“I fucked up,” I admitted. There was no point downplaying it or passing the blame.
“Understatement of the fucking century.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
LOGAN
I’d just gotten out of the shower when I heard Bryce talking to someone. When I rounded the corner and saw her standing there, my cock twitched. Obviously, it hadn’t gotten the memo that we were beyond pissed with her. Not that I could really blame it. She looked like sex on legs. All I could think about was having those boots wrapped around my waist, the pointy heels digging into my arse.
Adjusting my dick in my sweatpants, I headed towards the door to find Bryce had invited her inside. I may have missed the start of their conversation, but it wasn’t hard to get the gist.
“Understatement of the fucking century,” I snarled, folding my arms over my chest and stepping into view.
“Logan.” My name fell from her lips in a desperate plea. I had to stay strong. I had to remember who I was dealing with. I couldn’t let her suck me in. Not again. The last thing I needed was to look like a complete chump in the eyes of the world because some wannabe journalist decided to sneak into my life and expose my secrets. Fuck that! And fuck her.
“Natasha,” I replied harshly. When her eyes dropped and her lip trembled, I almost cracked. The look Bryce shot me over her head as he closed the door reminded me to not be a complete arsehat, but it didn’t cool my boiling blood. Right now, I doubted anything could.
“I’ll…leave you guys to it,” Bryce said as he headed back to his room. As he moved past me, he clasped me on the shoulder and added lowly so only I could hear him, “Hear her out. She showed up. That takes balls. At least listen to what she has to say.”
Arsehole had a point. Didn’t mean I had to like it, though.
While Natasha watched him go, I watched her. She looked entirely too fuckable for this time of the day. She should look like I felt. Like she’d been sucker-punched.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Why are you here, Natasha?”
“Why are you calling me Natasha?”
“That’s your name isn’t it? Or do you prefer Tash? Or is it T? Sorry, I can’t keep up.”
“Logan.” Her cheeks turned pink as she wrung her hands in front of her. I don’t know if she was deliberately trying to get me to crack, but I refused to give in.
“What? Isn’t that what you call yourself? You know, on your blog?”
“It’s Tash. You know that.”
“Do I?”
“Would you stop being a shithead for just a second and let me explain?” she huffed and I saw a glimpse of the sassy woman that had gotten under my skin and led me by the dick to right where we were now.
“Fine.”
Walking across the room, she dropped into the couch, making herself comfortable. Guess this wasn’t going to be a quick conversation. As she pushed passed me, I caught the scent of oranges on her skin and noticed the red spots along the column of her neck. I dug my hands into my pockets to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing hold of her. “Have you read my blog before?”
Quirking an eyebrow, I nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“No. I mean, have you really read it. Or do you just have Google alerts set for your name?”
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference is, if you read some of the posts that weren’t about you, you’d see you weren’t so special. I wrote about a lot of different people. Hell, I even wrote one about Bryce!”
“You wrote about Bryce?” I couldn’t hide the shock in my voice. How did I not know this? Did I really have my head that far up my own arse that I didn’t even read the others?
“I write about a lot of things. A lot of people. It’s all part of being a journalist.” I could tell her frustration level was rising, as was her voice.
“Oh.”
“Look, I didn’t come here to fight.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, I didn’t. I came here to apologise. I should’ve told you about my blog. I should’ve told you I wrote for the Melbourne Advocate. I mean, I know who you are and what you do, I should’ve shown you the same courtesy.”
“That would’ve been nice,” I conceded.
“Well, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. But I have one question.”
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Honestly? I didn’t think you’d want to know me.”
“So, you didn’t trust me?” I asked, hurt. I wasn’t the one in the wrong here. I wasn’t the one that’d stuffed up, yet I felt like absolute shit.
With a heavy sigh, Tash stood up and dug her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. I lost seconds just staring at her arse. “I think it was more I didn’t trust me. I’d never write about you like that. Or us. The only person who knows we even know each other is my best friend, Giselle. And that’s because she saw us the first night at the club.”
The memory alone brought a smile to my face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry you think I’d screw you and then screw you over. Maybe we don’t know each other like we thought we did. So, I guess all I can do is apologise, hope you believe me and leave it up to you.”
“Leave what up to me?” Huh? My mind was whirling over her words.
Did I honestly think she’d ever spill our secrets to the world; no, I don’t think I did. I was more pissed that she hadn’t told me who she was upfront. I was pissed that I found out the way I did. And I was embarrassed that I’d been so blind.
“You need to choose. You can either forgive me and we can move on. Or you can stay mad and we can forget we’re friends.”
“Friends?” I snorted.
“Look, I’m going to leave you to it,” she said as she headed towards the door. “You’ve got my number, if you decide you want to…I don’t know, grab a drink or something.”
It was fucking painful seeing her looking so small. When the door clicked, I realised she was gone, and I was sitting there staring across the empty room.
“You’re a tool, you know that, right?”
“Huh?”
