Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(284)

Peyton turns and shoots me a look; that blazing fucking defiance every step of the way.

“It's dangerous and it's risky.”

“I'm a big girl,” She says patronizingly, patting my shoulder and pushing past me out out of the bathroom.

We seriously need a new hotel room, even if they did fix the door after some strange looks and muttered questions from the front desk.

“I'm going to be right there, if anything happens, just-”

“Bryce,” She levels her gaze at me; “I'm a big girl and I can handle myself. It's going to be fine.”

Yeah, it's all fine watching you flirt with another guy, even if it is for the mission.

I can already feel my blood boiling.



Anderson is every inch as piggish and thuggish looking as I expected, being one of Benson's guys. Jesus, does that guy hire a type or what.

He's red-faced and sweaty, bulky in that meathead way as he steps into the restaurant. I keep my head facing forward but my eyes are glued with a vengeance to the man as he scans the room, locks onto Peyton, and grins before he elbows his way through the crowd to the table next to mine.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hello,” She says in a sultry voice that has me gritting my teeth and making a fist under the table; all charm and temptation.

It's for the mission; it's for getting Logan back.

“So you must be Sasha's friend. Damn girl, you're way hotter than she said you'd be!”

Jesus Christ is this guy for real? I can feel my hands clenching in my lap.

“Oh, well, thank you!” Peyton gushes, like that was some sort of charming fucking compliment.

“Hey! Waiter!” Anderson barks, making me cringe again. This guy is the fucking worst; “Let's get two drinks over here.”

“Oh, I- I don't drink,” Peyton says with a smile.

He laughs; “What! Who the heck doesn't drink?”

People who lived through the worst parts of addiction or have seen the devil that comes out of the bottom of a bottle, that's who, you fucking prick.

Anderson laughs again; “Fuck that, ‘course you do!”

“No, I really don-”

“Waiter!” The older waiter comes over, his face neutral but cloudy as he smiles thinly at Anderson; “Two whiskies. Whiskey OK with you, babe?”

“I don't drink,” She says quietly, her voice on edge. I can feel my teeth grinding.

“Yeah two whiskies should do it, pal,” Anderson says, shooing the waiter away. He turns back to Peyton, this woman he has no business even looking at, and he doesn't even seem to realize that; “So, here we are, huh?”

“Yeah, here we are!” She says, smiling at him as best she can.

This plan is shit. If I thought it before, I'm sure of it now. We're never going to make this work, because this guy is a fucking moron, and there's no way I'm going to let her do this. Using a honeypot to get access is one thing, but this is fucking ridiculous. This guy is way off and way out of line already. He's a loose cannon, and it's putting me on every edge I've got.

Anderson leans forward suddenly, grabbing both her hands, and I see her flinch; “What say we just skip the drinks and get outta here, huh?”

I expect her to freeze, to seize up at the sudden grip on her hands. With her background, that's gotta be triggering something, especially from a big drunk asshole like this prick.

But she's smooth; Goddamn is she smooth.

Peyton just laughs; “My my, now that wouldn't be very lady-like of me or very gentlemanly of you!” She slaps his hand playfully; “And I do like myself a gentleman!” I find myself flinching and my hand gripping onto the edge of the table like I want to break it off. I know first hand how much Peyton does not “like herself a gentleman.” Because I can be a lot of things, but “gentlemanly” is not one of them.

And I don't remember any complaints.

Anderson chuckles; “Well, shit, yeah I can be all the gent you need, babe.”

She giggles, her hand tracing up his arm. Every single cell in my body roars, every alarm goes off in my head, and I'm hardly aware that I'm gripping the tablecloth tight enough to practically tear it in two.

Their drinks come, and she doesn't touch hers, but that’s not what I’m watching; I'm watching her flirt with him. She's giggly, and smiley, and friendly in a way, well, in a way I haven't seen in more than a year.

And it's enraging to watch.

I know it's for the mission; I know this isn't “real”, but Jesus Christ, I'm going to explode in a second if he puts his fucking hands on her one more fucking time.

They're leaning close, and he's blabbing about hunting or something, and she's at least making a very good show of hanging onto his words; giggling at stupid lines. I can feel the rage and the fury building and bubbling inside of me, barely able to stop myself from outright glaring right at them, or worse.