by Ivy Hunt
Every word deepens the crease between her brows. I swallow, then choke out, “He didn’t have anything to be sorry about when he kissed that woman. He didn’t owe me anything.” I look away, biting my lip to banish the memory. “He wasn’t cheating on me. He would never do that if we were really together. He’s not like that,” I end, my head bowed.
“I see.”
I slowly raise my head. Jenna’s eyes are flat. The disappointment on her face isn’t unfamiliar, but it’s never been directed at me before. I want to crawl under a rock and hide. No wonder Logan wanted to impress her.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, blinking at light speed. Mascara streaking down my face is the last thing I need right now.
“Maybe we both need some time to think about this, Ms. Gerone.” Jenna’s implacable mask has descended.
“I agree. Of course,” I croak. I don’t wait for her to tell me to leave, just grab my tote. Thank God I didn’t unpack any personal effects.
I check the time on my phone on my way out. Under ninety minutes at McCann. This very well may be the shortest job tenure in history.
Chapter Twenty-Two
LOGAN
It's been three days since the scene at the club. The sun was out when I finally dragged myself home from the bar. Jenna was waiting at the kitchen counter for me. She glared but said nothing. That same afternoon, she packed all her things and moved back to her place—a day early. Paint fumes were preferred over another minute in my company. I don't blame her.
The guys weren’t as picky. They ignored my protests, and parked themselves on my couch in silent solidarity the rest of the weekend. Connor came with tequila. Jake brought Tinder.
Somehow, I managed to haul myself to practice this morning. It wasn’t my best showing, but it was hard to care. I was glad to drag my sorry ass home after.
I’m in my boxers in front of the TV when the buzzer sounds. I don't remember ordering anything, but food might be welcome. I can’t remember the last time I ate.
The door to the penthouse crashes into the adjacent wall so hard I swear the windows wobble. Jenna marches in, a scowl stretched across her face. She stops before me and slaps her hands on her hips. "I can't believe you!"
I blink. "Huh?"
Said paint fumes must have been more toxic than I thought because this is a Jenna I've never seen. She's Bellatrix Lestrange in a pantsuit.
I wait as she takes a breath and slowly lets it out with a hiss. She'd make a great snake. I should suggest it for Halloween.
"I saw Rebecca this morning. It was her first day.” Jenna is thin-lipped.
My ears prick up. I want to ask how Becs is doing. What she is doing. Did she ask about me? Does she miss me at all?
My teeth clench. No, asshole. She doesn’t. She got her job. She has everything she needs. Chapter closed. Moving on.
The grooves at the corners of Jenna’s mouth deepen. “I’ve never before had somebody leave the day they started work.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I’m halfway out of my seat.
“Rebecca told me everything. That the two of you faked your relationship.”
It takes a moment for her words to seep through my skull.
My mouth opens and shuts. I’m shocked at Rebecca, and I also don’t want to see the expression on my sister’s face, but I force myself to face her. The disappointment there is familiar. The self-derision, not so much.
Jenna plops into the armchair across from mine, leans back, and shuts her eyes on a groan. The white borders of her French manicure are stark against the dark couch.
“But…why?” My mouth is tense, I’m trying to keep from losing my shit even though I’m pissed with Jenna. And Rebecca.
“She couldn’t stand the way I was speaking about her fake boyfriend.” She sits up, huffs, and continues, “And apparently, she only just realized honesty and integrity were job requirements.”
“You can’t fire her.”
“I need someone with ethics,” Jenna bites out.
“She’s got ethics in spades!” I roar.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Jenna sighs. “She said you went along with it because of me.”
I keep my mouth shut.
“Have I really been so awful?” Her shoulders slump. “I’ve only ever tried to encourage you to do more.”
“You push me where I don’t always want to go,” I grit the words. “Jen, you are the ultimate professional, got your whole life together. I bet you’ve even selected the nursing home you want to end up in.” Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a casket picked out.
She takes in a sharp breath and swallows, eyes down.
I continue, “Me? You’re right. I’m a fuckup, I don’t have much of a plan. I fell into football by accident—”
“No, you didn’t! You practiced all the time!” Her head snaps up.
I go on as if she hadn’t interrupted. “And yes, I’m only one game away from hurting myself, or as you so colorfully put it, turning into a vegetable. I'm aware of the risks.” My neck muscles constrict, but I forge on. “But I love football. I know—know—I won't have it forever.”
My eyes shut, and I rub my temple. “Fuck, I know the end’s in sight. And I’m only now starting to figure out what I want to do next. Becs helped me with that. She was great! Isn’t that whole career management a thing that HR people do?”
“Well, she risked her job for you. What are you going to do about it if you are so miserable?” Jenna folds her arms across her chest and raises an eyebrow.
She’s right. Regret slices through me. It’s almost impossible to breathe. I need to get to Rebecca. I rush for the door but stop with my hand on the knob. I look back over my shoulder.
“Jen.” I clear my throat. “I'm sorry.”
