Page 27 of Pucking Fake

"Why do you always think I'm terrorizing people?"

"Why can't you ever answer a question without asking a question?"

"You…I…" She huffs at me, blowing strands of hair out of her face. "I can so answer a question without asking a question," she finally mumbles. "But it's way more fun for me if I'm getting something out of it."

A quiet laugh rumbles from my lips. At least she's honest. "You went into psychology because you're nosy as fuck, didn't you?"

"Maybe." She shrugs, grinning mischievously. "It's not a crime to like knowing everyone else's business." She narrows her eyes on me. "Just like it's not a crime for you to mind yours."

I grin at her. "You done busting my balls now?"

"I've seen your balls, Moreno. Trust me, I willnotbe going near them." She leans back against the wall, her expression turning serious. "Are you okay? I was with Alice last night when Montaque chased her down."

"Fuck." I tip my head back, cursing up at the ceiling. "Of course you were there."

"Jeez. It's not like I planned it or anything. Honestly, I figured he was there about me and Nash."

"What's going on with you and Nash?" I ask, arching a brow.

"What? Who said anything about me and Nash? Never even heard the name." She bats her lashes at me. She is so full of shit. "I know what you're doing, Logan. It isn't going to work."

"I'm just asking after my dear old friend," I lie innocently.

She harumphs loudly. "Right. Go away and stop bugging me. I have relationships to hide. Players to terrorize. You know,importantthings."

"You don't have shit on your schedule this morning, do you?"

"Not a thing," she sighs, heading down the hall.

"You should really try talking to Alice if you're that hard up for someone to annoy. She's awful fucking bossy. She probably has shit to work out. Therapy would help."

"I'm telling her you said that!" Emilia calls over her shoulder as she hurries down the hall.

"I'm denying I said it!" I shout back to her, chuckling. Jesus Christ. There's no way we're going to survive with her, Coach, and Alice running the show around here. They're like the three ghosts sent to harass Ebenezer.

Huh. Maybe I should set them loose on Montaque. That prick could use a proper haunting.

Christ. What am I going to do about him?

By the time I make it the conference room, I'm no closer to figuring it out and Peyton is already inside, seated at the long table with her hands folded in front of her. I stop in the doorway, just staring at her for a long moment.

Goddamn, she's stunning.

She has her blonde hair pulled up into a demure bun, though pieces have fallen free around her face. Her cheeks are stained the same pink as her lips. I want to kiss that gloss off her.

I clear my throat, closing the door behind me.

She bolts to her feet, her eyes locked on me. "Um, hi," she squeaks, smoothing her hands down the sides of her form-fitting skirt. It clings to her curves, and I'm once again jealous of a piece of fabric. Guess that's my permanent state of being now: jealous of her fucking clothes because they're touching her in places and ways I'm not.

"You look beautiful," I rasp.

"Logan," she says, disapproval heavy in her tone. "This is an interview."

Yeah, fuck that noise. If she expects this to be some bullshit where I ask stupid fucking questions and she gives rehearsed answers, we aren't doing that. Hell no.

After the morning I've had, I'm not in the mood for that game.

I decide to play one of my own instead.

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