But then Karla wouldn't stop calling so he answered after the fifth call and she frantically told him about the shit Peyton was getting herself into. At first, he contemplated leaving her there and letting her make her own damn mistakes. He continued to bat, except now he was swinging and missing. He clenched his teeth tightly, trying a few more swings but besides a tip that would have been a foul in the field, he couldn't catch any air.
"Goddamnit."
He rubbed the lower half of his face with his black glove and turned back to his phone. He went to his contacts and pressed the last number that popped up. He never acquired his TA's numbers and wasn't about to start now. The fact that Karla had his gave him pause but that was a detail he'd sort another time.
It rang one time before Karla answered.
"Hello?"
"Text me the fucking address," he said. He didn't wait for her to respond before he hung up the phone and got ready to leave.
She did in a manner of seconds and tried to call him back a few times. Logan chose not to answer. There was something about Karla he hadn't trusted completely - not that he trusted any of the women he slept with one hundred percent - but Karla was intelligent and calculating. In the ten weeks they spent together, she had never outwardly insisted on being more than what they were - two people who slept together and had the occasional conversation. But there was something more, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't until after the final grades were posted did he realize that she wasn't as confident and cool as she seemed. The pretty girls tended to have lower scores than everyone else, and while he would have changed them based on the amount of work they put in and what type of content filled the essays, nobody every came to him due to the fact that they were intimidated by him. The fact that she was insisting on helping his newest and sole TA was mind-boggling to say the least and there was a good chance she was lying to him in order to manipulate him in some way.
The problem was, he couldn't take the chance that what Karla might be telling him was true. And he couldn't leave Peyton alone to deal with a guy who couldn't take no for an answer. He didn't consider why Karla herself didn't step in and take care of the situation. The woman could be intimidating when she wanted to be. But she called him to intervene.
He would ponder the reasoning behind that later. Right now, he wanted to get to Peyton and ensure she was okay. Once he did that, she was going to get hell for even putting herself in the situation. She was better than that and she knew it. Hell, he knew it.
He slid into his Suburban after throwing his batting equipment in the trunk of his car. His eyebrows hung low over his eyes and he almost didn't hear the GPS on his phone announce the upcoming directions due to how pensive he was.
By the time he got to the party, things seemed to be winding down. It was after midnight - he knew the guy at the batting cages and paid a good amount of money to be able to hit afterhours - and college kids weren't spilling out of the house. The grass was filled with alcohol, cigarette butts, and crinkled plastic cups. There were a couple of kids sleeping off their drunken stupor on the porch of the house. Karla was outside waiting for him, pacing up and down the old wood with her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing his favorite dress - a silver strappy number that hit her mid-thighs - and white stiletto heels. She looked flawless, but then again, she always did. For a brief second, he wondered if the only reason Karla called him here in the first place was to get him to notice her. He wouldn't put it past her for a second. But then he remembered why he was here and he shook his head and focused.
Karla gave him an easy smile but her eyes were focused. She grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs. Logan could feel curious eyes on them. He was sure he was recognized by some. Crime students usually weren't crazy party fraternity people but his reputation preceded him and he was known amongst the different departments. He ignored the stares for the most part, instead choosing to focus on where Karla was leading him. He didn't think about the rumors that would swirl, considering he was about to take his TA out of a bad situation and all but force her back to her place.
To be frank, Logan didn't give a shit. As long as Peyton was safe, he could care less what people thought of him and his relationship with her.
He stomped up the stairs, his feet pinching due to how long he'd been standing and moving today. Typically, after a couple of hours at the batting cages, Logan would be soaking in a hot bath, easing out the kinks and softening the tension in his body. He wasn't a young kid anymore so he tried to pay attention to what his body needed. Instead, he was at some stupid college party because some girl couldn't hold her goddamn liquor.
