and disappearing down the aisle as quick as he’d appeared. Watching him round the corner, he almost knocked an old lady with a walking stick over, and I found myself cringing.
“You were so good to him. Thank you, Mr. Oliver,” Alex’s mum gushed, looking torn. She was stuck between being polite and thanking me, which was completely unnecessary or chasing after Alex and trying to keep him out of mischief, something that I believed was pretty much a full-time job.
“He’s a good kid.”
“Yeah. Most days anyway,” she added before clamping her hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with panic.
“Yeah. I can imagine,” I offered with a smile as I bent down and picked up my basket.
“I better go find him before he finds the chips.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“Thanks again.” With one final smile, she stepped back behind her trolley and headed in the opposite direction, leaving me standing there staring at the shelves trying to remember what I’d even come in here for.
Twenty minutes and a basket full of shit later, I was lined up at the checkout waiting my turn. I had no idea what I’d needed so I just grabbed whatever looked good. While I waited my turn, I dug my phone out of my pocket and checked my messages. Still nothing from Tasha. That girl was doing my head in. Even though I’d denied it time and time again, there was something about her that had captured my attention and now I was completely screwed. And not just in all the good ways she could screw me.
When it was my turn, I hurriedly unloaded my stuff, paid and got the hell out of the way. The miserable teenager behind the register barely glanced in my direction; something I wasn’t devastated about, but her attitude reinforced the appeal of self service.
Climbing in the car, I dialled Mum’s number and waited for it to connect. She’d left me two messages this morning already, something that was unusual for her and had piqued my curiosity. For a Sunday morning, traffic was horrendous. Just getting out of the carpark had my blood boiling.
“Logan!” Mum’s piercing scream echoed down the line as it connected.
“Shit, Mum! I almost crashed my damn car!” I turned down the volume just in case she shrilled again.
“Language, Logan!”
I almost laughed. My mother was scalding me for my saying the word ‘shit’ or maybe it was the ‘damn’ she was objecting to. She did realise that I was an adult, didn’t she? And god forbid she ever step foot in the dressing room. If ‘shit’ made her antsy, then some of the more colourful variations my teammates threw out there would give her a bloody heart attack.
“Sorry, Mum,” I apologised without any conviction. If she recognised it, she kept quiet.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls earlier?”
“I’ve been at recovery then went grocery shopping. What’s wrong?” I asked, my anxiety levels sky rocketing.
“Why would something be wrong?”
“Because you’ve never called more than once,” I offered, keeping my real feelings to myself.
“Well, nothing’s wrong.”
“Okay then.” I had absolutely no idea what was going on, but I wasn’t going to push. She’d tell me what I needed to know when she was good and ready and not a second earlier.
“Where are you?”
“On my way home now.”
“How far away are you?”
“Ten minutes or so. Depends on this traffic, though. Why?”
“I’ll let you go. See you soon, sweetie.”
Not giving me a chance to ask any further questions or figure out what the hell that was about, she hung up on me leaving me even more confused than before I’d spoken to her. Oh well, that was Mum. I was sure she’d call back if she changed her mind.
I was turning onto my street when I remembered why I’d been going to the shop in the first place. We were out of milk. And what’s the one thing I’d forgotten? Milk. I’d bought the breakfast cereal but forgotten the damn milk. Driving past the driveway, I went to the end of the block and pulled into the service station.
“Wasn’t that…” I asked the empty backseat.
; I was going insane. I could’ve sworn I’d just seen a woman looking like my mum standing beside a car that could’ve been the same as hers waiting out the front of my place. But that was just crazy. Mum wasn’t in town. She was at home helping Dad. She would’ve told me if she was coming to town…wouldn’t she?
Running in, I grabbed the milk and was back in the car headed home in under five minutes. This day was already turning out to be completely confusing, the sooner I got home and locked safely away in my bedroom with this stupid essay, the sooner I could relax. Maybe even fit a run in if I was lucky.
Parking my car in the underground carpark, I jumped in the elevator and caught it up to our floor. While I tried to juggle the groceries in one hand and dig the keys out of my pocket with the other, someone came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder scaring the absolute crap out of me.
Dumping the bag at my feet, the milk carton opened and spilt everywhere. Standing there in a white puddle of milk, I spun around to see Mum behind me looking sheepish. Ignoring the mess at my feet, I grabbed her by the shoulders and hugged her tight against my chest.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said. At least I think that’s what she said. Her words were a bit muffled.
“What are you doing here?”
“I had to come to town for a few days so thought I’d stop in and see my favourite son.”
“Favourite son, hey?”
“Yep.”
“I’m your only son.”
“And you’re my favourite.”
“Hmmm.”
“Let’s get this mess cleaned up and head inside.” She slipped so easily into Mum-mode I could barely keep up. Next thing you know she’d be asking when the last time I ate my vegetables was and offering to do my laundry.
Bending down, I attempted to pick everything up. Screwing the cap back on the now-half-empty carton of milk, I unlocked the door, stepped over the puddle and headed inside praying that Bryce hadn’t trashed the place when he’d stumbled in some time in the early hours of the morning.
Marked (Playing Games Book 1) Page 15
