Page 31 of Pucking Fake

I peer around him at the guy in a suit hurrying toward us with a false smile pasted on his face. He's maybe forty-five, with way too much gel in his hair. He reminds me of my father, all fake smiles and patently false bullshit. I immediately dislike him.

Judging by the way Logan is scowling at him like he wants to set him on fire, he doesn't like him much either.

What is he sorry for in advance? I probably should have asked him that. It's too late now.

"Logan!" Charles says like they're old friends, stopping in front of us. "Just the goalie I was hoping to see."

"Fuck off, Montaque," Logan says, his tone flat. "I'm not interested in whatever bullshit rumors you've concocted today."

"So you're saying your sister isn't in a mental institution?" he asks. "Can I quote you on that?"

What in the world? I cast a quick glance up at Logan to see him staring through Charles, a bored expression on his face. But the anger banked in his eyes? That's hot enough to burn.

He is next-level pissed.

Is his sister really in a mental institution? God, no wonder he needs help organizing his life. He's trying to juggle more than anyone should have to juggle. And I'm guessing he's trying to do it quietly.

Is that why he didn't tell me about his nephew? Because he didn't want the truth to get out? My heart clenches at the thought. I'd never tell anyone. Of course I wouldn't. I know what it's like to be a media spectacle. Been there, done that. I've been dragged, kicking and screaming, into the press every freaking time…well, that doesn't matter. The point is, it's exhausting.

But Logan doesn't know that, does he? I never told him. It's one of those painful things I never discuss because if I don't talk about it, I can pretend it's someone else's life instead of mine.

I'm beginning to think maybe he knows how that feels. Beneath that devil-may-care attitude and the flirting, Logan may be a little bit more like me than I'd like to admit.

Why is that so terrifying?

Because you like him, my little angel whispers.

I ignore her. Mostly because she's probably right, and I can't deal with that right now. I can't afford to like him. That's a slippery slope that'll lead me right back to his bed.

"I'm not saying a goddamn thing to you. Ever, as a matter of fact," he says, stepping around the shorter man, his hand still laced with mine. "You can fuck right off."

Charles glances from him to me, homing in on the way our hands are locked together. Curiosity blazes to life in his eyes. "Hello," he says, planting himself in my path. "I'm Charles Montaque. What's your name?"

I stare at him mutely, refusing to say a word.

"Leave my girlfriend alone, Montaque," Logan snaps, sliding his hand around my waist to shuffle me away from the reporter. "She has nothing to say to you, either."

"Girlfriend?" Charles asks, sending a sharp glance in his direction.

I barely manage to keep from squeaking the same question. Has Logan lost his mind? We are not dating! I'm not his girlfriend. This is…Good Lord. This is going to be all over the freaking news by morning.

I'm going to kill him for real this time.

"Yeah, girlfriend," Logan snarls, gently nudging me to get me moving again, except my legs feel like rubber and don't want to cooperate so I stumble more than walk. "You know, the only one of the two of you with any right to ride my dick as hard as you do. Funny how that never stops you though, does it, Montaque? Come on, angel. Let's go home."

I stumble along at his side, my mind reeling.

Ride his dick?Oh my god. Did he just tell a reporter that Iride his dick?

I'm going to go to jail for murdering DC's favorite goalie. It'll be all over the news. The only thing I'll be organizing for the rest of my life is Bertha's commissary and shank stash.

"What's her name, Logan?" Charles calls after us.

"Not your fucking business!" Logan yells back at him.

"You know I'm going to find out anyway."

"Yeah? How about I spell it for you, then? F-U-C-K O-F-F." Logan glances back at the reporter, lifting his middle finger in the air with an arrogant smirk. "Was that clear enough or should I spell it again, you dick?"

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