Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  I shoot him a look; “I know how to have a plenty good time, actually.”

  “Oh really?” He’s leaning closer as he grins at me, and I find myself not wanting to pull back even though I know I should; “So you know how to just cut loose and play?”

  “Yep.” I say with a withering smirk of my own.

  “So, kinda like how you were playing with yourself thinking about me right before I walked in here?”

  I can literally feel the blood drain from my face as my heart just drops. I’m frozen and just staring at him with my jaw right there on the floor as he leans back into the couch and grins.

  “I-” I’m sputtering; “I don’t know what you’re-”

  With a look of triumph on his face, Logan pulls out my fucking vibrator - the one I evidently left out in plain sight in the bathroom - from behind his back where he’s obviously been hiding it since he first sat down.

  The blood comes rushing back to my face with a burning feeling, and I suddenly just want to collapse into a puddle and just drip through the floorboards.

  Logan grins at me with a sort of gleeful look on his face; “I mean, maybe you weren’t thinking about me, but I somehow doubt it.”

  I grit my teeth, feeling angry and mortified as I slowly shake my head at him; “Anyone ever tell you you’re an arrogant asshole?”

  He laughs; “If I had a dollar for-” He trails off and then chuckles; “Well, I’d be me.”

  I stand quickly and storm back towards the front door of the apartment; “Well go be you somewhere else, dickhead.”

  The actual genuine shock on his face is almost worth the price of my dignity and my embarrassment, but not quite; “Aww, now Quinn, don’t be-”

  “Out.”

  “I mean I can stay if you think it’ll help you out, back in the bathtub with your little friend here-”

  “OUT.”

  Logan shuts his perfect mouth and nods slowly before he wincingly stands and shuffles towards me and the door I’m holding open.

  “You forgot your shirt, Rocky.”

  He grins as he passes me, leaning in so close to my ear that I feel a shiver at the heat of his breath, hot on my neck; “Keep it, darlin.”

  “Out.”

  “Fine.”

  11

  Logan

  “Do you like it here?”

  I shrug; “Room and board while on active duty, and the pay’s pretty decent,” I strap up my gloves, warily eyeing the guy easily two and a half times my age lacing up his own; “Listen, pal, you sure you actually wanna do this spar match? I’m kinda, uh, good.”

  The older guy with the silvered beard grins at me, taps his gloves together almost like he’s eager, and steps into the dirt circle; “Hoo-rah, Marine.”

  I freeze for a second before I whip my head around to stare at him; “What’d you call me?”

  Ok, so I’m hardly the only ex-U.S. Military who works for Blackriver, or even the only guy who may or may not have walked away from duty before getting here. But, it’s pretty much on the list of “never talk about” when you’re living with a bunch of roughneck, battle-hardened mercenaries like the guys here.

  The old guy smiles at me; “Like I don’t know another jarhead when I see one.” He pulls up the sleeve of the t-shirt he’s wearing, showing me the faded eagle, globe, and anchor tattoo there.

  Ok, didn’t see that coming. Still, I shrug and brush off his Marine reference; “Nah, I was a cop back home before this.” It’s half true; ok, more like a quarter true, at best. I never even went out and took the test or anything.

  The older guy nods, but there’s a smart glint in his eye that says he doesn’t buy a word of that bullshit; “Hey, I don’t need to know.”

  That’s right, he doesn’t, I fume to myself. Whoever this old dude is - arms dealer or whatever he is - he’s sorely mistaken if he thinks he can just waltz into camp one afternoon and start playing head games with guys like me. Marine or not, this guy’s asking for a beat down.

  “Officer?”

  “Huh?” I look up from tying up my shoes to see him studying me.

  “In the Marines, I mean. Were you an officer?”

  I can feel my temper flare; “Listen, pal, I already told you-”

  “Right, right,” He shakes his head; “My mistake, I meant in the police force.”

