Marked (Playing Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Barber

  Setting everything on the bench, I went to the cupboard and pulled out the roll of paper towels so I could go clean up the mess, only to have it snatched out of my hands. “I’ve got it. You put those away.”

  Not bothering to argue, I did exactly as Mum instructed, quickly unpacking the bags and tidying up the kitchen.

  “Busted!”

  “What?” I offered weakly. She was right. She’d caught me. As quick as I could, I’d whipped out the spray and wiped down the benches and she’d caught me putting it away. Throwing the used paper towels in the bin, Mum sat down on one of the bar stools and looked at me. “How come you’re here?” I asked again, knowing she’d brushed off my question earlier.

  “Can’t a mother come and visit her son?”

  Damn she was good! It must’ve been one of those things they taught you at Mum school. How to annoy and infuriate your children without actually doing anything.

  “A mother can. You can’t. Now, spill. Is everything okay? Is Dad all right? The farm?”

  “Calm down, Logan. Take a breath. Everything’s fine. Everyone is fine. I had to come to the city for a couple of days for an interview. I thought I’d stop in and visit you while I was here.”

  “And I’m always happy to see you. But what interview?”

  “They want to talk to me about the farm, the environment and the lack of water.”

  “Huh?”

  “Ah, just some government officials. They were at our place a few months back and asked a bunch of questions. Now they want to follow up.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You’d tell me if you were in trouble, wouldn’t you?” Even though we both knew I was referring to money, the word was strictly taboo. Ever since I’d signed my first football contract, I’d tried to share the funds with them, but they were too stubborn or maybe it was pride that kept them from accepting it. Either way, it was there. Waiting for a rainy day. All they had to do was let me give it to them and it was theirs.

  Reaching out, Mum took my hand. “No, Logan, we wouldn’t tell you. But I promise you, right now there’s nothing to worry about. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s been going on in your life? And not the boring, football, school, training answer either. I want to know how you really are.”

  Squeezing her hand back, I leant against the counter. “I’m doing okay. I mean school’s kicking my arse at the moment, but I’ll be fine.”

  “And football? How’s the coach treating you?”

  “Why? You going to go and tell him to stop being mean to your son?” I teased. It was what she’d done in the past when my coach kept benching me for my smart-arse mouth. Apparently telling your coach where he should position the players on the field and who should play where was an incredibly quick way to get benched.

  “I will if I need to,” she replied with a wink, and I was left with absolutely no illusions that had I have answered any other way she’d be on her way to pay him a visit already.

  “It’s fine.”

  “And girls?”

  “Girls?”

  “Surely there’s a girl, Logan. Or girls.” To anyone else, Mum’s comment would be taken as relaxed and casual, but I knew better. She was fishing for information. Information I was not going to give her. I’d learnt a long time ago that sharing details on my love life with my mother was like loading her up with ammunition. If she even caught wind that there was someone in my life, I was in for safe-sex lectures until my ears bled.

  Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door. “Aren’t you going to get that?” Mum asked.

  I didn’t want to.

  The last thing I needed was another distraction.

  If I could think of a way to kick Mum out the door without being an arsehole, I would’ve given it a go. Instead, I was trudging towards the door, my mood sinking with every step.

  Grabbing the handle, I yanked it open and my mouth fell.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  TASHA

  Today had been a shit show. There was really no other way to put it. From falling out of bed, losing my phone and then missing my train and showing up late, it seemed the only thing I happened to be on time for was to get my arse kicked by management. But that wasn’t the worst part of being late. Being late meant I got the crappy section in the back, the section where lovers wanted to spend their morning tasting each other more than their lattes, or the group of women who’d left their kids, husbands and dogs at home gathered to gossip and bitch about each other, and the quiet, hungover, stoned loners came to sit on their laptop and use the free wi-fi to watch porn. It also meant they were annoying as fuck and there was no pleasing them. And today had been particularly nasty.

  Ariel, actually I had no idea if that was her name, I’d just dubbed her that because of her long red mane and turquoise finger nails, had started the morning ordering her triple venti, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato and a freshly squeezed orange juice on ice. Annoying, but it is what it is.

