“Awfully fast to rush into an engagement,” my mom says.
“You know the one when you find him!” Tamber says smiling.
“Or when you find out his wealth,” my dad mutters.
“Sorry?” Tamber asks.
“You see dear, we don’t want Logan marrying someone like you because we don’t want him marrying a gold digger,” my mom says.
Mom never retracts her claws completely.
“Come on, mom. That’s not fair,” I say.
“Isn’t it? You get engaged the day after your first date at a very expensive restaurant? She comes from nothing? Use your head Logan.”
Talk about tonal whiplash. I thought they were starting to like her. False sense of security and all that.
Either way now it’s actually personal. They’re attacking Tamber on a level that’s real even if our engagement is fake.
“That’s enough,” I say, my voice loud and commanding like I’m calling out a play in a hostile stadium whose fans are trying to drown out my voice. “I love Tamber and that should be good enough for you.”
The word love comes out of my mouth way too fucking easy. Tamber looks right at me when I say it. A brief smile crosses her face. I don’t think she meant me to see it but I did.
“Love. Who marries for that,” my dad says throwing down his napkin. He stands up and stomps out of the room.
“Now you’ve upset your father,” my mom says to me.
Jeffrey comes by to clear our plates as we all sit in silence for a moment. My mom sips her wine and rubs her forehead. Tamber keeps her head down.
“Look darling, it’s nothing personal, but this marriage cannot happen,” my mom says to Tamber. “It would be best if you left in the morning.”
Somehow the expression on Tamber’s face is priceless. I’m on the edge of my seat, embarrassed and mad as hell at my parents, yet Tamber is apparently quite content.
“Jessica. Mrs. Oliver. Hypothetically, what would happen if Logan and I were to be married?” Tamber asks. “Or not even me, just any girl not of your choosing.”
My mom gives her a hard look. Then she looks to the door to see if my dad is coming back. When it is clear that he isn’t, my mom’s hard look softens. She speaks to Tamber almost like a mother to a daughter.
“Oh sweetie. It’s not your fault. My husband has a certain way about him. You must understand that from the moment of his birth, we expected Logan to take over the family business. Part of that is marrying correctly. Please don’t take that the wrong way.”
I roll my eyes. Regardless of what Tamber said earlier, my mind is made up. Football or nothing. Fuck this. I take another long sip of wine.
“And football? You aren’t proud of your son’s accomplishments?” Tamber asks.
I can’t believe how she’s sticking up for me after all that I’ve put her through.
My mom sighs heavily. “The problem is that Oliver Oil needs a Logan to run it. It’s his pride and joy and his greatest wish is to pass it down to his son. A wish that he’s had much longer than seeing Logan play football or anything like that.”
Damn that’s actually kind of poignant.
Jeffrey brings dessert around as if nothing has happened.
Talk about emotional eating.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tamber
Business me is the only thing holding it all together. Fuck them for asking me about my parents like that. To think I walked into that dining room thinking that I loved Logan only to get grilled about my jailbird mom. That little detail that I didn’t tell Logan. Not like I’m obligated since we aren’t actually engaged.
Jessica gracefully dismisses me in the absence of Logan’s father. His mom’s a real piece of work, but his dad’s obviously the chief asshole. And Logan set me up for that. To think I started to think that I almost started to love him.
Rather than waiting for Jeffery, I find my own way back to my room in the guest wing. Tomorrow I’m headed home. I’ve had just about enough of the Olivers.
Inside, I grab my phone and put a ton of notes in about the idea that Jessica gave me. An app for etiquette. That’s something I could have used all weekend. At least one good thing came out of the dinner. My family’s dirty laundry might be a fair trade off for getting my homework done. Focusing on the details of the etiquette app is the only thing stopping me from breaking shit in this room.
Fucking Gwen. I asked her to dress me nice, and she gives me the kind of dress that a cocktail waitress wears in a strip club. If the Olivers weren’t giving me shit about my mom, then they were giving me shit about the dress.
Looking at myself in the mirror now, I can see why. The dress hugs my tits like I’m not even wearing anything, and the bottom barely covers my sex.
Jesus Christ Gwen how do you wear dresses like this?
Before dinner I thought I looked hot in it. For some reason I gave a shit about Logan liking my dress. Gwen texts me back.
Did his boner bust through his pants or what?
I wore it to dinner with his parents.
She doesn’t hesitate to text me back.
Oh shit no you didn’t. That’s a party dress babe.
Sure now you tell me. Conveniently Gwen didn’t actually pack anything more appropriate. I could have gone to dinner in the crotchless panties and see-through bra that apparently needed to come along with me for some reason. Remind me to get a new best friend.
I’m about to change when there’s a knock on the door. I’m assuming it’s Jeffrey. Obviously, I broke protocol by wandering through the house all by my lonesome. Carolyn’s comment about the house being wired with cameras comes back to me.
When I crack the door open, Logan is standing there in possession of the saddest face that I’ve ever seen and a handful of flowers that he obviously took from some vase elsewhere in the house.
“I’m changing,” I say.
“You don’t have to,” he says.