  I narrow my eyes at the old guy; I don’t know who this asshole is, but he’s got a lot balls to walk in here trying to bait me like this when we’re about to step into a ring together; “No,” I say quickly; “I wasn’t.” I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of asking ‘why’, even if the question is practically falling out of my mouth.

  “Ahh, I see.” He says, smiling at me; “You just seemed like the leader type.”

  I laugh; “You got the wrong guy, pal.”

  He nods, as if internalizing something; “Well, my mistake then. Shall we?”

  We tap gloves while I glower at him, and once we’re set in position, I come at him hard. He dodges my feint punch, but then he’s also ducking the second and third ones meant to actually connect. Suddenly, I’m off balance and his glove is crashing into the side of my jaw.

  Well, fuck.

  The man’s a whirlwind, and I can barely get my own gloves up before he’s got me off my feet and ass-down in the dirt.

  What the fuck was THAT?

  He chuckles as he pulls a glove off and reaches down to pull my bewildered ass back up; “Not bad for a nosy old man I guess, huh?”

  What is he, a mind reader?

  “Ok, I’ll bite. Yeah, I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Not everything is what it looks like on the outside, soldier.” His eyes narrow for a second as he looks into my face; “I’m betting a guy like you might just take that one to heart.”

  “Listen, I’m really not a Marin-”

  “Hey, I told you; I don’t need to know, son.”

  A week later, I’m dragging Hudson and Bryce with me when I opt out of my - and their - contracts with Blackriver and jump in the back of William Archer’s jeep. I still don’t know exactly where we’re going, or even really who this guy is. But I do know that after two years of looking over my shoulder for the U.S. State Department after ditching out on active war duty, two years of fighting in the mud and the jungles of the worst places on Earth for cash like some sort of honor-less gun for hire, and two years of watching me and both my friends succumb to anger, fear, apathy, drink, and drugs, I’m ready for whatever comes next. And what comes next is William Archer, new names, a new place in the world, and a reset on the game of life.

  I never do manage to knock him down in a match.

  I’m bleary-eyed and half blind from the sweat, my lungs burning for air. I’m laying hit after hit into the sparring bag when the knock on my front door jolts me into the present. I stop, only then feeling the absolute agony my muscles are in as I turn and wipe sweat from my eyes and peer at the door. The knock comes again, and I start to grin, knowing there’s really only one possible person who’d be knocking here at this hour.

  And I think I even know why.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Quinn spits at me, before shoving me aside and storming past me into my apartment.

  “Oh, please won’t you come inside, Quinn?” I grumble, tearing my boxing gloves off and watching her as she starts digging through my kitchen draws. I’m still partially curious, that is until she shoots me another furious look before she storms over and starts digging around underneath my mattress.

  Oh, now I know what she’s looking for.

  “Where is it!” She snaps, seeing the grin on my face as I grab a towel off the hook by the door and wipe the sweat from my face.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Qui-”

  “You kept my vibrator, you asshole!”

  I can’t help it then, and my grin just breaks into a full-on laugh. I mean honestly, how many times in life do you actually get a chance to hear someone say
that to you?

  “Oh, you noticed that, huh?”

  It’s been three days since I was at her place, and the temptation to pocket that little toys of hers I found in the bathroom was just too good to pass up, even if only just to mess with her.

  Quinn’s face is bright red as she fumes at my grin; “What?! No! Not funny, not cute, Logan!”

  “So you did notice it was gone then?”

  “Wh-” She stammers; “Yes, Logan, I noticed it was gone and that you stole it.”

  I nod, trying but failing to keep my face neutral; “So I guess that means you were actively looking for it, for - oh, some reason, when you noticed it was-”

  “Oh shut up.”

  Ok, so even though it’s a lot of fun to mess with Quinn and get under her skin like this - not to mention how easy it is - there is part of me that wonders why the fuck I’m still doing it. I mean she’s great, really. Actually she’s amazing, if I can get my head out of my own ass enough to just admit that. And it’s thoughts like those that have me wondering why I’m still just being such a massive dick to her. She might actually just like me, if I wasn’t trying so hard to sabotage the whole thing. And for what? Why, so she doesn’t get close? Because she’s “off limits”? No, fuck that; Hudson broke those rules first and that seems to be working out dandy for just about everyone involved.