  When I returned with her overly complicated coffee, she knocked it over. All. Over. Me. It soaked through my apron and pants and ran down my leg. The hot liquid scalding me. Even though she was the one who knocked it over when she’d tried to lift her ridiculously large handbag over the table and I was the one covered in coffee, she then proceeded to stand there and berate me for a good five minutes about my incompetence. As much as I wanted to snap her fake nail in pieces, the nail she was pointing angrily in my direction, I remained quiet and kept the apologetic look on my face. Something I should be awarded for. When she was done, after ensuring everyone in the café knew exactly how useless I was, she dismissed me with a wave and demanded a less clumsy waitress bring her another immediately. Even though every fibre in my being was telling me I wasn’t in the wrong here, I apologised and excused myself before begging Julia, one of the other waitresses to take her the coffee. As I squeezed behind the counter, the manager, the grumpy-arse Mr. Schwartz just shook his head as I unwrapped my apron from around my waist, tossed it in the hamper and found a clean one.

  That was how my morning started. From there it just kept coming. By the time the lunch rush was done, I wasn’t sure if I was going to collapse, cry or both.

  “Tash?” Logan’s voice startled me. It shouldn’t have. I was standing at his front door. Reeking of coffee, my hair a mess, my eyes watery, about to fall apart.

  “I shouldn’t have come here,” I bumbled, wiping my snotty nose on the sleeve of my shirt. I was already a walking, talking disaster, a little snot wouldn’t hurt.

  Logan had wedged his impressive broad shoulders between the door frame and the door that he’d only opened a fraction. I couldn’t even see past him. Which was probably the point. Shit! “I’m sorry. I’m going.” Not even giving him a chance to speak, I turned and fled, making it as far as the elevator. While I stood there, arms wrapped around my chest, I stared at my filthy, ugly black shoes and tried not to cry. “Come on! Come on!” I begged the elevator to hurry up, stabbing the button violently.

  When the ding notified me that it had arrived, I stepped in, avoiding looking at my reflection in the mirrored wall. I was a freaking disaster right now. I did not want to look at it. No one should have to see me like this. I could barely believe I’d shown up on Logan’s doorstep looking like something the cat dragged in.

  Waiting for the doors to close, I held my breath. Just as they were about to meet in the middle, an extremely tanned and muscular arm reached through the opening.

  “Natasha,” a deep, gravelly voice called my name and it was almost my undoing. Almost. “Where are you running off to?”

  “Home,” I snorted, not daring to look up.

  “No, you’re not.” When his hot fingers wrapped around my wrist and tugged me towards him, it was all it took for me to shatter into a million pieces. “Holy shit!” he cursed under his breath before scooping me up and ca
rrying me bridal-style back down the hallway into his apartment, kicking the door shut with his foot. If I wasn’t such an emotional idiot right now, I’d find the whole experience a huge turn on. Instead of turning me on, though, all it did was make me cry even harder.

  I felt myself being lowered, and all I could do was cling to Logan’s broad shoulders like a koala hugged a eucalyptus tree. Bawling like a baby, I buried my face against his neck and completely lost it. I could feel my whole-body trembling as I fisted Logan’s shirt. There was no chance he couldn’t feel the damp patch on his collar. When the hiccups arrived, I should’ve been humiliated, deep down I probably was, but they just made me cry even harder.

  “Fuck me, Tash. What the hell happened? Did someone hurt you?” I could feel the worry as he tensed beneath me.

  Pulling my head back, I forced myself to look through soggy eyelashes up at him only to see the fear staring back at me. “N-n-no one hurt me,” I stuttered, fighting to get my breathing back under control.

  Brushing the hair from my forehead, he placed a gentle kiss on my temple, and I swear I stopped breathing. This guy, who the fuck was he? I’d turned up unannounced on his doorstep a complete train wreck, and instead of turning me away, like he probably should have, he picked me up and carried me inside. Whoever landed this guy was going to be one lucky woman.