She takes a deep breath, and a wry smile settles on her lips. “Me too, Logan. Me too.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
BECS
It’s the pounding that rouses me.
I jackknife up from my prone position on the couch. I face-planted on it after stumbling home and have been meditating on my failure as a human being ever since. How many people get fired the same morning they start their careers?
Lost the job. Lost the guy.
Nope. Rewind. Guy was never mine to begin with. Time to stop making shit up. It was a one-night stand that turned into a one-week stand. And now it’s over. Finito.
The thumping repeats. “Becs, open up. I know you’re in there!”
Logan?
I jerk to my feet and almost stumble on the crumpled dress on the ground in my rush to the door. But my trembling fingers stall on the lock. I swallow. “What do you want?”
“Let me in.”
“Why? We’re done, remember?” I squeeze my lids shut and lean my forehead against the wood. I want him to leave, right?
“I spoke to Jenna,” his voice seeps through.
That’s what does it. I yank the door open. Logan looms before me in all his bloodshot-eyed glory, drenched as if he’s climbed up a waterfall and lost his razor along the way.
My hand itches to run over the scratchy stubble, but I clench my fingers tight before they can go roving.
“She said you told her everything. Why? Why would you do that?” The bewildered look on his face guts me. I don’t know why I care. I shouldn’t.
“She just kept going on about you. After you took that girl home…” The memory of that night is a raw wound that refuses to scab over. I spin and take a step back into the sanctuary of my apartment.
Logan captures my hand before I can take another. “Rebecca.”
I tug, but he doesn’t release me. “I didn’t take her anywhere. I got rid of her the moment we left. After that, I went to the bar across the street, got shitfaced, and passed out.”
That has me whirling back so fast, I’m momentarily dizzy. “You didn’t sleep with her?”
“No.”
“You were free to.” Hot
tears burn behind my lids.
“Yes. But I didn’t.” Logan’s grip is urgent, the deep blue of his eyes plead for me to believe him.
“Then why did you do it?” I can’t hide the break in my voice. It makes me angry. At him. At myself. “The whole point was to show Jenna you weren’t a player!” I suck in a lungful of air. “Why did you waste what we did?”
My words echo between us. Logan swallows hard, the thick tendons of his throat visibly twitching.
The silence is interrupted only when I sniffle. Stupid, stupid girl.
He groans as if the sound hurts him, and reaches for me with his other hand. I flinch. He winces at my reaction. But still, he cups my cheek and tips my face up to meet his gaze.
“Rebecca. Honey. I couldn’t stand to pretend anymore. And pretend was all you wanted. I just couldn’t, couldn’t plan,” his spits out, “our breakup, Jenna or no Jenna. And being with you? That wasn’t a waste. Not at all.”
It takes me a second to absorb his words. “It wasn’t?” I ask. Hope is as useful as a leaky lifebuoy.
“No!” He steels his shoulders and draws in a heavy breath. “I’m crazy about you.”
I blink. “You are?” My heart is hammering. I don’t think I heard him right.
“I am.” His smile is almost shy, but his gaze is resolute.
“But…I thought…” Words stall in my lungs. I’ve lost the ability to function.
Logan’s face dims when I don’t respond, but he continues anyway, “You wanted out as soon as you got the job. You immediately started planning how we would split up.” His fingers rake through his hair. “Hell, you even said there was no need to see each other once Jenna moved out.” The muscles in his jaw tighten.
“Only because you told Jenna to hurry and make up her mind about me. I heard you!”
“You did?” His brow knits, then a touch of censure crosses his expression. “Becs, honey, the only reason I said that was because I saw how anxious it was making you. I was pissed with Jenna for dragging her ass and stressing you out.”
His thumb sweeps back and forth along my jaw, and I have to choke back a sob. “I thought you were done with me. That you were tired of being stuck, especially when I didn’t find out for days after I expected to. And you’ve got hundreds of girls coming on to you. You could have any of them you want.” The urge to look away is powerful, but Logan’s gaze keeps mine pinned to his.
“Maybe I can get any woman I want. But I only need one. You. I know it’s fast, but Becs…I’m falling for you.”
Everything stops. I struggle to snatch ahold of his words, make sense of them. But shreds of comprehension are slow to piece together.
“But maybe I’m the only one that feels that way,” he mumbles. He drops his hands and steps back.
That speeds up the assembly process in my brain. Oh no, you’re not getting away after dropping that bomb.
“Wait.” I grab his wrist and search his face. I see nothing there but sincerity.
“You believe me?” he asks urgently.
I don’t know. Terror and longing twist through me. I’m petrified that he is playing with me, but the intensity of his gaze wars with that logical side of my brain, urging me to trust him.
Insecurity and doubt knot my insides. Can I risk hacking through that forest of uncertainty and subterfuge and doubt?
Maybe he sees the worry in my eyes because he draws me close. A prickling heat behind my lids makes me hide my face against him. He wraps his arms around me, a protective cocoon.
“But you can have anyone, anything,” I whisper into his chest.
