Page 23 of Perfect Playbook

“That must sting. No pun intended. Because of the Scorpions. Sorry. I’m not trying to be funny.”

“I know. Don’t worry about it. It sucks.” For the first time tonight, something other than sensual charm plays on his features; a sincere disappointment weighs on the corners of his mouth.

He strokes his fingers along my hip bones absentmindedly as if we’re still in college when we used to talk like this. Sometimes we were as drunk as this when we did, then, our guards were fully down just as they seem to be now.

“I fucked up, Shay. All I care about is playing this last season with Ash and I fucked it up.”

I let my forehead fall to his, and it clunks against his skull because my head seems to weigh more than usual, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Logan, you can fix this. If anyone can, it’s you. Turn it around. Pull your head out of your ass and show everyone you belong there. Score like you’ve never before. Train harder. You’re not going to give up easily, are you?”

His eyes are hollow with dejection and too much to drink. This news must have been agonizing. The friendship between Ashton and Logan is brotherhood. Even in college they talked about being on the same team in the NHL, winning a Stanley Cup together and bringing it home to Starlight Canyon. They said they’d throw a party with the whole town invited. They talked about decorating the Danes’ barn, having an open bar, something at the time as poor college kids seemed like the most luxurious thing to offer.

I cup the sides of his face with my hands. “Hey, it isn’t over till the buzzer goes off. You’re good under pressure, Logan. This is pressure. Rise. Yeah?”

A sparkle of life comes back into his gaze, or maybe it’s the strobe lights.

“All right, it’s your turn, Mendez.”

The words come easier this time because I can’t let him feel alone. “I fucked up, too. My son is a genius. That’s what was in the email. His test results.”

Logan’s head falls back, and his mouth drops open with a silent laugh. His neck is on full display again.

He jostles my hips playfully, and in a flirty move I didn’t expect locks our zippers together. There’s as much sarcasm as there is sincerity in his question. “Fuck,pastelito… You messed up because your kid is a genius?”

Even though hours ago this was serious, inhibitions are dead. I slap his chest like he just said something funny.

“Yeah, Logan. I fucked up because I’m just some baker, and Nino needs… private school.”

His brown gaze dives into me. “Do you need some help?”

Did he just offer to help me? I’m not sure I like that. Or maybe somewhere inside I do, because even though I’d never let him help me, it’s nice to know he would. Maybe. Kind of…I’ve had too much to drink.

I nestle into the crook of his neck. “I’d never take money from anyone.”

He turns his head to the side, and his stubble skims my cheek. I think he hums his response. I can’t hear it over the pounding music but his chest vibrates against mine because we’re pressed together tightly. His neck is hot, humid, and slightly scratchy. His breath tumbles with a warm, sensual mist over my ear. My lips are so achingly close to his balmy, musk scented skin, with less than the flap of a butterfly’s wing I could touch him.

“I know you don’t like help….”

His words tingle on my neck. I’m so close I feel the muscles of his throat flex and swallow, and then his words come out a restrained, husky whisper.

“But I’d give you anything you ask right now.”

My breath hitches. Self-control has clearly checked itself at the door. The anonymity of this heaving, dark nightclubentices lust to the surface. My mind races back to when we were in our twenties, college kids needing each other so badly… lush memories of late-night chats ending in him between my legs, my hands scratching at his ass, him stretching me. And how he would always tell me I could take it, telling me what a good girl I was.

It should have been demeaning, but I gobbled that shit up. I’d eat it now and I’m overcome with an impulsive need for him to dish it up again.

“You want to help?” I ask.

“I do.”

“Then make me forget about it.”

His lips are so close, they touch mine as he speaks. “I’d beg for the opportunity.”

I want to ravage him. He has me wrapped around his finger. It doesn’t take even a second more and we crash our lips together. He meets my kiss with such hunger, I question which one of us moved first.

Chapter Ten

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