“Your parents hated this dress.”
“Granted. But I like it.”
Easy for him to say. He dressed in formal slacks and a fitted off-white dress shirt with matching tie. I’m sure Jeffrey picked it out for him.
I throw my phone back on the bed’s velvet duvet of the bed and step out into the hall. Logan is totally checking me out. No matter how many times we agree to be nothing more than friends, one of us has to go and start something.
“I’m mad at you, you know,” I say, crossing my arms, and leaning against the door. Sending the right signals has never been my strong suit.
“I’m not super happy with you either,” he says.
That makes me laugh. Actually it’s more like a snort.
“That’s rich Logan. Did you have your dirty laundry paraded around the dinner table? Actually you know what? I’m really mad at you.”
My mind was so occupied with etiquette ideas, that I didn’t even consider how upset I should really be. That whole dinner was bullshit! I’m not actually even engaged to the guy!
“You didn’t tell me your mom was the one in jail Tamber. I didn’t know my dad was going to bring that up,” he says.
I’m so fucking livid with him right now. I’m two seconds away from walking back into my room, waiting until morning, and then getting out of here.
The stupidest part is that I don’t owe any of these people anything! I can walk away at any moment, so why am I even putting up with this bullshit?
“You should have stood up for me Logan.”
“I wanted to, but dad…”
“Intimidates you?”
“See that’s why I like you! You get me. Could you imagine me trying to explain to the three hundred pound guys on my team that my old ass dad intimidates me? Most of those guys have actually, physically kicked their dads’ asses.”
“Look, I don’t really want to stand in the hallway and talk about this so…” I start to say.
He grabs my hand. I let him take it. Even though I have every reason in the world,
I can’t stay mad at those bright blue eyes and that warm smile.
“Let me show you something cool,” he says.
“Let me change first,” I say, feeling mighty uncomfortable now that I realize how little the dress covers.
“Don’t worry. We’re not going to run into anything. It’s a secret where we’re going.”
“What are you going to take me to your sex dungeon? Some Christian Grey shit?”
“I might be rich, but I’m still a Texan. Save that freaky shit for the big city folk,” he says, exuding his trademark calm and confidence.
He leads me down to the end of the bottom floor of the guest wing. We walk up a winding staircase to a wing that feels like a mausoleum. Artwork and paintings are covered with thin sheets of fabric. No one has been up here in years.
“What is all this? Why do your parents own a house so damn big?” I ask.
“For when the grandkids come,” he says.
I laugh.
“No seriously. My sisters and I are all pretty close in age. My parents have always assumed they were going to have to house multiple sets of relatives and shit up here. A long time ago this was used for business meetings by my grandpa, Logan the First. Skype and shit kind of ruined the need to fly your business partners in the for the weekend.”
We walk further and further down the hallway. I glance into unused room after unused room. That same Dracula vibe I felt on the first night is amped up ten fold in this part of the mansion. I’m surprised there are no random suits of armor or paintings that seem to follow our movements. We slip into a room at the end of the hallway, and Logan finally turns a light on.
“Is this where you show me the rose in a glass jar?” I ask. “Because it’s pretty close to midnight and you haven’t turned back into a man yet.”
“Har, har,” he says. “No even better. My grandpa had this place commissioned and the guy that built it was a big fan of dumb shit like this.”
As he says that, he pushes against a wall that clicks open.
“Seriously? A secret passage? What is this your bedroom?” I ask.
“No even better,” he says. Taking my hand, he leads me into a little room with no other obvious exit. Instead there’s a giant window at the top that looks right up into the moon. So much light comes through that we almost don’t have to turn a lamp on. Logan does anyway.
There’s a small couch in the room with a television. A little bookcase sits under the television lined with old football trophies. They are a mix of participation and MVP trophies from every moment in Logan’s football career before college.
“I hid them up here because my dad never wanted to see them. He knew he couldn’t stop me from playing because it would make him look bad to all his friends especially since they were big donors to the private school I went to.
These were guys that would have given him shit for the rest of his life if he didn’t let me lead the team to a state championship. Once that happened, he couldn’t stop me from getting offers for college.
When Alabama’s coach came to visit us personally to recruit me, my dad really lost it. I brought all these up here afterward.”
“I’m sorry Logan,” I say putting my hands on his shoulders. The memory of his father’s behavior makes his muscles heave with subtle rage.
“And I get it. I shouldn’t complain. People like you have it much harder than people like me,” he says.
“Maybe. But no one’s ever expected anything from me. My dad’s a deadbeat,” I say.
Logan lets a little half-smile come out.
“So your dad wants you to give up the one thing you love, and my mom never wants me to fall in love,” I say.
My fake fiancée flops down on the couch.
“We’re quite a pair,” he says.
I sit down next to him. Whatever anger I was feeling for him is gone. His relationship with his dad is so fucked up. I can’t imagine living like that.
On the other hand, my dad liked to tell me that I’d never amount to anything. Logan and I are kind of similar in a fucked up way.
He fumbles with the remote on the couch, turning on the sports channel. Like before they’re talking about him, showing all the recent pictures of his nights out with girls. Me included.
