Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(178)

That son of a bitch, I mutter to myself, clutching at the edge of my desk and trying to regulate my breathing and cool down my beet-red face.

“I felt bad the other day about the whole, you know, the whole thing with stealing your, uh, toy like that.”

God, this whole messed up tit-for-tat with Logan is just so- so- I take a deep breath.

It’s infuriating is what it is.

I’m not some lost teenager, and this isn’t some sort of stupid high school crush thing. We are two adults, who made one mistake like plenty of other adults make. We should be able to move past this; I should be able to move past this at least. So why does the idea of him and Peyton spending a night alone together in DC have my blood boiling? I mean, there’s only so many times and ways that I can tell myself I’m not jealous before it just doesn’t have any more weight to it. Because as much as I fucking hate to admit it, I am jealous. I’m jealous that he’s there with her, and the thought of her hands on him, or her lips, or…God, I can’t even think of it anymore.

And now here I am, moody, jealous because a man I shouldn’t want anything to do with, and sitting at my desk at a job I was skeptical about taking in the first place. Oh, right, and I’ve got a drawer full of about two-hundred sex toys.

“Carol!” I snatch up my purse and storm out the door; “I’m taking lunch.”





13





Logan




Alright, even if I still think it's a fucking terrible idea that I've got Quinn Archer physically near me while we work together, I'll grant that having her on the team is the best move we could've made. I'd like to think I'm man enough to know what my strengths and weaknesses are, and I certainly know that one of those weaknesses is shit like this. Negotiations, and board meetings, and trying to be diplomatic in them. Me? I'm terrible at that kind of thing; zero tact and absolutely zero patience for talking things out.

Yeah, I suppose there's a reason I spend my nights punching guys in the face.

But Quinn - damn, it's like she was born for this, and knowing her father, she kind of was. She's smooth and easy with the team, and she gets shit done. And it's not because she's bossy or cajoles people into doing what she needs them to do, which is basically my method, it's because she’s open and firm, and just honest with people.

Well, honest with people besides me.

Because I know I’m not the only one still thinking about this whole thing between her and I; not by a damn mile. And I know I'm not the only one getting all turned around when we're alone or even not-so-alone with each other. She can deny it all she wants to, but I'm definitely not so blind that I don't catch the linger in her looks when she thinks I'm not watching her.

‘Did you know who I was?’

That look in her eyes and those words of hers are fucking haunting me. She’s pissed, of course, but the worst part is, I’m not sure I can tell which part she’s actually more pissed about; that it happened, or that I didn’t recognize her.

Hell, I’m not sure she can tell which one she’s pissed about; probably both.

I mean hell, I hadn’t seen her in five Goddamn years! And it was dark, and I’d just had the shit kicked out of me, and- and-

And she was gorgeous, and sexy as fuck, and there was something so damn disarming about her fixing me, and helping me, and leaning into me and letting me smell the jasmine in her hair.

On the other side of that coin, it’s not like she knew who the fuck I was, which seems like some serious double-standard bullshit to me. Oh, a beard was my masterful disguise? I can’t look that different with or without facial hair from what I did five years ago. She on the other hand-

Well shit, if Quinn Archer was this hot five years ago, I’m fucking blind.

I scowl to myself, thinking about the night that started this whole cock-up, and the more I think about it, the more blame I’m putting on her for whatever consequences we’re dealing with now. I mean, hell, she’s a damn Doctor, and she slept with me? If “come on your patient’s tongue and then ride his cock like a race-horse” is part of the hippocratic oath, than I’ve been seeing the wrong fucking doctors my whole life.

“You might have a concussion; I can’t let you fall asleep.”

Right, and I’m the fuckin bad guy here. Give me a break.

“Ok, well that's a wrap, guys. We'll check back in tomorrow on the U.N. appropriations stuff.”

I blink away my own daydreams and realize I’ve been scowling for probably half of the meeting that’s now over. The rest of the team starts to pack away folders and laptops as they stand and slowly empty from the room, but I'm still sitting back in my chair, lost in thought and staring at Quinn when I hear Peyton's voice come up behind me.