  Pushing away from him, my chest heaved, and all I could smell was coffee and bacon. Damn I needed a shower. Gripping my shoulders, Logan forced me to meet his eyes. “Tash, I need you to tell me what the hell is going on. My imagination is running away with me here and it’s not pretty.”

  “Here, Logan,” a woman in a pair of jeans with a floral blouse said as she handed him a bottle of water and box of tissues.

  Letting go of Logan, I wiped at my eyes, trying to make myself at least half presentable.

  “Thanks, Mum. Mum, this is Tash, Natasha. Tash, this is my mum, Helena.”

  Shit! Shit! Double shit! His mother was here. His freaking mother.

  Scrambling to try and get off Logan’s lap, I heard the chuckle as I found my feet and shuffled backwards straight into the coffee table.

  “Hi, Tash. Hope you’re okay,” she said with a soft smile; the kind of smile only a mother could give. “Logan, I’m going to go. Can you give me a call later?”

  “No!” I shouted, not meaning to. “Please stay. I should be the one leaving. I showed up here uninvited…”

  When Logan’s mother laughed, I looked up, shocked. What had I said that was so funny? Covering my face with my hands, I checked that I didn’t have boogers on my face or something equally as gross.

  “Tash, breathe. Mum’s only laughing because you’re not the only one who just showed up today. Mum did exactly the same thing.”

  Setting her bag down, she rounded the couch and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. It was kind of unnerving. “That’s different. She’s your mum and I’m…I’m just…your friend.” I don’t know why the words stuck in my throat. I hoped we were friends, otherwise I was going to end up looking like a big loser.

  “And right now, it looks like you could use a friend, sweetheart.” She squeezed my shoulder and it felt like she squeezed my heart. “Logan, I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Please don’t leave because of me.”

  “I’m not, promise. I’ll be back.”

  Feeling like crap, I watched as Helena grabbed her bag and snuck out the door leaving me standing there staring at a wide-eyed Logan. I knew I had barely a breath before Logan started asking questions. There was absolutely nothing I could do to avoid the onslaught that was coming. Even in the short time I’d known him, I’d already discovered he was fiercely loyal and somehow even more protective. Maybe that’s why I’d come here rather than going home. Yeah, that had to be it. There was no way it could be anything else.

  I doubted Helena had barely made it as far as the elevator when Logan spoke, his voice thick with authority. “Natasha, sit down.”

  I didn’t have it in me to argue. He didn’t really give me much choice. Dropping down on the couch, I clung to the arm at the opposite end from him as if it was my lifeline.

  I looked everywhere but at Logan. I could feel him staring at me. His intense gaze was stifling. Crumbling under the pressure, I spat out, “Say something. I know you want to.” I sounded like a bitch. Logan should kick my hormonal arse out the door.

  “I’m waiting for you to say something. What’s going on?”

  Sighing heavily, I grabbed the cushion from behind me and hugged it close before blurting it all out. Without saying a word, I dumped everything on him, and he barely flinched. When I eventually finished, I’d told him everything from losing my phone, to tripping over my own shoelaces and missing my train. I was grateful I didn’t have my period, because with the way I was going, it was pretty much a sure bet that I’d tell him all about my cramps and bloating.

  “No wonder you lost it,” he offered as he reached for my feet, dragging them into his lap and untying my laces.

  “I shouldn’t have.”

  “Why the hell not? I would’ve.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Yep.” My shoes dropped to the floor.

  Leaning back, I let my heavy eyelids fall closed for a second. Now I’d purged, dumping all my bullshit on Logan, I was beyond exhausted. After the day from hell, all I could think about was a glass of wine, a long hot bath and a good night’s sleep.

  Somewhere behind me, a phone rang and both Logan and I looked towards the empty kitchen. “You should get that,” I encouraged.

  Looking reluctant, Logan stood up and trudged across the room. “Hello,” he answered brusquely.

  In my attempts not to eavesdrop, I wriggled down the couch a little more and made myself comfortable.

