Page 32 of Pucking Fake

I whimper quietly.

Logan pops the locks on the truck, quickly ushering me inside.

"I'm going to kill you," I hiss. "Literal murder, Logan."

"We'll talk in a minute, angel."

"There will be blood. And pain. And death."

He buckles me in, leaning forward to brush his lips across my forehead. "Sounds kinky. I like it."

"I hate you. I hate you so much."

"No, you don't." He slams my door.

I slump in the seat, whimpering like one of those baby dolls that's running out of batteries. They're supposed to talk or sing, but instead, they just make that god-awful shrill sound that haunts your nightmares. Yeah,thatsound actually leaves my lips. It isn't pretty.

Logan climbs in beside me, slamming his door. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not alive right now. Please check back later."

He has the audacity to laugh. Mighty bold for a man on death's door.

I turn to glower at him. "You told him that we're dating," I growl. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"

"I know exactly what I did, angel."

I close my eyes, practicing deep breathing. It doesn't help. He may think he knows, but he really doesn't. He doesn't have a freaking clue what he just did. As soon as Montaque finds out my name…

"Have you completely lost it?" I cry, whipping my head around to glare at him. "We are not dating. Never, ever!"

"I can explain."

"Is he still out there?"

He glances in the rearview mirror and then nods. "Yes."

"Then you should drive."

"Why?"

"Because I'm pretty sure my head exploding all over your truck is just as newsworthy as you telling a reporter that I ride your dick."

"So…you're big mad, huh?" he asks, grinning at me like he's pleased with himself. And I have never wanted to kiss someone and kill them at the same time before. Being this infuriating has to be a kink with him, right? It's the only explanation.

"Whydid you tell him that I'm your girlfriend?"

"Two reasons," he says, starting the truck. "You didn't want the whole world to think you were fucking your boss. Now, they won't. They'll think you're fucking your boyfriend. They never have to know you work for me unless you want them to know."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I actually do. Second reason?"

"Give me a second to get out on the road," he mutters. "You're less likely to kill me if I'm driving."

"So you think."

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