Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (49 page)

“
D
o you like it here
?”

I shrug; “Room and board while on active duty, and the pay’s pretty decent,” I strap up my gloves, warily eyeing the guy easily two and a half times my age lacing up his own; “Listen, pal, you sure you actually wanna do this spar match? I’m kinda, uh, good.”

The older guy with the silvered beard grins at me, taps his gloves together almost like he’s eager, and steps into the dirt circle; “Hoo-rah, Marine.”

I freeze for a second before I whip my head around to stare at him; “What’d you call me?”

Ok, so I’m hardly the only ex-U.S. Military who works for Blackriver, or even the only guy who may or may not have walked away from duty before getting here. But, it’s pretty much on the list of “never talk about” when you’re living with a bunch of roughneck, battle-hardened mercenaries like the guys here.

The old guy smiles at me; “Like I don’t know another jarhead when I see one.” He pulls up the sleeve of the t-shirt he’s wearing, showing me the faded eagle, globe, and anchor tattoo there.

Ok, didn’t see that coming. Still, I shrug and brush off his Marine reference; “Nah, I was a cop back home before this.” It’s half true; ok, more like a quarter true, at best. I never even went out and took the test or anything.

The older guy nods, but there’s a smart glint in his eye that says he doesn’t buy a word of that bullshit; “Hey, I don’t need to know.”

That’s right, he doesn’t, I fume to myself. Whoever this old dude is - arms dealer or whatever he is - he’s sorely mistaken if he thinks he can just waltz into camp one afternoon and start playing head games with guys like me. Marine or not, this guy’s asking for a beat down.

“Officer?”

“Huh?” I look up from tying up my shoes to see him studying me.

“In the Marines, I mean. Were you an officer?”

I can feel my temper flare; “Listen, pal, I already told you-”

“Right, right,” He shakes his head; “My mistake, I meant in the police force.”

I narrow my eyes at the old guy; I don’t know who this asshole is, but he’s got a lot balls to walk in here trying to bait me like this when we’re about to step into a ring together; “No,” I say quickly; “I wasn’t.” I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of asking ‘why’, even if the question is practically falling out of my mouth.

“Ahh, I see.” He says, smiling at me; “You just seemed like the leader type.”

I laugh; “You got the wrong guy, pal.”

He nods, as if internalizing something; “Well, my mistake then. Shall we?”

We tap gloves while I glower at him, and once we’re set in position, I come at him hard. He dodges my feint punch, but then he’s also ducking the second and third ones meant to actually connect. Suddenly, I’m off balance and his glove is crashing into the side of my jaw.

Well, fuck.

The man’s a whirlwind, and I can barely get my own gloves up before he’s got me off my feet and ass-down in the dirt.

What the fuck was THAT?

He chuckles as he pulls a glove off and reaches down to pull my bewildered ass back up; “Not bad for a nosy old man I guess, huh?”

What is he, a mind reader?

“Ok, I’ll bite. Yeah, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Not everything is what it looks like on the outside, soldier.” His eyes narrow for a second as he looks into my face; “I’m betting a guy like you might just take that one to heart.”

“Listen, I’m really not a Marin-”

“Hey, I told you; I don’t need to know, son.”

A week later, I’m dragging Hudson and Bryce with me when I opt out of my - and their - contracts with Blackriver and jump in the back of William Archer’s jeep. I still don’t know exactly where we’re going, or even really who this guy is. But I do know that after two years of looking over my shoulder for the U.S. State Department after ditching out on active war duty, two years of fighting in the mud and the jungles of the worst places on Earth for cash like some sort of honor-less gun for hire, and two years of watching me and both my friends succumb to anger, fear, apathy, drink, and drugs, I’m ready for whatever comes next. And what comes next is William Archer, new names, a new place in the world, and a reset on the game of life.

I never do manage to knock him down in a match.

* * *

I
’m
bleary-eyed and half blind from the sweat, my lungs burning for air. I’m laying hit after hit into the sparring bag when the knock on my front door jolts me into the present. I stop, only then feeling the absolute agony my muscles are in as I turn and wipe sweat from my eyes and peer at the door. The knock comes again, and I start to grin, knowing there’s really only one possible person who’d be knocking here at this hour.