Spinning around, I saw Bryce leaning against the wall, his laptop in his hand. “You. Are. A. Tool,” he repeated, coming in and sitting where Tash had just been. I might have been pissed with her right now, but I still wished it was her sitting there instead of him. And not just because she smelt better, either.
Deciding the quickest way to end this conversation was to play along, I asked, “Are you going to tell me why this time?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. You don’t deserve that girl.”
“Fuck off, Bryce. You don’t even know what she did.”
“She didn’t tell you about her blog.”
“It wasn’t just the blog.”
“What? The paper either? So, fucking what? Have you even read her work? She’s pretty bloody talented, dude.”
“I know that,” I spat, not enjoying this at all.
How did I go from being balls-deep in the hottest chick I’d ever crossed paths with to this in less than twelve hours? Fuck my life.
“Stop being an arsehole!” Great, now I’d pissed off Bryce too. Looking down at my phone, I realised it wasn’t even nine o’clock on a Monday morning and everything had already gone to shit. Dropping his laptop into my hands, he looked down at me, ugly disappointment covering his face. It was the same look he had when we’d gotten our arses handed to us on the field. “She may have fucked up, Logan, but she wasn’t the only one. Read that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
TASHA
Sitting at the train station, I tried not to burst into tears. I thought he would’ve forgiven me. Or at least listened. Maybe I should’ve given him some time to calm down first. There wasn’t much I could do about it now. Nothing more than go home, change into my pyjamas and eat my body weight in chocolate.
The moment I’d stepped out of his building, I turned off my phone. I couldn’t bear to see the comments on my latest blog post or even more terrifying, Gerard’s comments on my latest article. I didn’t even want to hear what Giselle thought about it.
I was questioning everything.
I knew I’d fucked up, but at least I owned it.
“Not all superheroes wear capes. On the weekend we saw one wearing short shorts, and boy did he wear those shorts well. Logan Oliver played like a man possessed, inspiring not only his teammates but the whole stadium as well. But it was more than just the way he carried his team that caught this writer’s attention. Like you, I’ve had a crush on the million-dollar man from afar since he burst onto the scene, racking up impressive stats and projecting the boy-next-door image.
But things changed. I got lucky. I met the man behind the image, and I fell in love with him. I didn’t mean to. I tried not to, but it really wasn’t my choice. Logan-fucking-Oliver barged his way into my life, upended it, and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.
I guess more than anything, the one thing I learned from Oliver is that appearances aren’t always what they seem.
Well that, and sometimes following your heart leads to hurt and tears and eating your body weight in chocolate. But when the opportunity comes to spend time with someone who makes you laugh, someone who challenges you, someone who makes your heart race, take it; don’t turn that shit down. Sure, you might fuck it all up and it might all end up with slammed doors and harsh words, but the ride sure is worth it.”
I knew those words.
I wrote those words.
I recognised the voice reciting them back at me.
I was just too much of a chicken shit to turn around.
The last thing I needed was to turn around and see Logan making fun of me. My heart wouldn’t take it.
“Turn around, Tash.”
“I don’t want to,” I admitted.
“Natasha North, turn around.”
Fuck! Who knew bossy Logan would be such a turn on?
Spinning around, my eyes were fixed on my feet. I didn’t want to look at him. He had other ideas, though. Blinking, I felt the warm wet tears sneak down my cheeks before he lifted my chin with his finger, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“Tash. I have a question for you.”
Behind me, I could hear the train rumbling into the station. Maybe I could make a break for it and jump on before he knew what was happening.
“Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?
“What you wrote.”
“Oh. That.”
“Yeah, that. So? Is it true?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I sniffed, the tears coming faster now.
I was a fucking disaster. I was crying in public. If it wasn’t enough to bare my soul in writing, now I was turning myself into a public nuisance.
“Of course, it fucking matters. On the way here I went through your articles from the moment we met. You never once said anything.”
“I never would.”
“I know that.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I think I always did. I was just pissed you didn’t tell me. I’ve been the butt of so many jokes over the years. I couldn’t take it if you were just using me to get ahead or our relationship as a joke.”
“I wouldn’t… I couldn’t.”
“I know. And that’s why I love you.”
“You love me?” I stumbled over my own feet as I tried to put some distance between us.
“Yeah, I really do.”
“Oh?”
“Now, why don’t we go home and finish the rest of this conversation in private,” he suggested, running his hand down my arm and taking my hand.
Glancing over his shoulder, I noticed the strange stares we were getting. It could’ve been because a shirtless Logan standing on the train platform in the middle of the Monday morning rush hour was definitely something worth staring at.
With a wry smile, I looked up at him. His eyes full of hope; hope I felt deep down in my heart. “Take me home,” I replied.
Without caring where we were or who was around, Logan yanked me against him and kissed the life out of me.
Logan-fucking-Oliver was tongue-fucking me on the train platform. It didn’t get better than this.
Actually, it could.
It really could.
THE END!
