“Logan Jeffrey Oliver! Would you shut the fuck up and help me get your cock out of your pants so I can blow you before we blow this joint?”
How the fuck was I supposed to say no to that?
EPILOGUE #2
TASHA
EIGHTEEN MONTHS & ONE DAY LATER
I hated champagne.
Or it hated me. I wasn’t entirely sure which, but there was no doubting we were enemies.
Rolling over, I groped around the bed looking for my boyfriend. He wasn’t there. The sheets were cool, and I was alone and miserable. Arsehole.
“Morning, Princess. How we feeling?”
“Gah.” Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes as the room spun.
“Drink this,” he instructed, pushing a glass into my hand. I didn’t even ask what it was. Instead, I just gulped it down. “Better?”
“No,” I grumbled.
“Well, sit up. I want to read you a story.”
Flopping back on the bed with my arm draped over my eyes trying to block out the early-morning light, I begged, “Can it wait?”
Smack! It took a second from the time I heard the noise until the stinging on my arse registered.
“Did you just slap me?” Now I was awake.
“Move over and listen to my story.” Logan wasn’t taking no for an answer. Instead, I felt the bed dip beside me before I was tucked under his arm, my head propped up on his chest. “Ready?”
“Hurry up.”
Clearing his throat, Logan started. “What happens when you win the one award everyone values above all else? What do you do when you get a minute alone to gather your thoughts and let what just happened sink in? What do you say when all the reporters go home and the cameras stop rolling?”
Ah shit. I might not remember everything I did or said last night, but this was bringing back memories thick and fast.
“If it’s everything you’ve been working on, everything you’ve been dreaming about since you were a little boy on the farm with your family booting a football around the fields just having fun, you may just sit there in a chair, stare blankly at the wall and start sobbing like a baby.”
“Shit!”
“Not now, Tash, I’m reading.”
I squirmed, trying to put some distance between us, knowing what was coming, knowing exactly what was coming, I was suddenly very sober. Not particularly keen on the idea, Logan instead tightened his grip. I wasn’t going anywhere until he was ready to let me go.
“Last night Logan Oliver’s dream came true. Well, one of them anyway. He was crowned the Brownlow Medallist, and for the normally shy, somewhat reclusive Oliver it was a big moment. Stepping up onto the platform, he’d forgotten his speech, despite being reminded to make sure he had it numerous times, so he just went with his gut. And he did all right, I guess. But he did forget one thing. He did forget one person in his life he needed to thank. But who?”
“Yeah, Tash, who did he forget?”
“Can you let me up, I need to pee,” I lied as I tried to wriggle away.
“Not a chance.” His voice was deep and steady. Fuck!
“If I pee myself, that’s on you!” I threatened.
“I’ll take my chances. Now shush.”
“He thanked his coaches, his parents and his friends. He praised his teammates for their help, ex-teammates for the drive. He thanked the fans for letting him play the game he loves. But somehow, he still missed one person. The one person who makes his life better. The person who picks up his dirty socks and makes sure there’s milk in the fridge for his required morning coffee (he’s a monster before coffee). The person who catches his tears and eases his pains. She even holds the bag of frozen peas on his boo boos after a game.
But it’s all good. This isn’t a sob story. Congratulations to Mr. Oliver on joining an elite club. You’ve had an outstanding season so far and I wish you and your team luck for Saturday afternoon’s Grand Final.
Oh yeah, I hope you like blue balls… ‘cause you, Mr. Oliver, are cut off.
T”
“Well…what do you think?” he asked, dropping his iPad on the bedside table and rolling me underneath him, caging me in with his arms.
“I thought the journalist did a great job. A very well-balanced, accurate article, I’d say.”
“Would you now?”
“Yep.” Ignoring my hangover, I was determined not to go down without a fight.