And I think I even know why.

“What the
fuck
is wrong with you?” Quinn spits at me, before shoving me aside and storming past me into my apartment.

“Oh, please won’t you come inside, Quinn?” I grumble, tearing my boxing gloves off and watching her as she starts digging through my kitchen draws. I’m still partially curious, that is until she shoots me another furious look before she storms over and starts digging around underneath my mattress.

Oh, now I
know
what she’s looking for.

“Where is it!” She snaps, seeing the grin on my face as I grab a towel off the hook by the door and wipe the sweat from my face.

“I haven’t the
slightest
idea what you’re talking about, Qui-”

“You
kept
my vibrator, you asshole!”

I can’t help it then, and my grin just breaks into a full-on laugh. I mean honestly, how many times in life do you actually get a chance to hear someone say that to you?

“Oh, you noticed that, huh?”

It’s been three days since I was at her place, and the temptation to pocket that little toys of hers I found in the bathroom was just too good to pass up, even if only just to mess with her.

Quinn’s face is bright red as she fumes at my grin; “What?! No! Not
funny
, not
cute,
Logan!”

“So you
did
notice it was gone then?”

“Wh-” She stammers; “
Yes
, Logan, I noticed it was gone and that you
stole it
.”

I nod, trying but failing to keep my face neutral; “So I guess that means you were actively
looking
for it, for - oh,
some
reason, when you noticed it was-”

“Oh shut up.”

Ok, so even though it’s a
lot
of fun to mess with Quinn and get under her skin like this - not to mention how
easy
it is - there
is
part of me that wonders why the fuck I’m still doing it. I mean she’s great, really. Actually she’s amazing, if I can get my head out of my own ass enough to just admit that. And it’s thoughts like those that have me wondering why I’m still just being such a massive
dick
to her. She
might
actually just like me, if I wasn’t trying so hard to sabotage the whole thing. And for what? Why, so she doesn’t get close? Because she’s “off limits”? No, fuck that; Hudson broke those rules first and that seems to be working out
dandy
for just about everyone involved.

“Logan!”

“Oh
fine
.”

“Where-”

I nod towards the kitchen; “Refrigerator, salad crisper.”

Quinn wrinkles her brow at me; “Eew?”

“Just wanted to keep it fresh for you!” I call out as she stomps towards the kitchen; “Oh hey, there’s also a cucumber or two in there too if you’re feeling extra frisky tonight, darlin.”

She makes a face as she turns back from the fridge, shoving the toy into her jeans pocket; “Why are you always so
gross?
”

The question actually catches me off guard, because honestly, I don’t know. And this brings me back to the whole “why the fuck am I acting like this” thing from before. It’s like just being around this girl has me acting like some sort of juvenile asshole full of crude comments and pulling dumb shit like the vibrator in the refrigerator thing. It’s barely a single level above pulling her hair on the playground or calling her names on the school-bus. I’m even betting that if I just got my shit together and started talking to her like a normal fucking person, we might even be able to get along.

Except there’s something about Quinn Archer that makes it
impossible
for me to act anything remotely close to normal.

And the real question here is, why
can’t
I act normal around her? If that one night from before was just this one time thing, and we as adults can both agree that it was a mistake and just move on from it, then why the
fuck
can’t I do just that?

Quinn slams the fridge shut and marches towards me and the door, but I stick my arm out across the doorframe, blocking her.

“
Jesus,
Logan-” She cocks her head at me; “Does this shit ever
work
for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this whole ‘asshole with a chip on his shoulder’ acting like a child stunt. Does this actually get you laid?”

I grin widely at her before I blow her an air kiss; “Apparently?”

Her face goes bright red again, and her mouth does that little adorable thing it does when she purses it shut extra tight, as if trying to keep in whatever she’s tempted to say; “That was-” She trails off and looks down at the floor.

“Fantastic? Life-altering? The best lay you’ve ever had?” I smirk at her, seeing her cheeks get even redder as she shakes her head.

And here I go, right back into the swing of being that sophomoric douche with the crude comments and the incessant need to pull this girl’s hair at recess, as if it’s the only way I can get her to keep paying attention to me.