“Those girls at The Library definitely looked way more drunk than me,” I say.
He laughs. “True story. The difference is the paparazzi has a lot of pictures of them. You’re different. You’re one of a kind. They don’t know who you are, and it’s driving them crazy.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean they’ve been bothering Cam and anyone else I know about you all weekend. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry about it, but they’ve been hanging around the practice field looking for me. Cam went over to check on Gwen.”
“She didn’t tell me that,” I say feeling hurt that everyone is keeping secrets from me.
“Gwen doesn’t know yet. He’s going over tonight,” he says.
Formal wear doesn’t hide Logan’s innate athletic sexiness. I can’t help but think about his muscles. No matter how hard I fight it, whenever we’re alone like this, my mind goes to the dirtiest places. Friends, I remind myself. Just friends.
It doesn’t help that they keep showing his shirtless pics on TV with me right next to them. Even though the picture is all blurry, I do look hot in that dress. About as hot as I look right now. I really should have changed before sneaking off with Logan.
Logan catches me looking at him during a commercial break. I don’t look away. I can’t stop staring. I’ve been lying to myself all weekend.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“About what our parents,” I say.
He turns to me and rests his strong hand on my bare leg. Dangerous territory.
Given how tight and skimpy Gwen’s dress is, I’m basically wearing nothing while he’s wearing everything. Doesn’t seem fair.
His eyes travel down from my eyes to my neck, and soon he’s staring at the bare curves of my breasts. I want him to stare.
“What about them?” he murmurs, leaning closer to me.
The sports news comes back up, and he doesn’t even turn to see the story they’re covering. He’s looking into my eyes and nowhere else.
“That maybe we need to stop caring so much about what our parents think,” I say.
“Like promises?” he asks.
Our lips draw close once more. I can feel his breath as he waits for my answer. I’ve long since closed my eyes, yet I know exactly where he is because his presence fills the room. In this tiny hideaway of a room he is everywhere at once, and I want him in me.
“Yes,” I murmur.
He kisses me without hesitation, and for the first time I don’t even think about stopping. My family drama is out in the open, and I’ve figured out the major hang up in my work. I feel free.
When his tongue touches mine I know that I’ve made the right decision. His hands travel up the thinness of my dress and grabs at my breasts. I start to unbutton his shirt.
Like an animal, he pulls at the tight neckline of my dress, pulling it down, exposing my bra. He kisses me down my neck to my cleavage. I feel electric from his unfettered kisses all over my bare breasts.
His dress shirt unbuttons easily. Underneath I find an undershirt that is absolutely pissing me off right now. I tug at the bottom and Logan gets the idea. He pulls back from my breasts, slides his dress shirt off his huge arms, and then slips the undershirt up and over his head.
From there I practically tackle him back on the couch, kissing his bare, muscled chest. My busy hands can’t stay away from his rock hard abs. I kiss all the way down to his waist. My hands don’t go any lower, yet I can tell that he’s getting hard.
Logan grabs my wrists suddenly. He raises my arms and pushes me back to my side of the couch. Climbing on top of me, I can see the intensity in his eyes. Overcome with desire, he holds my arms above my head, kissing my
neck, my lips, my breasts. I can do naught but enjoy his ferocity and passion.
“I told you earlier that I’d make you come with my hand,” he growls. In his voice I can hear the lion, the animal-like baseness in him that drives him on the football field and in the bedroom.
“I’m the kind of girl that likes it when people do what they say they’re going to do,” I say with a playful grin. I flash my big eyes at him, playing the prey to his predator.
He releases my hands, and I curl my fingers into his wild brown hair. We kiss again, our tongues teasing each other with the limitless potential of our delights. At the same time, his hand creeps up my thigh and into my dress. A sigh shudders through my body to the feel of his touch exploring me in ways that few men ever have.
I lift my butt off the couch, letting him know what to do. He slides my sexy black thong down my legs. He sits back on his knees, so I kick my legs up in the air, allowing him to pull my thong all the way off.
He lets me put my legs down, and I keep them together, not yet ready to show him my sex.
He’s taking the deep, measured breaths of a football player about to call hike. He studies my body like he’s reading a defense. If his love making is anything like is quarterback play then I don’t stand a chance.
Gwen told me that athletes are a different bred. That a girl can’t handle them more than a few times. I’m hoping I can handle Logan even once.
“I want you so fucking bad,” Logan growls.
“If we’re going to pretend to be engaged, I guess we better practice,” I say, giggling uncontrollably at the thought.
“Is that all this is?” he asks.
“Just a couple of friends practicing for the big game.” I know I’m toying with him, but it’s too much fun.
“Fuck Tamber you have my head all twisted,” he says.
My eyes make their way down to his cock. He’s definitely hard and ready to burst out of those dress slacks. For all of my fantasies, I’m not sure that I’m ready to fuck him yet. He can see my hesitation despite my naked body.
“But I’ve also been thinking about making you come with my tongue,” he says.
Third and Long: A Sports Romance Page 13
