"Ha. Ha."
* * *
Logan checked his email for the fourth time, fighting the urge to click the inbox over and over again until he got the result he wanted. Two weeks. Two whole weeks and his agent still hadn't gotten back to him.
The pre-season publicity rush was bound to start booking up any week now, and apparently dropping him a line or two to let him know where he stood was too much to ask. With gritted teeth, he sat back in the computer chair and spun around, letting his head get as dizzy as the rest of him. He was running out of time. If he didn't figure something out soon, he'd actually have to rely on his deal with Andy in order to turn things around...
Which, considering the fact that he hadn’t heard from her in a week solid, seemed just about as likely as everything else at this point.
It wasn’t that she’d avoided him. The week had been a sort of dance, really. He’d call and she’d answer politely, just like she might have if their near-kiss hadn’t happened. But there was still the memory of that moment.
The smell of her strawberry shampoo that hung in the air around her. The glow of her creamy white skin against the deep, blood red of her dress. Every time he’d heard her voice since that night, he’d imagined her just as she’d looked then.
Which, of course, meant he also imagined the pain and conflict that had knitted her brow when she’d pulled away from him and practically sprinted to her car.
He knew she felt the tension just as much as he did, that the thought of what might have been clung to every word she spoke. That was probably why none of their conversations had lasted more than five minutes. And also why he’d yet to schedule his photo shoot.
He glanced at his phone, then lazily swiped one finger over the screen. Today could be different. He could call her, and then…
What was that quote about the definition of lunacy? Speaking to the same girl over and over and freaking over again and expecting different results?
If that was the case, he was damned near certifiable.
If she could only be less funny, that would be something. Less smart, too, would be helpful. Or if she hated sports, it might have been easier to walk away. Instead, there he was, staring at her number.
He could simply fire his agent, hire Andy, and then all of his problems would be solved. Except for his burning desire to sleep with his best friend’s sister. A sister who would then also be a co-worker…
He pinched his nose between two fingers and closed his eyes, but before he had a chance to complicate his life with further thought, his phone started buzzing across his desk. Glancing at the screen, he found Matt’s face grinning up at him.
Good. Matt. That would make things easier.
He thumbed “answer” and pressed the phone to his ear.
"Hola mi amigo," Matt's bright voice buzzed over the line.
"Hey man, what's up."
"Not much, just got back from a press junket and thought It might interest you to know that a certain sports reporter told me that I shouldn't hang out with such low level swine."
Logan groaned. Almost every time Matt went on some expedition in the world of media, Logan would get this call. Maybe he'd run into some stewardess that felt slighted or an old girlfriend who actually had been slighted. The bottom line? None of it was good.
"You have no way of knowing she meant me." Logan rebuffed.
"Except for the fact that she mentioned you by name, yeah, I guess I don't."
Logan paused. "Swine? Really?"
"Her words, not mine." Matt said.
"Which certain sports reporter is that?" Logan racked his brain. There was Julie from the Sports Broadcast and Anna from Sports News Tonight. But he'd been nice to both of them. Maybe they hadn't gone on second dates of anything, but he'd been a gentleman. Cordial.
"Felicity from Sports Weekly. She told me--"
"Oh god." Logan groaned.
"Yeah, oh god. Did you seriously leave her in the middle of a date to go on a date with someone else?"
"it was college," Logan protested, how was I supposed to know not to do that?"
"Common human decency for one. And to hear her tell it, she gave you a second chance and then--"
Shit. "Right. I'd forgotten about that."
"Dude, you can't be messing with reporters like that. They will mess your life up."
"Tell me about it. Sports reporters and..." Publicists, he wanted to finish, but he spared himself the trouble of explaining. No need to get into details about Andy with her brother. That would definitely be more trouble than it was worth.
So, instead, Logan changed the subject. Badly. "Enough about that. Why don't you tell me how your wrist is healing up. Tim is retiring and Samuels is looking for a new pitcher."
"Seriously? You think I'm going to let you off the hook that easily?" Matt said.
"I was really hoping." Logan shrugged, though he knew his friend couldn't see him.
"Fine, I'll let you off this time, but let this be a warning to you. You've got to be careful who you're going around and getting involved with. These women can really make your life a living hell."
"Don't I know it." Logan grumbled. "Thanks, though."
He clicked off before he realized that Matt had not, in fact, answered the question.
Chapter 6
She'd scheduled a photo shoot for him that afternoon with Sports Today. Not too shabby, especially considering that his agent hadn’t done half as much for him in ten times the amount of time. With work like Andy put in, he might’ve dumped his agent right there on the spot.
With a sigh, he sprang from his chair and dallied around the house, keeping himself busy while he toyed with whether or not he should go to this stupid press shoot. It shouldn't matter if Andy was involved. He was a man: what was the worst Andy freaking Archer could do to him?
She could show up in that tiny red dress and...
