Page 56 of Pucking Fake

And I'm guessing the tipsy little shrink sitting beside me can help me sort my shit out.

"And I haven't seen you in my office," Emilia retorts, eyeing me over the rim of her wineglass. "But I know you've been getting my emails. You've responded to them."

"Yeah, and I responded no." I smirk at her, fucking with her because I can't resist. She's wild when she's wound up. "That means I'm not coming, Doc."

Peyton's lips pull down into a frown, disappointment flowing through her expression. Fuck. I never can quit when I'm ahead, can I?

"Not a doctor. But fine, then I guess I'll be seeing you in the locker room again soon." Emilia eyes me levelly, refusing to give up that easily. She's a dog with a bone. I'm pretty sure she sends me seven email invitations a day to meet with her. It has to be a program auto-sending them because there's no goddamn way she has that kind of time.

"Jesus Christ," Jordan growls from the opposite side of the table, scowling at me. "If she shows up in the locker room while we're changing again, I'm kicking your ass. We still haven't recovered from last time she came in, insults blazing."

"It will be his fault," Emilia agrees sweetly.

Peyton snorts…which I assume is her agreeing.

"You are a little shit-stirrer, aren't you?" I ask Emilia, amused.

"Takes real to recognize real, Moreno."

Archer laughs abruptly from my other side. "She has you pegged to a fucking T, man."

"Fine. I'll consider dropping by your office." I hold up a finger. "But only to say hey. Not to discuss shit."

"Fine. Then I'll consider not barging into the locker room again," Emilia says sweetly.

Peyton wraps her arms around herself, leaning her head back against the booth. I try to catch her eye to ask if she's okay, but she turns away from me, staring out at the bar. Goddammit.

Conversation flows around me while I stare at her, willing her to look at me. She stubbornly refuses, icing me out like she has all damn day. I don't like it much. Frankly, I fucking hate it.

I used to think the worst thing in the world would be disappointing Lauren. Turns out, it's disappointing the pretty little goddess sitting across from me. That shit stings in ways I didn't even know was possible.

"We should all head out," Archer says, setting his beer on the table. "Flight leaves early in the morning."

"Don't remind me," I growl, glancing across the table at Peyton again. I'm not ready to fly out in the morning when I'm not entirely convinced she'll be getting on that plane with me. "You ready to go, angel?"

"Stop calling me that, Logan."

"Sure." I shrug. "Just as soon as you stop looking like one, baby."

She rolls her eyes, sliding out of the booth. "It was nice to meet everyone. See you later." She shoots a death glare in my direction before stomping toward the door.

"Shit," I mumble, hopping up as laughter ripples around the table.

"Stop antagonizing her, man," Micah says. "You're only making it worse for yourself."

"Fucking clearly," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as I take off after her.

I catch up to her just outside the door, spinning her around to face me. The watery sheen in her eyes sends my heart slamming against my ribcage.

"Baby," I groan.

"Let me go," she growls, trying to yank free.

"Never." I scoop her up in my arms.

She mutters under her breath, probably cursing me to hell and back, as I stomp toward the parking deck. I don't stop moving until we're at the truck and she's inside, her legs dangling out as I crowd her.

"I'm an asshole," I say quietly, brushing away the tears on her cheeks.

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