“A mistake.” She says sharply, abruptly ending my thoughts as I snap my eyes to hers. She raises her head and looks me right in the eye; “Obviously, a big mistake.”

I frown, but when she pushes my arm away, I don’t stop her, and when she storms down the hall to the stairway, I don’t follow her either.

I
t’s already
after two o’clock in the afternoon by the time I realize I haven’t actually left my office since stepping into it. My stomach is the one that not-so-subtly reminds me that lunch was about two hours ago, and that I’ve been fueling myself purely with coffee since breakfast.

It’s also not like I’ve been hard at work either; quite the contrary actually. I’m distracted, and I’ve pretty much been spending my time all morning alternating between staring at the wall and staring out the window, with a few rounds of mahjong on my phone thrown in to mix things up. And what is it that has me so totally out of sync with the work I’d normally be throwing myself into?

Yeah, take one guess.

I’m still pissed about the previous night, not to mention every instance before that in which Logan feels such a need to be such a smug, cocky,
dick
. OK scratch that; I’m pissed that he keeps alternating between being a smug cocky dick
half
the time and a hot, unfairly
irresistible
dick the other half.

Part of me was insanely
proud
of myself for actually
leaving
his place the night before, especially in the manner I did; leaving him standing there and speechless. Logan Dempsey isn’t usually a guy without words, so getting that reaction was at least a bit of a win. But, it’s an empty one really. By the time I got back down to my place after storming off like that, I was already feeling sullen and more annoyed rather than triumphant by the whole encounter.

And of course,
annoyingly
turned on, after being in such close proximity to a shirtless, sweaty, tattooed and volatile Logan.

When I’d sat in my bed later after a shower, there was a dark sort of allure to thinking about what
might
have happened upstairs if I’d only let my guard down. One move; that’s all it would’ve taken for me to probably
still
be up there right now, reliving that night we had before with Logan’s perfect cock and incredible tongue pushing me higher and higher, until-

I’d bitten my lip as I’d looked at the vibrator - now washed of salad-crisper, thank you very much - sitting on my nightstand. I’d even almost reached for it until I’d groaned and rolled my eyes; as if giving in to the dirty thoughts running through my head right then would be like giving in to Logan.

…Even if part of me would
love
the idea of
giving in
to him.

So I walked in to work ticked off, pent up, and on edge. But it wasn’t until I’d gotten to my office - more specifically my assistant’s desk - that I’d gone from ticked-off to just plain
pissed.

“Oh, Dr. Archer?” Carol, my assistant, had looked up from her desk with her usual heavy dose of eye-shadow and her
amazing
Staten Island accent; “Mr. Dempsey wanted me to let you know that he needs to reschedule the team meeting today. He’ll be in Washington D.C. for the evening.”

My first emotional response is actually one of
relief
; relief that I might actually get a whole day without that arrogant prick trying to insert himself into my life, or my thoughts. But then of course, I’m annoyed, since the meeting is actually an important one.

“That’s-”

What, ‘presumptuous of him’? Annoying? Typical Logan?

“Ok, thanks Carol,” I say, blowing air out of my cheeks; “We can just have Peyton sit in and relay the meeting notes back to-”

“Oh, actually Ms. Wheeler
accompanied
Mr. Dempsey to D.C.”

Yeah, that’s about when I see red. Of
course
he brought Ms. Teeny-bopper Mickey Mouse Club on an overnight “business trip”. Of
course
he did, the night after I manage to reject him and walk away feeling like I got the upper hand. It’s like his own personal little retort to my storming away from him the previous night; his own little “fuck you” right back.

And if that “fuck you” involves a “fucking Peyton”, I’m swear I’m quitting tomorrow and moving the day after.

“Dr. Archer?”

I shake my thoughts and look up from my desk to see Carol poking her head into my office; “Yes?”

“
Sorry
to interrupt, but there’s a courier package here for you?”

I frown; “OK, uh, thanks. You can just sign for it and I’ll get to it-”

“It’s a
direct
courier, signature only, from Mr. Dempsey.”

Oh
now
what.