EPILOGUE #1
LOGAN
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
“Natasha North, I’m not going to tell you again. Hurry the hell up. We’re going to be late,” I called to the closed bathroom door as I fastened my airplane cufflinks.
“Keep your pants on!” came the sassy reply as the door swung open and my jaw hit the floor.
Standing in the doorway in a cloud of steam was every guy’s wet dream come to life. She had on sky-high sparkly silver heels, that I was imagining digging into me, a pointless, barely-there scrap of lace attempting to cover the happiest place on earth, and a matching strapless bra. Her hair was spilling down her shoulder in long, shiny curls and her lips were stained with the most devilish red lipstick I’d ever seen.
“Fuck me.”
“Maybe later. If you’re lucky,” she whispered as she sashayed passed me on the way to the door. She wasn’t supposed to hear that, but there was no way I wasn’t going to hold her to that.
“Ah, are you forgetting something?” I asked as she reached for the door handle. I may not have a roommate anymore, not since Bryce got traded at the end of last year in a move that took him to Adelaide, but it still didn’t mean I was about to let her walk out of my bedroom looking like that.
“What?”
“Your dress maybe?”
“It’s hanging on the curtain rod in the lounge room. I was just going to get it. Geez! Keep your hair on.”
“Stay here. I’ll grab it.”
I stepped towards her and got completely intoxicated by her scent. It was the most incredible thing I’d ever smelt in my life. Like honey and vanilla and mine. It’d been eighteen months since I’d found out she was the blogger behind the words. The blogger who busted my balls and made me second-guess everything. You’d think being together publicly, officially, would’ve toned down her reviews of my performance. Instead, all it did was add spice to our life. Tash was Tash and I wouldn’t have her any other way, well maybe on her knees about now, but she wasn’t going to go easy on me just because I made her scream my name as often as possible. If I wanted praise, I damn well had to earn it. And I was nothing if not determined. Maybe that’s why I was standing here in a monkey suit on Monday night of grand final week trying to get us out the door on time to get to the Brownlow Medal. The ceremony to award the best and fairest of the season. A medal I was the odds-on favourite for.
Unable to stop myself, I bent down and dropped a kiss on her neck, just behind her ear. I didn’t miss the shiver that vibrated through her body or the way her skin pebbled. It was also impossible to miss the way she clamped her thighs together a little tighter.
Before things got out of hand, something that happened more often than not, I stepped into the hallway and went to fetch her dress, adjusting my now-fully-hard cock as I went. A moment later, I returned to find Tash bent over, arse in the air as she stared in the mirror applying another coat of the red lipstick that was sending my imagination into override as her lips made the perfect O.
“Here’s your dress.” My voice was strained and scratchy.
“Thanks.” Quickly she unhooked it from the hanger and stepped into it. “Do me up?” Turning, she showed me her back as she held the two sides of the material together. Slowly, I dragged the zipper up, watching as her soft, creamy skin vanished beneath it like the world’s best-kept secret.
“I’m peeling you out of this later.”
Spinning around, her hands went to my bow tie as she straightened it. “Promises, promises.”
When she dropped her arms, I stepped back. �
�Fuck, Tash. You look stunning.” And that was a fucking understatement. The navy-blue satin number skimmed each and every single one of her delectable curves and hugged her breasts, presenting them like they were on a platter. But it was the thigh-high split that was in danger of giving me a coronary.
“You’re sure this is okay?” she questioned. Until she’d asked, I’d completely missed all the signs she was nervous. Last year, we didn’t make it to the ceremony. When my team missed the finals, we took off on a much-needed tropical escape and missed all the end-of-season festivities. This year though, things were different.
“Tash, you’re perfect. Except there’s something missing.”
“There is? Shit! What?”
“Breathe, beautiful.” Taking her hand, I sat down on the bed and reached under my pillow. I’d been wondering when the right time to give this to her was and, until now, I hadn’t found one. Right now, this moment, with Tash looking like that and nervous as fuck, was perfect. “This is for you,” I said nervously as I handed her the velvet box.
“Logan…” Her voice was full of warning.
With a pop, it opened.
“I…I…”
“Do you like it?”
Tears balanced on her eyelids and I was worried she was about to fall apart into a full-on sob fest. It was another thing I’d learnt over the past year and a half about Tash. She was an emotional train wreck. And stupidly, I’d just set her off.
“It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Taking the diamond tennis bracelet out of the box, I reached for her wrist. “You’re welcome.” It took me a minute to do up the clasp, before she ran her fingers over the shiny new rocks surrounding her delicate wrist.
Bending down, she kissed me. A barely-there kiss but one that stole my breath.
“We have to go,” I reminded her.
“Not yet.”
Sinking to her knees, Tash pushed her dress out of the way and reached for my belt buckle. “You don’t have to…” I started before the belt was hanging open and she was working on the button. “Tash, I didn’t give you that for this.”
Marked (Playing Games Book 1) Page 21
