by Ivy Hunt
Becs and I echo Jenna’s goodnights, and she grants us a regal wave from the threshold of her room. Should I have offered to set up a perch in there for her to hang by her feet?
I face my other roommate and gesture to the master bedroom. “Shall we?”
Without meeting my eyes, Rebecca stalks past me, and a blend of tangerine and peaches tickles my nose.
Becs whips around the moment the door shuts behind us and hisses, “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”
“She bought it, didn’t she? C’mon, she was less feral than this morning.” I stand with my hands in my pockets. “And this was your idea, remember?”
“It wasn’t my idea to come back here. I’m not sleeping with you. That. Was. Not. Part. Of. The. Plan.” Her nostrils flare, and she bites out each word. “I don’t do athletes.”
“Oh? You did me quite well last night.” I can’t resist teasing.
Her cheeks flame. “That was an accident.” Her mouth purses.
“You accidentally fell on my dick?” Yes, there are two dicks in the room, big Logan and bigger Logan. “Because all I remember was ‘Logan, harder, faster. Oh God, I’m going to come!’” I smirk as I catalogue her—pink cheeks, heaving breasts, and flashing eyes. “You’re bossier than you pretend.” Maybe she is better suited to Jenna than I’m giving her credit for.
I wait in anticipation to see what she will do. She’s adorable when she gets annoyed.
She growls. “How long do you expect me to stay?”
“You find out about the job on Monday, right?” I study my fingernails.
“Yeah.”
I shrug and swing my eyes up. “It’s two days. Commit to the cause.”
She looks like she’d rather have me committed. “This wasn’t the plan.”
“Seems like the most efficient approach to me. Don’t you HR types like to be efficient?” This gets more amusing by the minute. Little Rebecca has a temper.
A strangled gurgle escapes her. My lips twitch.
She huffs and leans over to pull off a shoe, tosses it against the corner of the room. “And what was that whole thing with your Thursday game?” The other shoe thwacks against the wall a second later.
“What about it?” I start undoing my shirt. “You’ll come, sit with my parents. Impress Jenna.”
“Logan, first of all,” Becs raises a thumb, “I’ll know about the job on Monday.”
A second pink-tipped finger extends up. “Next, I know nothing about football.”
I stall on a button and stare. “No way. That’s just un-American.”
Her head bobs up and down. “Way. Never even seen a game on TV.”
My jaw drops and I blink. Trust me to end up with a girlfriend who knows nothing about my profession. Fake girlfriend. She definitely doesn’t have the qualifications for the real thing after a statement like that.
“You see?” Her nose wrinkles at my expression. Then her body sags and a long whoosh escapes her. “I can’t go to the game. Not with your parents and Jenna. I’m sorry.”
I angle my head and study her. I don’t like the aura of defeat that settled upon her. “Sure you can. I’ll teach you.”
Becs snorts, but when I remind her what this is for, she squares her shoulders. “Fine.”
She plops down on the edge of the bed and rifles through her bag. A ring-bound notebook and pen emerge.
“Seriously?” My brows rise in disbelief and exasperation.
She scowls. “School me already.”
I can’t contain my laugh. “Fine, let’s do this.” I make a production of tapping my chest and clearing my throat. “So, that is a football.” I point at a signed ball on the shelf behind her.
Rebecca follows my finger, then swivels back and rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m not a complete moron.”
“I’m trying to be as thorough as possible. Do your notes justice.”
She shakes her head. I go on to explain the basics of the game, pausing to answer when she has questions. She takes notes, nodding as things start to make sense.
“I kind of get it now. I tried watching a YouTube video and even tuned into ESPN before dinner, but couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. You do a much better job. And without any mansplaining!”
I scoff, “It's not rocket science. ESPN needs to work on their shitty commentary. They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about half the time.”
She lets out a small giggle and tucks the notebook into the bag at her feet. When she looks up, I’m in the process of peeling off my shirt. Her eyes widen, and my lips twitch. I flex, and she startles at the movement then jumps up and shuffles to the shelf in the corner.