  “Logan!”

  “Oh fine.”

  “Where-”

  I nod towards the kitchen; “Refrigerator, salad crisper.”

  Quinn wrinkles her brow at me; “Eew?”

  “Just wanted to keep it fresh for you!” I call out as she stomps towards the kitchen; “Oh hey, there’s also a cucumber or two in there too if you’re feeling extra frisky tonight, darlin.”

  She makes a face as she turns back from the fridge, shoving the toy into her jeans pocket; “Why are you always so gross?”

  The question actually catches me off guard, because honestly, I don’t know. And this brings me back to the whole “why the fuck am I acting like this” thing from before. It’s like just being around this girl has me acting like some sort of juvenile asshole full of crude comments and pulling dumb shit like the vibrator in the refrigerator thing. It’s barely a single level above pulling her hair on the playground or calling her names on the school-bus. I’m even betting that if I just got my shit together and started talking to her like a normal fucking person, we might even be able to get along.

  Except there’s something about Quinn Archer that makes it impossible for me to act anything remotely close to normal.

  And the real question here is, why can’t I act normal around her? If that one night from before was just this one time thing, and we as adults can both agree that it was a mistake and just move on from it, then why the fuck can’t I do just that?

  Quinn slams the fridge shut and marches towards me and the door, but I stick my arm out across the doorframe, blocking her.

  “Jesus, Logan-” She cocks her head at me; “Does this shit ever work for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this whole ‘asshole with a chip on his shoulder’ acting like a child stunt. Does this actually get you laid?”

  I grin widely at her before I blow her an air kiss; “Apparently?”

  Her face goes bright red again, and her mouth does that little adorable thing it does when she purses it shut extra tight, as if trying to keep in whatever she’s tempted to say; “That was-” She trails off and looks down at the floor.

  “Fantastic? Life-altering? The best lay you’ve ever had?” I smirk at her, seeing her cheeks get even redder as she shakes her head.

  And here I go, right back into the swing of being that sophomoric douche with the crude comments and the incessant need to pull this girl’s hair at recess, as if it’s the only way I can get her to keep paying attention to me.

  “A mistake.” She says sharply, abruptly ending my thoughts as I snap my eyes to hers. She raises her head and looks me right in the eye; “Obviously, a big mistake.”

  I frown, but when she pushes my arm away, I don’t stop her, and when she storms down the hall to the stairway, I don’t follow her either.

  12

  Quinn

  It’s already after two o’clock in the afternoon by the time I realize I haven’t actually left my office since stepping into it. My stomach is the one that not-so-subtly reminds me that lunch was about two hours ago, and that I’ve been fueling myself purely with coffee since breakfast.

  It’s also not like I’ve been hard at work either; quite the contrary actually. I’m distracted, and I’ve pretty much been spending my time all morning alternating between staring at the wall and staring out the window, with a few rounds of mahjong on my phone thrown in to mix things up. And what is it that has me so totally out of sync with the work I’d normally be throwing myself into?

  Yeah, take one guess.

  I’m still pissed about the previous night, not to mention every instance before that in which Logan feels such a need to be such a smug, cocky, dick. OK scratch that; I’m pissed that he keeps alternating between being a smug cocky dick half the time and a hot, unfairly irresistible dick the other half.

  Part of me was insanely proud of myself for actually leaving his place the night before, especially in the manner I did; leaving him standing there and speechless. Logan Dempsey isn’t usually a guy without words, so getting that reaction was at least a bit of a win. But, it’s an empty one really. By the time I got back down to my place after storming off like that, I was already feeling sullen and more annoyed rather than triumphant by the whole encounter.