And he'd completely lose it. For Christ’s sake, the girl was like one of those little toy pills kids used to buy when he was growing up. Before, she'd been nothing to look at, but with a few little changes, she'd transformed right before his eyes. Like magic.
He grit his teeth and stared up at the clock. Ten minutes to make his decision once and for all.
Given the way she'd been acting since the incident, the odds of Andy being there, dress or no dress, was less than likely. And if she was? He'd just have to have more faith in his self-control. He had his friendship with Matt on the line, after all. He'd find a way to avoid her and put an end to this cat and mouse bullshit.
He had to.
When he showed up at the address Shay had given him, the first thing he spotted was Andy's car in the parking lot. So much for the odds.
Still, he parked beside it and headed in, hands in his pockets and ready to work.
He stepped through the wide, steel doors and into a huge, modern-looking studio with sleek, metallic lights and white walls as far as the eye could see. Hot damn, this place looked like a studio made to be photographed. Swankier than any other place he'd been by far.
And no sign of Andy.
A producer met him within seconds and ushered him toward the hoard of people that usually poked and prodded him before these kinds of things. Nasally make-up girls and bedraggled assistants who asked about coffee and special requests, always only half listening to the answers they'd requested. Nevertheless, it wasn't as bad as the usual rigmarole. It took less time than usual, and by the time his primping was completed and his coffee was in hand, he was already being ushered toward the set for his shoot.
Still no Andy.
Instead, there was a thin, graying photographer chatting with a woman whose hourglass frame was like something out of an old Hollywood movie. Not big, but toned, with hip jutted out to the side to emphasize her long, trim legs.
"Excuse me, ma'am." He approached her from behind, careful not to come too close to her perfect, round ass.
She turned to face him, her face as starkly pale as his must hav
e been. Because as soon as he saw her, all the blood drained from his head.
"Andy," he breathed. She was even more beautiful than she had been after their makeover. She'd apparently done her make-up herself, and her green eyes were impossible to ignore beneath a thin smear of purple shadow. "Hey. I wasn't expecting you."
Which was halfway true. In his mind, he'd expected sweats-clad, pony-tailed Andy. The girl who used to bring over pizza before midnight study sessions or who would jump in front of her brother when he was playing catch on the quad in college.
What he hadn't been expecting was the goddess in front of him, all soft features and silky, brown hair.
"Yeah, sorry, I should have told Shay to let you know." She nodded slowly, forcing her gaze to focus on anything and everything that wasn't him.
Her pink tongue peeked from between her lips and she ran it over her mouth, apparently concentrated on something he couldn't see.
Focus, focus, focus.
But he couldn't think about anything other than those lips. What they tasted like. The way they glistened.
This was what had gotten him into trouble before, and still he could feel himself sliding back into that frame of mind. If he didn't get a grip, he was bound to lose it completely.
Probably best to start with the basics. "Actually, while we're on the topic of apologies owed—"
She held up a hand, her face paler than it had been even a second before. "No need."
"Really, though. I know I made things weird between us when I... Well, just know it won't happen again," he said.
He'd expected her to smile. To say something. Hell, he might have taken it if she'd done anything at all. Instead, she turned her gaze from him and cleared her throat.
"I think they're ready for you on set," she said, her voice wavering slightly.
Almost as if she was disappointed by what he'd said.
Christ, what was wrong with him? He'd asked for her forgiveness. Couldn't he just leave well enough alone?
He stalked toward the canvas and stood there, staring straight at the lens and waiting for his cue. These things were always so awkward. Worse was when they'd throw things at him or ask him to pose with something. If only his job could just be to catch and throw baseballs. That he could do.
This?
Not so much. And his point was only emphasized by the unkempt photographer’s constantly thwarted efforts to get him to cooperate. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get himself to “make love to the camera,” least of all with Andy standing there next to it. Half of the time as he flexed and posed, he found himself staring at her rather than the lens, and the photographer would let out another frustrated sigh.
On the seventh of these exhalations, the cameraman stepped back from the lens and called, "Bring in the girls."
"The girls?" His eyebrows shot up and three half-naked women appeared, walking in single file. There might have been four. From the side, it was hard to tell since they were all so waifish and scantily clad.
"What is this?" Andy asked. He could tell she'd tried to hide it, but he could still hear the edge of surprise in her tone.
"The magazine called," the photographer said, "They want a sexier cover. A little edgier and more hip. I said we had just the girls for the job."
Said girls piled around him, smashing themselves against him until all he could smell was their stale cigarette breath.
Each of them wore big feather plumes of their heads, like they were prepped for some half-rate Vegas act. The things made it hard for him to spot Andy, but he craned his neck, straining with all his might to hear the rest of their interaction.
"Why the hell didn't they call me?" she snapped.
"It was a last minute decision." The photographer shrugged and readjusted his lens. "Time is money, sweetheart."
Then, turning finally to his subjects, the photographer shouted, "Closer."
Hollow bones pressed in on him from all angles, practically suffocating him while he feigned a wide, brilliant smile.