“Ummm. Can I borrow something to sleep in?” She peers at a photo of me with my teammates, then lifts the signed football and studies it in an excuse to look away.
“Last night’s sleepwear won’t work?” I make my voice low and seductive.
She spins around, her mouth gaping. “I ah, no I…I—”
I chuckle. “No, I didn’t think that would be part of this arrangement.” I already have one of my jerseys in hand. But my lips curl up in a devious grin. “But as you know, I can adapt to a change in play.”
She flings the ball at me. I laugh, reaching up and plucking it out of the air with my right hand then tossing her the shirt with my left. Her eyes spring wide, and she ducks.
I nod at the material on the floor, then raise my gaze back to hers. “Changed your mind?”
“Nope.” She’s already scooping it off the ground.
“Then why’d you move?”
“Instinct. Thought it would hit me. Never had any eye-hand coordination when I was a kid.” She blushes, but then raises an eyebrow in challenge, “So much for that, what? Forty-million-dollar arm?” she snarks.
“Fifty.”
Her mouth drops.
I smirk at her shock.
Her tongue sticks out, and she crosses her eyes, making me laugh. “You want to go first?”
I motion to the bathroom.
“Um…”
I begin to unbuckle my belt and grin when her face goes slack. “Or you can stay.”
Her eyes double in size before she catches herself. “I’m going.”
I end up using one of the guest bathrooms to shower. When I’m back, Becs is in bed, huddled under the sheets and so far to the edge she’s in danger of toppling off. Deep, unconvincing exhalations sound from her petite frame, and I’m tempted to rile her up again but decide against it. She’s had plenty to deal with today between my sister and me.
In deference to her presence, I keep my boxers on and settle in. Eventually, her breath evens out and a small moan escapes her. The little sound has my dick twitching. I anchor my eyes to the ceiling and my hands to my sides like a goddamn mummy to stop from reaching for her or touching myself. What the fuck is wrong with me?
It’s the proximity. Repeats aren’t my thing. I slide a look at her. Though, if she’s going to stick around, we might as well make the most of our time together—get her to rethink our plan for maximum productivity. My dick. Her pussy.
Chapter Eight
Saturday
BECS
I wake up skin-to-skin with Logan. This time, I'm the limpet holding him hostage with a thigh draped over his legs, and my face nuzzled against his chest. The T-shirt I have on must have ridden up during the night. Logan's hand is splayed wide against my lower back, his pinky finger just under the edge of my underwear.
The offending limb inches off him, the fine hairs on his leg causing pinpricks on mine. My lashes lift in trepidation. Don't be awake.
But because this is me, and we already know I have the shittiest luck, Logan is staring right at me. “Good morning.”
His husky tone sends a shiver through me. “Ah…good morning.” I can feel the flush rising on my cheeks.
The corners of his eyes crinkle. He is so gorgeous. You know how beautiful people don't look as good close up? Not Logan. He's all tousle-haired and blu
e-eyed magic. The soft smile on his lips only makes him more appealing.
“I’m so sorry about…that,” I mumble with a wave at his torso and slowly detach the rest of myself. I kneel, facing him. The bottom of the shirt drops back down to my knees but I still clutch the sheet to my chest.
A deep chuckle escapes him. “No damage done.”
I shuffle backward down the bed, one shin at a time, dragging the cloth with me. Halfway down the mattress, I pause. I’ve pulled it off enough that the top half of Logan’s muscled body is bared, the material flirting with the V at the base of his ripped abs.
“Like what you see?”
I gasp, my gaze swinging up to his smirking face. “Ah…”
“You can come back for a closer look, you know.” Mischief twinkles in his eyes.
I whip around and dash for the bathroom to the echo of his laughter. Jerk.
Once inside, I almost shriek at my reflection. My eyes are bright against my flushed face and my hair…all sexed up. Without the sex. What a waste.
Oh, no. No, no, no. We aren’t entertaining that kind of nonsense. I shake my head at the wayward thoughts and rake my fingers through my hair, but that does nothing to tame my ramen noodle curls.
