Page 24 of Perfect Playbook

Need water…need water… need…

I let my hand flop to the side, and it hits a firm, balmy, naked chest next to me.

A low voice grumbles. “Ow…”

My head snaps to the source of the grumble, and there he is…Logan.

I sit up in bed and snatch the crisp white bed sheet around my bare chest.

Oh. My. God.

I vaguely remember telling myself it would be okay to have sex with him last night. Being honest? I think I might have even thrown myself at him. I barelyremember anything after Taj Mahal, but I do remember not coming up for air all the way from that VIP table, through a throng of clubbers, and into the carnival sounds of the casino. I’m not going to play innocent, I let this happen, but…shit.

Logan raises his eyebrows and smiles, not at all sheepish. Of course, this is probably normal for him.

I clutch the covers a little tighter.

“Shay…”

“Shh…” I don’t want to hear it. He probably has a speech planned for just this occasion. “We’re cool. It’s fine.”

He tosses me a look that tells me he doesn’t believe I am but that he wants me to be. I might not do this every day like him, but I’m a grown-ass woman, and one who refuses to shame myself or any of my own. That’s not to say this wasn’t an error of judgment…

“Logan, we’re two consenting adults having fun in Vegas. We’ll go home and leave this here and chalk it up to us both being emotional.”

He runs his hand through a gorgeous head of hair and sighs out his words. “It was definitely emotional.”

I can barely swallow. I’m so thirsty and I remember he let out a groan. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Why?”

“You said ow.”

He rubs his pec. “You scraped me with your rock.”

I circle my neck, trying to ease some of the knots out. “My rock?” What kind of sex did we have? I feel like I’ve been railed by a Mack truck down there.

He points to my hand. “Your ring.”

He pushes himself up to sitting, not even caring that he’s sliding his dewy torso out from under the sheet. It rests precariously above his dick, over his manly smattering of hair. Exposed now are two of the reasons I caved to mydesire last night—the cut edges of his hip bones are just as alluring now as they were so many years ago.

He asks as if he doesn’t want to know the answer. “Were you wearing that last night? I feel like I would have noticed a diamond on your ring finger.”

I rub my temples.God, it sounds like a toilet is being flushed over and over inside my head.

Just then, a cloud shifts and mid-morning sun glimmers through the curtains we never bothered closing. Something shimmers through the tiny slit in my left hand’s fingers and catches my eye.

I whip my hand in front of my face. “Shit. What is this?”

“Your ring. The one I said you smacked me with.” He lowers his eyes and scratches his forearm. “Who gave it to you?”

Panic replaces every other feeling I had a few moments ago. “Nobody gave this to me. Did I buy it last night?” I dread the answer to the question. Surely I didn’t blow my life savings on jewelry last night.

He digs inside his eye sockets with his fingers for an answer, but not much pays him a visit. “Maybe we got it at the pawnshop?”

Pawnshop? Oh, please let it be a cheapie. Is it real? I dissect its surface up close as if I know anything about gems and fine jewelry.God, don’t tell me I used my credit card…

“Do you remember how much I paid for it?”

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