And he wasn't the only one faking.
As the shoot wore on and the girls huddled around him in one provocative position after the other, Andy's pretend patience with the whole thing was wearing thin.
Five more minutes of watching these women press against him and he was sure she’d blow a gasket. Normally, it might have been amusing to watch her all flustered and red in the face, but today it was just kind of...well, kind of sad.
He couldn't let it go on any further. "Listen." He stepped out from behind one of the girls' boney hips and said, "I've got some other appointments today. I'm sorry to have wasted your time, but do you mind if we call this thing a wrap?"
He speared a hand through his hair as the photographer looked him over, probably knowing full well that Logan had only phrased things in the form of a question to make the situation more comfortable. The other man nodded, but he was far less than thrilled, and he called the dead-eyed girls back to their dressing rooms before mumbling a half-hearted “thank you” and something about being "this close" to retirement.
In situations like these, the expectation was to grab his stuff from the dressing room and go. His agent would always handle all of the paperwork and the management, and he'd hit the road, calling it all a day's work as he drove off into the sunset. But today he wasn't quite ready to call things quits.
Andy was standing in the far corner of the room. Her back was to him, but he could still make out the way she pulled on the end of her ponytail as she surveyed a clipboard hanging from the wall.
He might have apologized, but she hadn't forgiven him. And even if he hadn't asked for those girls to show up, he could tell the kind of effect they'd had on her.
But why? She'd had her chance. He'd made his move and she denied him. What right did she have to be upset by him being surrounded by beautiful women?
He gave the room a quick study. Everyone’d gone now, though Andy apparently didn’t notice. If she had, there was no doubt she would have sprinted out the door like her sensible flats were on fire.
It was time to take advantage of his position. All this weirdness was over more than just a stupid little kiss, and if things were going to keep going in this direction, he was sure as shit going to figure out why.
"Hey there, sport," he called and Andy spun on her heel to face him.
Her gaze ping ponged around the room before finally landing on him again, and the little crease between her brows smoothed as her mouth fell open.
"Hey. Guess we're even." She held out a hand as if to shake and he stared at it for a long moment before staring up at her again.
"What the hell is that?" he said.
"A handshake. To end our deal," she answered.
"As far as I can tell, our deal still isn't over."
"What do you mean? I set up this whole thing, you had the photo shoot—"
"We're still in the studio, aren't we?"
"Well, let me fix that, then." She picked up a beige handbag from a nearby table, then hitched it onto her shoulder. "Nice working with you."
She turned to leave, but he called after her.
"What was the deal back there?"
She paused, her back still to him, and he watched as her shoulders tensed and released before she finally turned around again.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bullshit."
"Well, if we're playing twenty questions, then why don't you tell me what the deal was with the other night? What was that all about?" she said.
"You answer mine and I'll answer yours."
"What, are we in grade school or something?"
"What are we in grade school or something?" he repeated.
For half a second, he thought she might stick out her tongue in response, but after a short pause she let out a breath and said. "I hate these things. Photographers are dicks."
"You didn't like the photographer?" He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest.
"No.
He gives me the creeps."
"Weird. You seemed totally fine with him. It wasn't until those girls came out that you seemed upset." He took a step toward her and she surprised him by not backing away.
Even more surprising was when she met his gaze full on.
"Jealous?" he prompted, trying to avoid the urge to smirk.
"Something like that," she answered.
He knew the rest would come if he didn't prod her. He was right. After another short pause, she added, "I've always hated seeing you with all those models. Matt would bring home pictures from the road sometimes or I'd see them in the magazines. It used to drive me crazy."
She'd wanted him? Had noticed him all that time ago?
Shock caught him in the back of the throat, making it impossible to speak.
"So, yeah. I didn't like the models, either. Because when I see them, all I see is the type of women you should be with. Woman who aren't at all like me."
"Then I guess the real question is, if you've been after me for all this time, why did you run from my kiss? Why did you turn me down?"
* * *
"I..." she paused, trying to find the words. She hadn't wanted to deny him. She'd wanted to lose herself in the taste of him until her eyes rolled back in her head and her body slumped against his. But as soon as she felt him, the rush of reality knocked her over.
She'd known that if she let it happen, if she gave way to everything she'd ever wanted, then she was giving herself up for him to hurt her again.
She wasn't ready for that. Couldn't face it.
But how could she tell him all of that without sounding like a complete psycho?
"I was scared," she said. It was the simplest truth she could find, and he seemed to understand. Slowly, he nodded and took another step toward her. Cupping her cheek in his huge palm, he asked, "And what would you do if I kiss you now?"
I might die.
She swallowed hard. Before she found the words to answer him, he closed the space between them and crushed his lips to hers, taking all of her breath along with him. God, his lips were perfect. Firm and commanding, exactly the sort of kiss that made a woman follow suit without thinking.
Made to be His (The Archer Family #1) Page 6