  And of course, annoyingly turned on, after being in such close proximity to a shirtless, sweaty, tattooed and volatile Logan.

  When I’d sat in my bed later after a shower, there was a dark sort of allure to thinking about what might have happened upstairs if I’d only let my guard down. One move; that’s all it would’ve taken for me to probably still be up there right now, reliving that night we had before with Logan’s perfect cock and incredible tongue pushing me higher and higher, until-

  I’d bitten my lip as I’d looked at the vibrator - now washed of salad-crisper, thank you very much - sitting on my nightstand. I’d even almost reached for it until I’d groaned and rolled my eyes; as if giving in to the dirty thoughts running through my head right then would be like giving in to Logan.

  …Even if part of me would love the idea of giving in to him.

  So I walked in to work ticked off, pent up, and on edge. But it wasn’t until I’d gotten to my office - more specifically my assistant’s desk - that I’d gone from ticked-off to just plain pissed.

  “Oh, Dr. Archer?” Carol, my assistant, had looked up from her desk with her usual heavy dose of eye-shadow and her amazing Staten Island accent; “Mr. Dempsey wanted me to let you know that he needs to reschedule the team meeting today. He’ll be in Washington D.C. for the evening.”

  My first emotional response is actually one of relief; relief that I might actually get a whole day without that arrogant prick trying to insert himself into my life, or my thoughts. But then of course, I’m annoyed, since the meeting is actually an important one.

  “That’s-”

  What, ‘presumptuous of him’? Annoying? Typical Logan?

  “Ok, thanks Carol,” I say, blowing air out of my cheeks; “We can just have Peyton sit in and relay the meeting notes back to-”

  “Oh, actually Ms. Wheeler accompanied Mr. Dempsey to D.C.”

  Yeah, that’s about when I see red. Of course he brought Ms. Teeny-bopper Mickey Mouse Club on an overnight “business trip”. Of course he did, the night after I manage to reject him and walk away feeling like I got the upper hand. It’s like his own personal little retort to my storming away from him the previous night; his own little “fuck you” right back.

  And if that “fuck you” involves a “fucking Peyton”, I’m swear I’m quitting tomorrow and moving the day after.

  “D
r. Archer?”

  I shake my thoughts and look up from my desk to see Carol poking her head into my office; “Yes?”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a courier package here for you?”

  I frown; “OK, uh, thanks. You can just sign for it and I’ll get to it-”

  “It’s a direct courier, signature only, from Mr. Dempsey.”

  Oh now what.

  I nod, furrowing my brow as Carol ducks back out of the room before returning with a sweaty looking hipster with a bike helmet and a bag full of brown-box packages; “Dr. Archer? Dr. Quinn A-” The kid starts to snicker before I level my coldest, bitchiest face at him and he just mumbles something about signing on the dotted line as he passes me his clipboard.

  He’s barely out the door before my cellphone buzzes on my desk. I glance down, and my face instantly goes bright red before I hurriedly snatch the phone off the desk.

  It’s Logan calling, of course. But it’s not who the number is that has me flushed pink as a tomato and looking quickly at the door to make sure Carol isn’t hovering. It’s what the picture is that pops up accompanying that number.

  Because what flashes in big, high-definition pixels across my phone screen is a picture of Logan Dempsey’s cock.

  “How did you get into my phone?!” I hiss, hunching over at my desk and turning away from the door.

  I can hear him chuckle on the other end; “Do you think I got my good side?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out “the good side” of Logan that’s just seared itself across my brain; “Jesus, Logan, I mean what if someone saw-”

  “You’re always calling me a dick, so I thought I’d deliver!” He snorts a laugh, and I’m grinding my teeth as I shake my head.

  “When- I mean how did you get into my-”

  “Listen, did you get the packages?” He says suddenly, cutting me off in a way that says there’s no way he’s going to tell me how he managed to get into my contacts list without me knowing about it. With a guy with his sort of resources though, I’m not sure I want to know.