Karla led her to a room with a closed door. When Logan tried opening it, it remained locked in place. Logan rolled his eyes. The only thing he could do was kick down the door, which would require an extra fifteen minutes in the bathtub. He sucked in a breath before raising his right leg and kicking at the doorknob. It broke without hesitation and the door squeaked open.
When he saw the kid on top of a clearly inebriated Peyton, he lost all control of rational thought. Without thinking, he reached down and threw the kid off of her, not even bothering to check to see if he was all right. His eyes were reserved solely for Peyton. He could admit that he was relieved to see her fully clothed and slightly annoyed. This had to mean that besides trying to persist, nothing had come of it.
She couldn't walk so he had no choice but to swoop her up in his arms and carry her out. He was startled by how light she was but shook the thought out of his head. His only focus now was getting her out of here. He walked past Karla without looking at her and headed down the stairs, ignoring the whispers and the staring that currently went on. He could give a shit what anyone said about him but he'd be lying if he wasn't concerned about what would be said about Peyton.
Once he was outside, he loaded her unconscious frame into his SUV. When he was far enough away, he would figure out what he would do with her.
Chapter 6
Peyton groaned. Her head was pounding, like a base drum, and even reaching up to clutch it with her hands before opening her eyes made no difference. She needed an aspirin. And some water. And some food. However, the thought of food caused her stomach to twist and turn in rebuttal and she whimpered, turning on her side and bringing her knees closer to her chest. It didn't exactly alleviate her pain but it definitely helped in that it didn't add anything to it.
As she buried her head deeper into the soft pillows, Peyton suddenly realized that this bed did not feel like her own small bed. It felt bigger, the sheets not as scratchy. Even the pillowcases felt cool and soft against her face, not rough where there might be a small rash on her face for a couple of hours.
Where the fuck was she?
Immediately, she sat straight up in the bed, snapping her eyes open. Instead of being able to make anything out, she saw stars. She let out a painful groan and grabbed her head once more. Her movements were too fast, her gestures to harsh.
"Not very fucking bright, sweetheart."
The minute she heard that familiar sandpaper voice, Peyton forced her head up so she could get used to the soft lighting. When her eyes got used to the light, she found Logan Jeffrey himself, standing at the edge of what appeared to be a king-sized bed. He was wearing grey denim jeans with a black belt and a simple what t-shirt that clung to his body in all the right places. No leather jacket, although his hair was slicked back.
The minute she saw him, she closed her eyes and groaned. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice coming out raw. She swallowed, trying to moisten it but it did nothing to ease the slight pain that touched her throat.
His eyebrows snapped up, not fully believing she had actually asked him such a question. "I fucking live here, sweetheart," he told her, "or did you forget that after your sad fucking attempt to get shitfaced with the other loser grad students, I brought you home with me?"
Peyton's face paled at the thought and she forced her eyes back open so she
could look at him. "You mean we..." She couldn't find it in herself to finish her question and her eyes filled with tears. "My first time and I don't even remember it. Fuck." She shook her head and let herself lean forward so the tears fell from her face with ease. She completely forgot Logan was still standing in the room - his bedroom - staring down at her.
"Whoa," he said, placing his hands up. "You think for one fucking second that I would take advantage of you even if I want to fuck you?" He looked genuinely furious that she would even think that and as Peyton took the sight of him in, she couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of guilt start to weave itself in her gut, which definitely did not help her nausea. "I already fucking told you how fucking important consent is to me. You think you were fucking capable of consenting to anything? That's a fucking joke. Do you honestly think I would have fucking brought you here if you weren't fucking bad?"
Peyton's head throbbed as her stomach pooled with shame. There was a spark of anger lodged in his tawny gaze, but more than that, there was something else. A soft glisten, almost as though he was hurt. Which was a ridiculous notion because Logan didn't seem to be the type to care what other people thought of him. She clenched her teeth together and looked away. She couldn't look at him, not when he was looking at her like that.
