Page 29 of Not By the Playbook

My gaze stays anchored to my sandals, at the chipped pink polish, and I contemplate murder by a million toenail clippings.

“You aren’t his type,” she continues. “He and I, we have…a past.”

Of course, I’m not his type. I’m not stupid enough to think I am. But still, who comes over to a guy’s girlfriend and says “oooh, we have a past”? Lady, we all have pasts, and I’m sure yours includes a swamp’s worth of STIs. I almost gag at the thought of Logan sleeping with her.

It’s too hot, too loud. And I’m done. Fuck this. All these other women can wait for their turn. My whatever-this-is with Logan isn’t over yet.

“Well, I’m with him now.Presenttense.” My left eyebrow rises in an imitation of Jenna's perfect arch. In normal situations, I would never do this. But nothing about this week has been normal.

Huffing, the woman straightens. Perky nipples proclaiming “harlot here” poke through her tight jersey with Logan’s number. They are at my eye level, twin bullets, ready to fire.

Should I say I sleep in the shirt he actually uses?

Her eyes flash and her mouth opens. I don't let her get a word in.

“Future tense, too.”Sure, it won’t be a long future, but who’s counting?

She scowls. I rehearse some mental kung fu while I wait for her next volley. But instead, she shuts up and whirls around, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and stalks back to the skank parade.

So there.I give myself an internal fist-bump, I must be scarier than I thought.

A derisive harumph sounds from behind me.Or not.

Jenna stands there, all Miranda Priestly-esque. It’s remarkable, the amount of disdain she’s able to infuse into a single look. Her foot soldiers—Rhonda, George, and Carrie—wear identical frowns.

“Don’t pay her any attention.” Even Jenna’s sniff is regal. “I absolutely believe you’re the upgrade.”

I only just manage to stop myself from gawking at her statement when she presses a plastic flute into my hand. “Now, let’s start Logan’s season off with some champagne.”

Chapter Seventeen

LOGAN

The fans gonuts when we score the winning touchdown. In the stands, Becs and my family cheer. She’s in the wives and girlfriends’ section. While I’ve fucked women who have occupied the space before, she’s the first person besides my family I’ve ever invited.

Connor follows my eyes. “Rebecca looks good with the WAGs,” he echoes my thoughts.

I mentally kick myself for being so obvious and growl, “I told you, It’s not real. None of it is.”Not yet, anyway.I push past him.

“Oh, yeah?” he calls out. “You two seem pretty damn convincing to me.”

I twist my head and return his smirk with a glare. “You know we’re just acting. Pretending. It ends as soon as she finds out about the job.”

I get twitchy just thinking about our time running out. I’ve gotten used to getting up with Rebecca wrapped around me, cover-hog though she is. It's worth it, especially when I’m compensated with my cock in her mouth. Waking her up with my tongue on her clit is just as good. Hell, the more we fuck, the more I want to fuck.

I should grow some balls and tell Rebecca I don’t want this to end. What would she say? I frown. She’s been quiet since dinner last night.

I stalk to the lockers, ignoring the congratulations around me. Connor and Jake trail behind me.

“Maybe you should take up acting when you’re done with football.” Fucking Jake won’t let it go.

“Maybe.” I shrug. I’m done talking with the guys about it. Next thing you know they’ll have me writing Dear Artie letters.

“Whatever you say, bro.” Jake waggles his brows.

“So you guys,” Connor makes air quotes, “pretend fucking, too?”

I grit my teeth. I’d punch the asshole if I didn’t need him to win the season. He laughs. “So it’s like that, huh?”

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