Page 52 of Pucking Fake

He laughs quietly, pulling me back up against him. "Next time I ask, you'll say yes, baby. Just wait."

I groan, pressing my face to his throat. "I'm too something to deal with this right now, Logan."

"Too something, huh?" His hand slides down my back to my ass. "I'll show you exactly what you are, angel."

Chapter Eleven

Logan

"Why the fuck is Joaquin telling everyone that you decked a photographer last night?" Jordan asks, dropping onto the bench beside me.

I glance over at him, shrugging silently.

"Jesus Christ, Logan." He grabs my hand, examining my knuckles. "You did hit a photographer last night, didn't you?"

"Maybe." I absolutely hit a photographer last night. The same prick who took those photos of Peyton and made her cry showed up at the bar as Joaquin and I were getting ready to leave. He shoved his fucking camera in my face, asking if I knew Peyton was fucking Austin Hawkes.

I warned him to back off. He wouldn't listen. He just kept encroaching, shoving that damn camera in my face, bumping into me. So I decked him.

Next time, he'll listen.

Oh, he'll probably try to sue me for assault. Whatever. The police came out and took his statement. They took mine too. He was trespassing. He was in my personal space harassing me. And he wouldn't back the fuck off. Everyone agreed that he pushed me first, so I didn't go to jail.

"Coach is going to murder you when he finds out."

"Who said he's going to find out?" I pull my hand away.

"Motherfucker, you took Joaquin with you." Jordan glowers at me. "The whole goddamn arena is going to know before the end of the day. Believe me, Coach is going to find out. And he's already pissed at you because your ugly mug is all over the news right now."

"He knew what he was getting when he signed me," I mutter. "He signed me anyway. Besides, I didn't take Joaquin anywhere. The fucking cameraman showed up when we were leaving the bar."

Jordan laughs abruptly, shaking his head. "I'm guessing he was the prick who took photos of your girl the other day?"

I scowl at him.

"Thought so."

"Does she know?"

"Hell no." She went back to her place after the game last night to hang out with her roommate. And I haven't seen her yet this morning. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to tell her when I do see her.

I don't regret hitting the motherfucker. He had it coming for making her cry. She isn't a cheater. She damn sure isn't like her father. And I'll be damned if I stand around and let anyone say she is.

Peyton is a fucking goddess. No one gets to treat her like shit unless they want to answer to me. Especially since I'm the one who got her into this. She shouldn't have to deal with this bullshit because of me.

"One of these days, you're going to bite off more than you can chew," Jordan says, yanking his practice jersey on over his head. "I just hope I'm around to…" He trails off when the door slams open and Peyton storms in, her skirt swishing around her legs. "Well, shit." He laughs quietly. "Looks like that day might be today."

"You," Peyton growls, those forest green eyes narrowing on me. "Are in so much trouble."

"Good morning to you too, baby."

"Do not call me that right now, Logan."

Jordan slaps me on the back. "That's my cue to get the fuck out of here. RIP, motherfucker."

I shoot him a dirty look.

He loops his skates over his shoulder and then saunters toward the door, leaving plenty of space between the two of them, like he's scared she might fucking bite him if he gets too close. Hell, the way she's looking right now, she actually might. She is pissed.

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