"Just so you fucking know, I wouldn't," he muttered. "And the fact that I have to tell you" -
"You don't." Peyton's face burned and she couldn't bring it in herself to pick her head up and look into his eyes. "I shouldn't have..." She shook her head. Finally, she was able to lift her gaze so they tentatively met his. "I'm sorry."
Logan's brow furrowed. "You're fucking saying that a lot, you know?" he asked. "I've never had anyone apologize so fucking much to me in my entire tenure here. You're a real piece of work, sweetheart."
"Well, you're not that peachy either," Peyton bit back without thinking. The minute the words were out of her mouth, her eyes shot up to Logan's once more just to gage his reaction. Besides a flicker of annoyance in his irises, he was smirking with amusement.
"Your mouth is going to get you into trouble one day," he warned her, "and I hope to have a fucking front row seat for the shitstorm you create."
"Why am I here?" Peyton blurted out. She leaned her head against the smooth mahogany headboard, trying to keep eye contact with him but her headache was making it nearly impossible to do so.
"What do you mean?" Logan asked.
Peyton rolled her eyes. "Come on, Professor Jeffrey," she told him. "Why am I here? In your room? I'm not trying to insinuate you took advantage of me but... why am I here?"
Logan furrowed his brow even deeper before shifting his eyes. He looked deep in thought, like he was churning over each word carefully before responding. "Karla fucking called," he finally said, crossing his arms over his chest. Peyton ignored the way the indirect flex of his biceps caused his tshirt to stretch just a little too tight. "You were fucking wasted, out of your goddamn capacity to do anything. Some guy was hanging all over you, and somehow, in your fucking drunk state, you still had the cognition to say no. But he wouldn't listen. He didn't fucking force you to do anything but he didn't leave you alone either. Karla couldn't find your friend - she's a real fucking piece of work, that one; I remember her - so she called me."
Peyton blinked. "But why?" she asked.
"What do you mean, why?" Logan asked, his brow furrowed once more. He was doing that a lot with her and she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that, to be honest.
"You don't care about me, Professor" -
"Stop calling me that," he snapped.
Now it was her turn to furrow her brow, which did nothing for her headache.
"I'm not your fucking professor right now," he continued, his voice still filled with defensive derision.
"Then what are you?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she looked away. "Karla has this weird notion in her head that sleeping with you would make my life a lot easier. The problem is, I have no desire to sleep with you in order to make my life easier. I don't just sleep with people. That's not who I am. I don't know if she called you to set me up with you" -
"Karla isn't that way," he said. "She called me for a fucking reason. Somehow, she fucking benefits." He rubbed his chin, looking away. His posture was relaxed but there was still a tenseness in his shoulders that hadn't eased. Finally, he looked back at her, locking eyes with her. "I came to fucking get you because Karla said some fucking jock strap was in your face and even though you kept fucking saying no, he kept on you like a goddamn shadow."
Peyton's eyes widened a fraction. She hadn't expected that answer, hadn't expected he actually cared about her. Her body flooded with warmth but she didn't know how to express that so she felt awkward and unsure. It was easy when Logan was nothing more than an attractive jackass. She knew how to handle those. She didn't know what to make of a caring attractive jackass.
"What do you mean, Karla does things that only benefit herself?" Peyton decided to ask, needing to shift the focus. And what better way to do it than by asking about another person?
Logan grabbed the lower half of his face and shifted his weight. He shifted his eyes over to her. "You sure you want to know about this stuff, sweetheart?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "I know you said you don't want to sleep with me but there's something inside of me that doesn't entirely fucking buy that."
Peyton gulped but didn't deny his words. She had chosen her diction carefully when she had said that, hoping he wouldn't pick up on her subtle cues. But he had and the current look he was giving her - dark, intense gaze - sent sparks straight to her pelvis. His eyes dropped to her throat as he watched her throat bob up and down when she swallowed.
"Because I think you might actually fucking like me," he continued. Thankfully, he made no move to get closer to her. She didn't think she'd be able to handle him being so close. Not with the way her body was reacting to his words, how hot her skin felt, how hard her head pulsed.
