Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(182)
“I saw you arguing with that guy, afterwards.”
Logan’s face tenses, but his lips stay closed.
“You could've knocked him out, but you didn’t.”
“My my, Doc, resorting to violence? Isn’t that against your oaths or something?”
“Stop being cute; why didn’t you hit him?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“What, is he paying you or something?”
Logan barks out a laugh; “I’m a majority shareholder in a multi-billion dollar corporation, Quinn. I’m not exactly hurting in the finance department.”
“OK, so why the hell would-” I stop, the answer suddenly as clear as day in front of me. Why would a man like Logan do anything anyone says, especially someone he clearly hates like the guy from the fight?
“You’re doing this because they’re making you, aren’t you?” Logan doesn’t say a word, and I push on; “They aren’t paying you, so what, are they blackmailing you or something?” Instantly, I know I’ve hit a nerve as I see his face harden again as he stares out at the road in front of us; “I’m right, aren’t I.”
“Sort of. No.” He sighs as he runs a hands through his hair; “It’s complicated.”
“I’m listening.”
“Not to this.”
“Try me.”
Logan looks at me with a curious smirk on his face; “Let’s get a drink.”
Yep; there he goes shutting me out again; “Fine” I say defeatedly, turning to look out my own window and shake my head.
Logan turns a quick corner, and he suddenly pulls up at once of the nicest, most exclusive boutique hotels in the city.
“Do you like scotch?”
I blink at the posh, ultra-cosmopolitan bar on the ground floor of the hotel and turn to stare at him; “Are you serious? No offense, but have you seen how you look right now?” He looks like, well, he looks hot, but he also looks like he just went three rounds in a bareknuckle boxing match.
‘Cause, you know, he did.
He’s also still not wearing a damn shirt, and I’m hardly more appropriately dressed for this kind of place, wearing cut-off denim shorts and a t-shirt. Logan just shrugs though; “Simple question, Archer. Scotch: yay or nay?”
I sigh; “Fine, yay. Very yay.”
“Great.” His grin widens, and he nods towards the glove compartment; “Pop that and grab it, and let’s go.”
Inside is a bottle of scotch that probably cost the same as at least a month or two of my rent. I’m opening my mouth to ask what the heck we’re doing, but he’s already hopping out of the car and tossing tossing keys to a valet as he yanks a t-shirt on.
“Fine”, I mutter as I snatch the bottle and step out; “Bringing your own booze to a bar? Little low-brow for a guy like you isn’t that Logan?”
He grins and takes my arm as he steers us through the front doors of the hotel, past the lobby, and past the bar; “We aren't going to the bar, we’re going upstairs.”
I balk at him “Uh, excuse me?”
He rolls his eyes; “Quinn, get over yourself. We’re going all the way upstairs.” He nods to the front desk guy who seems to know him, and Logan palms the guy a fat wad of bills before steering me towards the elevators.
“OK, so where are we-”
“Quinn.”
“What?” I snap.
“Do me a favor.”
“Wha-”
“Stop talking for like, one whole minute, OK?”
I open my mouth to say something back, but instead I snap it shut and shake my head, not wanting to give him the satisfaction as the elevator moves up. The doors open and we’re up on the roof-top lounge area, complete with a pool and a bar and an utterly insane view of Manhattan. It’s also completely deserted.
“Did you plan this or something?” I say, frowning at him.
“What, paying off the night manager so that I could come up to the pool bar alone and drink scotch after my fight?’
I look at him expectantly.
“Uh, yeah, Quinn, I did.”
I’m laughing in spite of myself, watching his face crack into a smile as I do so.
“What, you think, that I did all this for you or something?” He grins; “I’m not telepathic, you know. It’s not like I knew you were going to follow me around like a stalker tonight.” I try to hide my grin, knowing he’s right, and he laughs; “You’re a welcomed addition though.”
He reaches over the empty bar and grabs two glasses before we walk over to the pool’s edge. He’s kicking his shoes off, and I start to follow suit before I realize he’s pulling his t-shirt up over his washboard abs and over his head.