I nod, furrowing my brow as Carol ducks back out of the room before returning with a sweaty looking hipster with a bike helmet and a bag full of brown-box packages; “Dr. Archer? Dr. Quinn A-” The kid starts to snicker before I level my coldest, bitchiest face at him and he just mumbles something about signing on the dotted line as he passes me his clipboard.

He’s barely out the door before my cellphone buzzes on my desk. I glance down, and my face instantly goes bright red before I hurriedly snatch the phone off the desk.

It’s Logan calling, of course. But it’s not
who
the number is that has me flushed pink as a tomato and looking quickly at the door to make sure Carol isn’t hovering. It’s
what
the picture is that pops up
accompanying
that number.

Because what flashes in big, high-definition pixels across my phone screen is a picture of Logan Dempsey’s cock.

“
How did you get into my phone?!
” I hiss, hunching over at my desk and turning away from the door.

I can hear him chuckle on the other end; “Do you think I got my good side?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out “the good side” of Logan that’s just seared itself across my brain; “Jesus, Logan, I mean what if someone
saw-
”

“You’re always calling me a dick, so I thought I’d deliver!” He snorts a laugh, and I’m grinding my teeth as I shake my head.

“When- I mean
how
did you get into my-”

“Listen, did you get the packages?” He says suddenly, cutting me off in a way that says there’s no way he’s going to tell me how he managed to get into my contacts list without me knowing about it. With a guy with his sort of resources though, I’m not sure I
want
to know.

“
Yeah,
” I mutter; “I got them.”

“Well, go ahead and open them, Doc!”

I furrow my brow; “What,
now
?”

“No better time than the present; carpe diem, darlin.”

There’s something strangely
chipper
in his voice; a giddiness that’s more suspicious than anything else when you think about the man they’re coming from.

“OK, what is this, Logan.”

He sighs over the phone; “A present; from me to you.”

Ok, yeah, now I’m suspicious; “What
kind
of present,” I say evenly, wondering if I should expect some sort of live animal to jump out of any of the six packages sitting on the desk in front of me.

“You should open the smaller one first.”

I’m reaching for the box, ignoring every single voice in my head that’s telling me to just hang up and throw all these packages away; “Is something going to
bite me
, Logan?”

He laughs heartily as I apprehensively pull off the packing tape sealing the box and tear it open.

It’s totally full of batteries. Like, batteries of all different shapes and sizes; double-A’s, triple A’s, C’s, D’s; even a few USB charger cables.

“Ok, what the hell is-”

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

My face goes hot instantly as I close my eyes, leaning over my desk and rubbing the bridge of my nose between my fingers; “Logan, what-”

“Hey, actually I’ve gotta run for this meeting, so you just go ahead and open the rest-”

“Oh, the meeting with
Peyton
?” I say icily. I want to hear him deny, or falter, or
lie
;
anything
really.

But he doesn’t do any of that; he just laughs.

“Ok, you know what, fuck off, Lo-”

“Jesus, Quinn!” He hoots, laughing his ass off; “That jealous streak is
crazy
! You know, you should really deal with that sometime.”

“I am
not
jealous
!” I hiss, feeling totally, completely, and utterly so.

“Well, let me know how that’s going for you later,” He says, and I can practically
hear
him grinning that smug smirk through the phone; “Enjoy your presents, darlin.”

I slam the phone face-down on the desk, muttering under my breath as I stare at the five remaining boxes sitting on top of the work I’ve ignored all day. I want
so badly
to just shove them all into my waste basket and call it a day, but I also know that the curiosity is
killing
me.

Screw it
, I think, as I snatch the first box up and shake it. Nothing hisses, or scratches, or growls back, so that’s a good sign at least. The tape comes off as easy as the first box, and then I’m pulling it open and reaching inside to grab-

Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me
.

There, in my hand, is small, pink, vibrator. In fact, when I snatch up the box and stare into it, I realize that’s
all
that’s in there - vibrators; like thirty of them. I start to tear into the second box, but I already know what’s inside even before I pull out the twenty-odd more vibrators and two obscenely jiggling dildos. I’m red faced and mortified as I quickly open up my bottom desk drawer and start hastily shoving the boxes full of
sex toys
into it, slamming it shut before Carol can walk in and think I’m some sort of sex-addict.

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.”