Page 5 of Pucking Fake

"Nothing, huh?" He takes another tiny step towards me. This one puts him right up against me. His thigh brushes mine. His arm rests against mine. Everywhere we touch, wildfires break out. "Well, that's the most interesting goddamn thing I've heard all night."

"What? Why? Plenty of people know nothing about hockey. It's not a very popular sport, Logan." That could be a lie. I don't know.

His eyes drop to mine, probing and inquisitive. "You know nothing about hockey, yet you're in a bar in our arena and you know my name."

"Um…" Panic shoots through me. For a split second, I consider making something up, but I've never been a very good liar. I might as well tell the truth. "My friend, Serena, is a fan. I brought her with me to do recon."

"Recon?" His lips twitch. "Why the fuck are you doing recon in a bar at the arena?" His eyes narrow, his expression tightening incrementally. "Please don't tell me that you're a reporter."

"A reporter?" My nose wrinkles. "Do I look like a reporter to you?"

"You'd be surprised."

I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult, so I decide to ignore the comment. "I have an interview next week," I whisper instead, fighting the urge to shiver when he dips his head as if to hear me better. It puts his lips right up against my crown. "I was scoping out my future boss."

"What kind of job?"

I wave my hand. "Just an assistant position for someone on the team. It's not important because I don't think I'm going to get it now. I basically stole your team's beer and caused a scene. Not a great first impression."

"I disagree entirely. I'm impressed." He shrugs when I eye him sideways. "You don't take shit from assholes in bars, you don'tlet pricks touch you without permission, and you know how to stand up for yourself. What's not to like about that?"

"I…" I gape at him. This is not going the way it should be going. Mainly because he's still here, complimenting me. He's supposed to be back at his table already, laughing about the crazy fat chick who stole their beer.

In my experience, that's what happens when men who look like him talk to me. I say something rude or snarky or defensive, and then they report back to their buddies and have a good laugh.

It's been that way since high school. I may have grown up since then, but some things never really change. Guys like him still treat me the same. It's not even just because I'm curvy, either. That's part of it, sure. But it's mostly just…me. I'm too many of the things they aren't. Combative, awkward, snarky, defensive, poor.

Men like Logan Moreno and girls like me are from two different worlds. Just ask my father. He's one of them: rich, successful, adored by the masses. He also wants nothing to do with me. Not even after…well, that doesn't matter. The point is, I learned early that I have a place in this world, and it's as far from guys like Logan as possible.

"It's not really fair."

"What isn't fair?" I ask, a little afraid I may have inadvertently said something out loud that was most definitely supposed to stay in my head. Wouldn't be the first time.

"You know my name, but I don't know yours," Logan murmurs. "Even the playing field, angel. Tell me your name."

I hesitate for a long moment before deciding any damage is already done. There's no mitigating it now. "Peyton," I murmur. "My name is Peyton Cloud."

His grin is a deadly weapon. It's also far too damn sexy. No wonder women throw themselves at him. No wonder Serenasays he's trouble. The devil lives in that damn smirk. And part of me wants to invite him out to play.

Bad idea. Bad, bad idea, my meddling angel whispers.

She's right.Of courseshe's right…but I don't want to listen. Maybe that's why he's trouble. That smirk could tempt an angel straight to hell. Or maybe it's the man who could do that. There's something about him that's downright magnetic.

And I've always been drawn to trouble like a freaking moth to a flame. It's precisely how I got myself kicked out of three different group homes and two foster situations as a teenager. I'm definitely drawn to this man. My entire body is humming like it's singing a hymnal. The closer he stands, the louder it sings.

Has it ever done that before? Ha. No.

The few dates I've been on ended in handshakes and hugs at the end of the night. The only humming going on in my life is the kind that comes from a battery-operated wand and an active imagination. Sad, I know. But like I said, I've got trust issues.

"So, Peyton Cloud, how do we salvage your recon mission?" Logan asks.

"We?" I arch a brow at him.

"Yeah, baby. Whatever you're up to sounds a helluva lot more interesting than anything my asshole teammates are doing. I'm definitely down. Am I starting a fight? Pulling the fire alarm?" He waggles his brows at me. "Put me in, Coach. I've got you."

"I…" I gape at him, pretty sure he's deadly serious. If I asked him to pull the fire alarm or start a fight, he'd do it. For no other reason than because I asked. Good Lord. This manistrouble.

Why do Ilikethat so damn much?

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