Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(188)

18





Quinn




The boxing bag hanging down from the ceiling in the middle of the room is the first thing I notice when I open my eyes. I’m still in Logan’s place. I’m also hardly the expert on the subject, but I feel like I at least know enough that “sleeping over” is pretty much top on the “not-to-do” checklist when it comes to casual hook-ups.

Of which I know nothing about, apparently.

Oh, shit. Shit-shit-shit-shit.

I should not have done that. What the hell was I even thinking? Drinks, skinny-dipping in a deserted rooftop pool? Did I actually buy all that crap? When I look back on the previous night, it just seems like some sort of cliched movie scene from some cookie-cutter romantic comedy, and there I was swallowing it hook, line, and sinker.

Hardly the only thing you swallowed last night; the thought has me blushing bright crimson and biting my lip.

I mean whatever happened to that first time being a “one-time thing”? What happened to calling it a mistake that I was just going to push to a dark corner of my mind; one that I’d keep covered with an extra glass of wine or three at any family get-togethers where I’d have to be around him? Yeah, a one time thing; and here I’ve gone and done it again - twice.

I can feel Logan stirring behind me, the scruff of his chin brushing against the back of my neck as he absently kisses the skin there. The subtle movement is perfect, and at the same time, it’s terrifying; terrifying because of how damn comfortable it feels being in his arms with the familiarity of that kiss on my neck.

What are we doing? Because as perfect and familiar as this feels, why does it also feel like some dirty little secret affair?

“Morning, gorgeous,” He mumbles, his arms pulling me tighter against his bare body. But I’m squeezing my eyes shut and trying to fight the swinging of my heart between wanting to let myself just sink into him or just jump out of this bed and run.

My phone chimes from the floor next to the bed, distracting me from the moment, but I ignore it and begin to shift towards him; “Logan, I- I mean, we-”

My cell goes off again, and I frown and turn back to grab it off the floor and peer at the text on the screen:

“I’m downstairs- Buzz me up! Let’s get brunch.”

It’s Reagan. My sister is downstairs probably trying to buzz my apartment, which I can’t hear because I’m naked in bed with her fucking brother-in-law.

“Oh, shit!” I’m bolting out of his arms and sliding out of the bed, looking wildly around for my clothes and trying to ignore the fact that I’m naked.

“Hang on,” He says sleepily, “I’ll walk you-”

“No, Logan, I have to get out of here.” I snap.

“OK, OK, relax, Doc-”

“Now, Logan.” I huff out quickly, yanking my shorts on and looking under the bed for my shirt.

“You know, for the girl who doesn’t do flings, you’re starting to get pretty good at this whole hit it and quit it thing, Quinn.”

I jerk my head up to see the dry smile on his face; “That’s- that’s not what I-” I shake my head; “I mean it’s no big deal, I just don’t-”

“So how about we just invite Reagan up for some breakfast then.”

He plucks my phone off the bed, and I shriek and snatch it back out of his hands; “Don’t you dare!” He gives me a thin smirk before his eyes narrow and he looks away.

“Wait, Logan, I didn’t-”

“Yeah, Doc, I get it.”

“I just mean she can’t-”

“She can’t know about this lurid little secret; I get it, Quinn.”

I’m dressed, but I’m just standing there across the bed from him, not really sure what I’m waiting for. Closure? Release? Affirmation that me running out the second we wake up and not talking about what happened doesn’t just make this whole thing even more messed up?

“Logan-”

My phone rings again in my hand and I wince. Logan just slides out of bed and pads across the loft to the bathroom, where he slams the door shut behind him.



“Hey, you ok?”

I’m walking through the union   Square Farmer’s Market with Reagan, picking over strawberries and trying to drag my mind away from what happened back in Logan’s apartment. I’m also trying to concentrate on whatever my sister is talking about. Clearly, I’m failing.

“Uh, yeah,” I shake my head and pop a strawberry into my mouth; “Yeah, I’m fine I guess.”

Reagan arches a brow at me with a sisterly look I know all too well; “Bullshit.”

“You know, you’re starting to swear as much as your husband, Ray.” I stick my tongue out at her; “You two are going to have to quit talking like sailors when the baby comes along you know; “ I say, nodding at the small bulge in her stomach.