Last night had been epic. I didn’t know if he was going to win or lose, really, I didn’t care. But when his name was announced, he hugged me so tightly he almost cracked a rib. Then to sit there and watch him speak, having the whole room hanging on his every word was perfect. At least it would’ve been if he remembered me. It stung, probably more than I should’ve let it.
So, while he was whisked off for interviews and photos, I drank. And drank some more. And somewhere in my champagne shower, I managed to publish my drunken ramblings.
With his forehead resting against mine, he looked me dead in the eye. “You know I’d never forget you.”
“But you did,” I admitted as the wave of hurt returned.
“Baby, no. I didn’t. But you’re the one part of my world that’s mine and mine alone. I didn’t want to share my thank you with them.”
“But it looks like I don’t matter. You thanked your fourth-grade teacher for fuck’s sake. I didn’t even rate above her.”
“Natasha Elizabeth North, you matter more than any of them. Move in with me.”
“What?”
“Move in with me. We’re together all the time anyway, what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is you go and publicly humiliate me and then try to make it up to me with a house key. Hell no!”
“Actually, I had the house key made a week ago. And as for publicly humiliating you, that was never, would never be my intention. Move in with me and I’ll give you an exclusive.”
Since working for the paper, I’d convinced Gerard that I shouldn’t interview Logan. It was a conflict of interest. From the day he found out, I’ve continued to annoy him on the blog, which usually works in my favour as he tries to punish me in the bedroom, but in my role as a junior sports columnist with the Melbourne Advocate I haven’t covered him.
“You think an exclusive is going to get you laid?”
“No. I think an exclusive is going to get you a promotion and I’m going to get laid ‘cause I love you.”
“You do?”
“Absolutely.”
“Is that on the record Mr. Oliver?”
“It’s the fucking headline.”
Also by Rebecca
Standalones
Nobody Knows
Shattered Dreams
Playing Games Series
Marked
Finding Your Place Series
Coming Home
Running Away
Believing Again
Meet the McIntyres Series
Taking Charge
Picturing Perfect
Fighting Back
Breaking Free
Finding Forever
A Merry McIntyre Christmas
Meet the McIntyres Boxset
Swimming Upstream Series
Perfection is just an Illusion
Nobody’s Obligation
On Dry Land
Thank you to the amazing ladies who always have my back in this crazy book world. Kathryn, Marnie, Margaret, Robin and Jodi. You guys provide me with the support, the synonyms for boobs and other random topics (e.g. flogging your log), and the people to bounce shit off. I love and appreciate you more than I can ever show. I owe you all a huge hug.
To my family – thank you for letting me be me and supporting me no matter how crazy my ideas are.
For the amazing girls in Barber’s Bellas – thank you for being my safe place to fall, my place to vent and let it all out. Having you ladies there, having my back and cheering me on is something I truly do value. I love you all.
For my readers – th
ank you for taking a chance on this little Aussie girl whose childhood dream you’re making a reality. You’re freaking incredible and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Writing this book was an incredible feeling for me. Writing about a sport I love was fun and exactly what I needed. Thank you for allowing me this opportunity. I can’t wait to continue this series to see what else I can come up with.
Love Always
Rebecca xoxo
About the Author
Rebecca is a clumsy, introverted, bubble bath loving, chocoholic who'd rather read a book than go shopping. And don't even mention shoe shopping!
Rebecca is a lucky girl - one of four kids to schoolteacher parents. Wife to a football obsessed husband. Mother to a fur-baby who has no idea how big he is. Aunt to the most crazy/adorable little girls. And sister to two very determined sisters and one easy going brother.
Rebecca lives in Canberra Australia and spends way too many hours a day working the day job.
She is a book whore who can easily (and happily) read a book from start to finish in one sitting and spends her spare time writing.
Stay Connected with Rebecca
Website:
www.rebeccabarberauthor.com
Facebook Page:
Barber’s Bellas
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@RebeccaBarber7
Twitter:
@RebeccaBarber7
Marked (Playing Games Book 1) Page 22
