Page 21 of Pucking Fake

I bet male pigs aren't total dicks like Logan Moreno.

"Uh, Peyton?"

"My wallet is by the door," I mumble without even moving the pillow.

"Logan is here."

I sit up so fast my head spins. "What?"

Serena stares at me with wide eyes. "I practically ran into him on my way out the door." She grimaces. "He asked to talk to you."

"Did you tell him to go away?"

"Yes." She bites her bottom lip. "He brought flowers."

"Of course he did." I scowl, hopping up from the bed. Of all the freaking nerve… He really thinks he can just show up here with flowers and reel me back in? Absolutely not.

I march toward the bedroom door, ready to kick his proverbial ass, but Serena quickly jumps in front of me.

"Maybe you should change first?" she suggests. "Or at least brush your hair?"

I glance down at my nightie and then shrug. She's probably right. But he isn't worth the effort. I can kick his ass in anightgown with my hair messed up. And be back in bed in five minutes. Win-win.

"Nope," I say, gently steering her out of my way. "I am not putting on a bra for him."

"Oh boy," she mumbles behind me.

I march through our apartment, gathering righteous indignation around me like armor.

How dare he show up here?

How does he even know where I live?

I practically rip the door off the hinges, my gaze landing on him. He's leaning against the banister with his head bowed. For a second, I forget that I'm mad as hell because he actually looks…wrecked. Like his world is caving in. And then he lifts his head, his gaze raking down my body. When they darken, I wish we were back in his house again. And I wish I had launched myself over the sofa to strangle the truth out of him.

"I thought you looked good naked," he rasps, lifting his gaze to mine. "But goddamn, angel. You look even better in that nightgown."

He just can't help himself, can he?

"Leave," I growl. "Now." My gaze falls on the massive arrangement at his feet. "And take your gaslighting flowers with you."

"Gaslighting flowers?" His lips twitch. "What the fuck species of flower is that, angel?"

"How did you even get my address, Logan?" I hold up a hand before he can respond. "Let me guess, you got it from my application, right?"

"You going to quit being pissed if I say yes?"

"You're the one in need of an assistant, aren't you?"

He actually manages to look regretful. "I was going to tell you."

"Right," I snort. "Just like I'm sure you were going to tell me that you're married and have a kid."

"I'm not fucking married," he growls, taking a step toward me. "And Lachlan isn't mine."

"But you are the one in need of an assistant because he's struggling to juggle his family and his responsibilities with the team," I point out. "I could drive a tank through the holes in your story."

"It's not like that." He takes another step towards me. "Jesus, Peyton. I may be an asshole, but I wouldn't do that to you."

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