Page 62 of Pucking Fake

"On my way!" Logan calls back to him before dragging me into his arms. His lips come down on mine in a hard kiss. "You're fucking incredible, you know that? Christ, I'm proud of you right now."

"I'm pretty proud of me too," I murmur against his lips.

He smiles, tucking strands of hair behind my ears. "You should be, baby. I hope he prints every goddamn word."

Surprisingly…so do I.

Maybe it won't make a difference, and people will still bring my father up. They'll still treat me like I did something wrong because he's rich and has the power. I don't know. But I also don't really care anymore, either. For once, I said what I should have said a long time ago. It's not my cross to bear anymore. It'shis. What he does with it is his business.

I'm not shackled to his bullshit anymore.

I'm shackling myself to a gorgeous goalie, one who looks at me like I'm the center of his world. One who gives me power to be…me.

That's more than enough for me.

One Month Later

"Give me back my phone," I growl at Logan, trying to tug his arm down to reach it. It doesn't even budge. Naturally.

Why is he so ridiculously strong?

Better question, why do I always let him talk me into going out with him and the team after they win a game? It never works out in my favor.

"Nope." He smirks at me. "Not until you kiss me."

"I am not kissing you in a bar full of people, Logan."

"The bar isn't full, baby," he says through laughter. "It's just the team."

I snort. Loudly. "Unless half the team grew boobs and learned to apply a wicked cat-eye, this is not the team, Logan. It's fans who would like to fu–"

He swoops, claiming my lips in a hard kiss as his teammates laugh and cheer, egging him on. Like I said…this never works out in my favor. They're all idiots.

I bite his bottom lip, which only makes him growl and pull me closer.

I swear, there is no stopping this man. He's on cloud nine all day, every day, and nothing is bringing him back down again. It's annoyingly cute. I'm not telling him that, though.

"That's better," he sighs, his lips curving into a grin against mine.

"Can I have my phone back now?"

"No. You can work later. We're celebrating right now."

"I'm not working."

"Little liar."

"I'm not. I was reading comments on Lauren's essay," I mutter.

"That can wait until later, too," he says firmly. "You can troll the assholes of the world tomorrow."

"Oh, can I help?" Joaquin asks, rubbing his hands together. "I like fucking with assholes online."

"Of course you do," Archer sighs, sliding his arm around Wren's waist.

"Um, I seem to recall you calling someone a few colorful names online just a couple weeks ago, Mr. Captain," she retorts, poking him in the side. "What was it again? Oh, yeah." She snaps her fingers. "You said he couldn't kiss Alec Greggson's ass any harder if he was a poop stain in his underwear. And he'd be more useful to the world if he were a poop stain because at least then he'd be chafing his ass instead of–"

Archer cuts her off by kissing her.

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