My forehead thumps against the mirror, and I'm grateful for the momentary cooling sensation. When I lift my head, there's a foggy patch in the glass. The distorted view is many magnitudes more flattering.
A couple of fingers reach out to wipe off the steam, but instead, there is an L traced in the mirror. I blink. Then blink again. My arm propels out to rub off the evidence of my madness with the outside of my fist. Temporary insanity at a temporary situation. That's what this is.
A shower does little to calm me. When I wiggle into last night's outfit, I only feel worse.
When I exit the bathroom, Logan is leaning against the headboard, all languid and lazy, a sexy smile hovering on his lips. But I ignore it in favor of the mouthwatering aroma wafting in from the kitchen. Caffeine. The elixir of sanity and sobriety.
I sneak a glance at the clock on the side table. Still early. But, of course, Jenna Barnes wouldn't sleep in, weekend or not.
Maybe I can wait her out? My eyes skim the chiseled form on the bed and then swing to the door. I tap my finger against my lips. In here with Logan or out there with Jenna? I am spoiled for choice.
He correctly interprets my grimace. “Jenna’s going to be awhile. It’s Saturday. She likes to sit with the newspaper. She's strange and old school like that. Been doing it since she was like, twelve. They all did.” For an infinitesimal second, a shadow crosses Logan’s eyes, but he wrinkles his nose and scrunches his brows together.
I laugh at his disgruntled expression. “Well, some people like to keep informed.”
He snorts. “Some people use technology.”
“And some people appreciate a more hands-on approach,” I retort.
“Oh, I definitely appreciate the hands-on approach when it comes to some things.” He strokes the light stubble on his chin, bringing my attention to his lips, sculpted and soft. Lush.
I flush. Those lips were trailing over my skin less than forty-eight hours ago.
He tips his head to the side and the corner of his mouth curls up in a grin of pure devilment. “But technology…yes, that can come in pretty handy too.”
My blood stutters, and my nipples tighten. I go even redder. Logan's smile only widens.
He pats the space beside him and waggles his eyebrows theatrically. “I’m happy to demonstrate if you come back to bed.” His eyes gleam with mirth.
My embarrassment fades as I laugh, the sensual haze lifting. My spine eases for the first time since I woke up. I square my shoulders. Time to brave the elder Barnes sibling and finagle myself into a job.
Chapter Nine
LOGAN
Becs is to blame when I linger far longer in the shower than necessary. The image of her wild hair, rounded mouth, and those erect nipples has gifted my usual morning wood some extra length. I bring myself to orgasm, but it’s not enough to take the edge off.
Again? But it would be cruel to leave Rebecca to my sister for too long. Though if she really wants to go be Maleficent’s handmaiden, Becs had better get used to Jenna now.
The conversation stalls when I enter the living space, and Jenna and Rebecca turn to face me. They are seated at the kitchen island across from each other. I swagger up to Becs, plant my hands on either side of her, and cage her in.
A gasp escapes her when I lean down to nuzzle her neck and breathe in her now-familiar scent. Her back is flat against me, chest to pelvis, and when she squirms, I have to hold back a groan. The only consolation prize here is being able to touch her in front of Jenna. This is no longer a game of pretend, but of temptation. Though I think it’s torturing me more than her. While I know Becs is not unaffected, her willpower puts her ahead in our little game. My flesh, on the other hand, is weak, and I’m ready to beg for her sweet, sweet pussy. I kiss her neck one more time and then slowly straighten to meet Jenna’s gaze.
“Morning, Jen,” I say.
“Logan.”
The coffee machine behind her beckons, and I release Rebecca to go pour myself a cup then lean back against the counter. “Sports?” I incline my head at the paper by Jenna’s saucer. She flips to that section and swivels in her stool to hand it to me.
“Thanks.” I take a long, slow sip of my coffee. “So whatcha have going on today?” I ask idly. Whatever she does, I'm doing the opposite, even if it means she runs me out of my home.