  “Tash?” Logan’s towering frame leaning over me startled me. “This won’t take a minute. Stay. Please.”

  How could anyone in their right mind say no to that? I definitely couldn’t. Offering him a small nod, he vanished down the hallway, and I let my heavy eyelids fall closed and took a few deep breaths.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  LOGAN

  While Tash snored on the couch, I sat at the table trying to write this damn essay. I was making progress, slowly, but it was better than nothing. My whole day had been upended but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t very well kick Tash out and send her on her way. Then there was Mum. After about an hour she’d returned carrying heavy grocery bags. Now she was in the kitchen cooking. It smelt delicious. My mouth watered at the thought of Mum’s cooking.

  Coming over to where I was working, Mum set a plate of my favourite chocolate chip and raisin cookies beside me and handed me a bottle of water. “Thanks,” I said gratefully as I bit into a still-warm cookie where the chocolate was gooey.

  “Dinner’s still a while away.”

  “You know you didn’t have to cook. We could’ve gone out. Or ordered in,” I offered again, but Mum wasn’t hearing a word of it.

  “Is that what you do, Logan? Order in?”

  “Sometimes,” I admitted. Well, it was half of an admission, but it was as good as I was going to offer. There was no way I was about to confess to cooking one night a week at the most and even then, it was just grilling a steak on the barbeque. Not when she’d been so adamant I learn to cook before I left home.

  As she slid into the seat next to me, I hit save on the essay and focused on Mum. “Why don’t you ask what I know it is you’re dying to ask me?”

  “What’s that?” she replied coyly.

  “Tasha. You want to know who she is.”

  “Well, if you want to tell me, I’m here to listen to anything you choose to share, Logan.” The Mum guilt was strong with this woman.

  “She’s a friend. One that had a pretty shitty day.”

  “A friend, hey?”

  “Yeah. We’re friends.” For some reason telling Mum we were fri
ends just seemed wrong on every level. I mean, we weren’t anything more than that, but it just didn’t feel like it was enough.

  “She obviously trusts you.” It wasn’t a dig, just a fact. One I hadn’t given any consideration to until Mum had laid it out there.

  Looking over at the lounge where she slept, I felt the smile tug at my lips. The fact was Tasha made me smile. Whether it was watching her tease Bryce or answering every question I asked with a sassy smart-arse remark, or the way she didn’t hold back when we were together, there was just something about her.

  “I like her. We’re friends,” I confirmed with a shrug.

  “Could you be any more than friends?”

  “Ever the romantic, Mum. You know I’m not looking for a girlfriend right now. I’d be the worst boyfriend.”

  “How?”

  “When would I have time for them? I’m either training or studying,” I offered by way of explanation. It wasn’t the best excuse in the world, but it was the truth I was living.

  Mum stood up and pushed the chair in. Leaning down, she half whispered in my ear, “The right girl would understand,” before heading back into the kitchen leaving me stewing on her words.

  ***

  I’d finished my essay, had a shower and changed into my grey sweatpants and a shirt and was sitting at the kitchen bench chatting with Mum while she continued cooking up a storm. When she’d walked in, arms weighed down with shopping bags, I’d been hopeful she was going to make my favourite, but I didn’t ask. So, when she’d pulled out the leg of lamb with all the veggies I loved, I’d been excited. When she announced she was making apple crumble with vanilla ice cream, I didn’t even bother trying to hide my enthusiasm.

  When a moan echoed across the room, I turned to check on Tash. Once she’d finally got her crying under control she’d crashed and crashed hard. In the nights I’d spent sleeping behind her, not once had I heard her snore so deeply as I had this afternoon. When I’d covered her with a blanket, she’d rolled onto her side, tucked it around her and kept right on snoring. It was cute in a weird kind of way. Even though I didn’t want to admit it to Mum, or anyone, I liked the fact she’d felt comfortable enough to come here and fall apart, trusting me to catch her. We probably needed to have a conversation about what was going on between us, but today wasn’t the day to throw that at her. She’d faced enough. But it was something we needed to do sooner rather than later.