A heavy exhale brushes my hair. “Who cares about anything if I can have everything. Because that’s what you are to me. And everything that I am? The fuckup and the player and the impetuous idiot? It’s all yours. Every single part of me.” A hint of vulnerability steals into his voice, “If you want it, that is.”
My breath catches.
I take a small step back, making only enough space to look up into his eyes. And there it is. Everything, just like he said. The vines of tension loosen their grip.
It’s time to be honest here. With him. With myself. I gather up every ounce of courage within me. “I want it. I want you. I have from the beginning, but couldn’t believe you might want me back. For real. For more.”
His eyes blaze, his features are fierce. “For good, Becs. I want you for good.”
He pulls me in for a hard kiss, and I moan. It’s only been three days, but it feels like forever.
“Christ. I needed that!” he gasps.
“I need more.” We tango backward into the living room, his mouth on mine the entire time. Hard, hot kisses that have us toppling onto the couch. My clothes vanish. A moment later, his pants are off.
“Fuck. Condom.”
“Clean. Pill.” I say, pulling him in for another kiss.
“Same. Bare?”
I complete our shorthand by wrapping my legs around him, locking him against me. The thick head of his cock seeks my center, and then he’s pushing into me with a groan, as if he is dying. I moan when he slows, stops.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” His cock pulses inside of me, while his heart thuds against my breast. He leans on his hands and eyes meet mine, the intensity in his gaze is a promise. I rake my fingers through his hair and drag him down. My lips find his, and I’m kissing him desperately. Whatever is holding him back snaps. He draws back and then thrusts inside me so hard, my toes tingle. He pushes in again and again, as if he can’t get enough. Each rock of his pelvis against my clit makes me gasp. The sound meshes with the slapping of his balls against my ass and the creaking couch springs. His mouth moves to my jaw, down my neck, and his hands slide down the curve of my thighs, pushing my knees even wider to receive him. I grab his hips, tethering him to me.
I explode, and the bombs going off behind my eyelids are better than any number of shots. He drives in once more and roars my name.
We’re panting and slippery with sweat. Logan brushes a damp lock out of my face.
“I love you.”
He said it. He actually said those three words. You know how people say if you pinch yourself, it doesn’t hurt? They lied. But who cares?
I bring a shaking hand to the nape of his neck. “I love you, too.”
We lie there, he plays with my hair, then he faces me and props himself up on one elbow. A frown comes over his face. “Your job…?”
I grimace. Oh, yeah. That.
“I’ll talk to Jenna—” Logan says, but I bring a finger to his lips. The last thing I want is more interference.
“No, don’t. She’ll do what’s right, as will I.” I snort. “I should have done the right thing from the start. Shouldn’t have faked anything.”
“I’m done with faking,” Logan vows.
“No more faking,” I agree and pull him back down into my arms.
Epilogue
Six Months Later
LOGAN
It's been six months since Rebecca decided to leave McCann. Jenna immediately set Becs up with a meeting at another company, after warning her not to pull any more shenanigans. Becs promised and went on to ace the interviews all the way to a career development position at a boutique advertising firm. She even negotiated more money.
Right on cue, Rebecca breezes through the door of the apartment.
“Hi, boyfriend.” She comes over and gives me a peck on the cheek. I catch her by the hips. A little smooch like that just won’t do. I go in for more, and she moans. When I draw back, hair has gotten into her eyes and I stroke it back behind her ear.
“Hi, girlfriend.” I can’t help but grin.
She gives me a slow, sweet smile back as if she still can’t believe we are together. She drags her hands down my sides proprietarily, and hooks her thumbs through my belt hoops. I obey her unspoken demand and kiss her again.
“Good day?” I ask.
“Uh-huh.” Her eyes bright, impish. “Better still because I get to come hom
e to you.”
Rebecca moved in a couple of months after we turned our fake relationship into a real one.
“What about you?” She tilts her head to the side.
“Good.” I bend to nuzzle her neck and breathe in the familiar scent of her perfume before straightening. “But you could make it better.” I accompany my suggestion with a wink.
Her laugh makes my heart clench. I hoist her onto the counter, and snake my hands under her pencil skirt, run them up her thighs.
The football season wrapped up a couple of months ago, and the team is now readying for the next one. It will be my last, but I’m already in talks with ESPN for a sports commentator job. My relationship with Jenna has grown too, we’ve been spending more time together and haven’t maimed or murdered each other yet. She approves of my post-football plan—not that I need her to—and gives Becs all the credit.
My sister is also aware of the ring box stashed in my gym bag. It’s quick, but I don’t care. I’m popping the question as soon as Becs gives me a sign that she’s ready. We didn’t start off as a conventional couple, why look to the playbook now?
Thanks for reading
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About the Author
Ivy Hunt is a passionate New Yorker who left her Happy For Now job in tech to pursue her Happily Ever After as a writer. When she’s not writing or reading, she’s gallivanting the world—she’s been to all seven continents.
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