“I was actually catching up with Rebecca here.” She turns back to Becs whose posture is ramrod straight. “You were telling me about your plans? What you think you’ll be doing in a few years?”
I scowl. “Isn’t the interview over?”
Annoyance flares in Becs’s eyes, “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“Kiss ass” I mouth over Jenna’s head. I know Becs saw, but she ignores me, all her attention on my sister.
“I eventually want to focus on employee development.”
Jenna nods. “I’m glad to hear you have a forward-thinking strategy.” She slides a glance at me. “Some people don't plan for the future.”
And it starts.
“Some people make enough money to see them through.” I keep my voice light even as I grip my coffee cup. It's an old argument, and I'm not in the mood. I'd rather drag Rebecca back into the bedroom, shut the door on Jenna's face, and give her a better reason to frown than the beaten-to-death topic of my approaching retirement.
“So what? You’re going to wait until you’re on the edge of retirement before you decide what's next?” She and my parents think the life of an indolent is criminal even if they are wealthy. It’s not like I want to do nothing. I just haven’t figured things out yet.
“Well, my millions of dollars will cushion the fall, so don't you worry. You can call me Scrooge McDuck as I wade through my ravine of money.”
Becs snickers but rushes to disguise it with a cough. She rounds the counter to drop her cup in the sink and slides an arm around my torso. “Logan’s thinking about his options,” she tells Jenna, then peers up at me. “Honey, weren’t you just saying last night that you were interested in the work ESPN is doing?”
I snort, recalling last night’s football lesson. I’d said, “ESPN needs to work on their shitty commentary.”
“Really?” Jenna’s gaze swings to me.
I arch an eyebrow at her and take another sip. “Rebecca said so, didn't she?” I’m not thrilled that Becs answered for me. But, as I consider her words, I’m actually surprised I didn’t think about a commentator position myself. Maybe this whole HR thing won’t be wasted on Rebecca after all.
“Hmmm…” My sister’s perusal makes me tug Rebecca tighter to my side like a damned security blanket.
Becs’s gaze darts back and forth between us. She clears her throat and attempts to change the subject. “Would you like some breakfast? I can make French toast
.”
Jenna’s eyebrows draw together. “Logan is lactose intolerant.”
Ah yes, dietary restrictions would be something a good girlfriend would know. Becs stutters, “Ah, I was thinking of using soy milk.”
Jenna tips her head to the side, her gaze narrowing further. My sister, the bloodhound. “Logan hates soy milk.”
“Becs meant to say almond,” I insert smoothly. I drop a kiss against her curls. “Babe, how about we just go out to brunch? I feel like an omelette from Lacroix.”
Instead of thanking me, Becs jabs an elbow into my side and darts a glance at Jenna. I guess I did promise her breakfast. With a deep sigh, I turn to my sister, “You wanna come?” Say no.
“You two go ahead. I have to call my contractor.”
Thank you, Jesus.
Chapter Ten
LOGAN
“You didn't need to do that, you know?”
“Do what?” Becs asks.
We stand at opposite sides of the elevator whooshing down to the lobby. I fix my eyes above the metal doors to observe the numbers descend with a single-minded intensity. “Make up all that stuff about my plans for the future.”
Am I annoyed with her or impressed? The thought gnaws at me, and I bring a hand up to rub the back of my neck.
A beat later, she sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to overstep,” she mumbles.
I dip my chin in acknowledgement. Her shoulders are hunched forward, her eyes on her feet. But then she slides me a glance from under her lashes, “But you’ll figure out what’s next for you on your own when the time comes. There was no reason for her to come down on you like that.”
“It allowed you to make a good impression. Very smooth,” I say.
Her head snaps up, her features, incredulous. “You think I was doing it on purpose?” she snarls.
I shrug. “It was a good play. Can’t blame you if you were.”
Becs crosses her arms and faces the doors. “Well, I wasn’t.”
“Okay.” I peer at her more closely, but she pretends I’m not there. Her heel taps against the carpeted floor.