Peyton still didn't say anything.
"What?" He perked his brow, wrinkling his forehead and seeming genuinely surprised by her lack of response. "Got nothing to say? Don't want to run your fucking mouth?" He walked toward her slowly. She could hear each soft thump of his feet - she couldn't tell if they were bare or if he had on shoes - as he made his way over to where she sat, not breaking eye contact. "I'm fucking surprised, sweetheart, because you always seem to have a fucking opinion on everyone and everything."
"I don't hate you," Peyton finally said. Her heart jumped when he took a seat next to her on the bed, twisting his body so he could look at her with ease.
"Well, fucking thank God," he said. Peyton rolled her eyes at his obvious sarcasm. "From you, that's the greatest thing I could fucking hope for. As long as I'm not on your shitlist" -
"You know," Peyton pointed out, not caring if she was interrupting him, "I find it ironic that you give me crap for running my mouth when you do the same thing." He stopped speaking and looked as though he was about to go off on a tangent regarding her interrupting him but something stopped him. Peyton didn't know what that was but he actually looked open enough to listen to her so she continued. "To answer your question, yes, I want to know why you think Karla does things for selfish reasons."
"I don't think, sweetheart," he told her. "I fucking know." He seemed to hesitate, his armor cracking just a fraction, just enough for Peyton to notice, but he pressed forward. "Karla wasn't my only TA last year. I had three or four but Karla was my favorite. Being my favorite means more time with me, more conversation." Peyton made a face and he laughed. "What? You said you wanted to know."
"I just don't understand why these girls would buy into your misogynic bullshit," she pointed out.
"Excuse the fuck out of me, sweetheart, but I am not a misogynist," he told her. "The girls hear about my reputation and let me know they're interested. I have my rules and they follow them. Well, most everyone follows them." He shot her a look but there was a teasing glint
in his eyes.
"Please don't think I would fall into being one of your booty calls," she said.
"If I remember correctly, sweetheart, you fucking kissed me."
"Yeah, and you kissed me back. And I'm your student. And I'm blonde."
Logan wrinkled his nose. "What does hair color have anything to do with my rules?" he asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.
Peyton furrowed her brow gently, trying not to add to her headache. "Rikki told me you had a thing for dark hair," she explained. "You liked experienced brunettes with a brain and a tight body. Not an innocent blonde."
"Rikki told you that?" Logan asked, his deep voice laced with doubt. He cocked his head to the side, and even with the sharp gesture, every lock of jet black hid stayed firmly in place. "You mean Braids? Braids has no idea what the fuck she's talking about. She's the same girl who fucking ditched you at that goddamn party, leaving you alone to fend for yourself."
Peyton's eyes flashed. "I can" -
Logan interrupted her by rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "You can take care of yourself, right? You really must be innocent if you don't take everything she says with a grain of salt. Braids is fucking mental. She corners me after class and tries to fucking seduce me before we're even alone. And when I tell her no, I'm not fucking interested, she starts sobbing in this disgustingly ugly way, her black makeup running down her face..." Logan let his voice trail off and he shook his head. "That girl is fucking crazy and, quite fucking frankly, I question your judgment if you're seriously friends."
Peyton sat back, staring at her hands folded in her lap, letting his words slowly seep into the skin of her body.
"So," Peyton finally said, flicking her eyes to him, "what is your type?"
Logan stared at her for a long minute. Peyton had no idea why she felt compelled to ask him the question in the first place. It was none of her business and she didn't care. She shouldn't care. But a small part of her did and she hated herself for it. Not only that, but just asking the question put her in this vulnerable spot of basically admitting to Logan that she was interested in what type of girl he liked. He could throw this in her face, he could use this against her, or he could think she was just as crazy as Rikki was because she had asked. The longer he continued to stare at her, the more she realized she definitely shouldn't have asked.
A Reputation Dark & Deadly (A Dark & Deadly Series Book 2) Page 9
