Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (50 page)

A
lright
, even if I still think it's a fucking terrible idea that I've got Quinn Archer physically near me while we work together, I'll grant that having her on the team is the best move we could've made. I'd like to think I'm man enough to know what my strengths and weaknesses are, and I certainly know that one of those weaknesses is shit like this.
Negotiations,
and
board meetings, and trying to be diplomatic in them. Me? I'm terrible at that kind of thing;
zero
tact and absolutely zero patience for talking things out.

Yeah, I suppose there's a reason I spend my nights punching guys in the face.

But Quinn -
damn
, it's like she was born for this, and knowing her father, she kind of was. She's smooth and easy with the team, and she
gets shit done
. And it's not because she's bossy or cajoles people into doing what she needs them to do, which is basically my method, it's because she’s open and firm, and just honest with people.

Well, honest with people besides
me
.

Because I
know
I’m not the only one still thinking about this whole thing between her and I; not by a damn mile. And I
know
I'm not the only one getting all turned around when we're alone or even not-so-alone with each other. She can deny it all she wants to, but I'm definitely not so blind that I don't catch the linger in her looks when she thinks I'm not watching her.

‘Did you know who I was?’

That look in her eyes and those words of hers are fucking
haunting
me. She’s pissed, of course, but the worst part is, I’m not sure I can tell which part she’s actually more pissed about; that it happened, or that I didn’t recognize her.

Hell, I’m not sure
she
can tell which one she’s pissed about; probably both.

I mean hell, I hadn’t seen her in five Goddamn years! And it was
dark
, and I’d just had the shit kicked out of me, and- and-

And she was gorgeous, and sexy as fuck, and there was something so damn disarming about her fixing me, and helping me, and leaning into me and letting me smell the jasmine in her hair.

On the other side of that coin, it’s not like
she
knew who the fuck
I
was, which seems like some serious double-standard bullshit to me. Oh, a
beard
was my masterful disguise? I can’t look
that
different with or without facial hair from what I did five years ago. She on the other hand-

Well shit, if Quinn Archer was this hot five years ago, I’m fucking
blind
.

I scowl to myself, thinking about the night that started this whole cock-up, and the more I think about it, the more blame I’m putting on
her
for whatever consequences we’re dealing with now. I mean, hell, she’s a damn
Doctor
, and she
slept
with me? If “come on your patient’s tongue and then ride his cock like a race-horse” is part of the hippocratic oath, than I’ve been seeing the wrong fucking doctors my whole life.

“You might have a concussion; I can’t let you fall asleep.”

Right, and
I’m
the fuckin bad guy here. Give me a break.

“Ok, well that's a wrap, guys. We'll check back in tomorrow on the U.N. appropriations stuff.”

I blink away my own daydreams and realize I’ve been scowling for probably half of the meeting that’s now over. The rest of the team starts to pack away folders and laptops as they stand and slowly empty from the room, but I'm still sitting back in my chair, lost in thought and staring at Quinn when I hear Peyton's voice come up behind me.

“Hey, big guy, got a second to go over some numbers?”

I'm barely cognizant of whatever data Peyton has me going over with her, because as soon as I give her my attention, I can see Quinn glaring at us from the corner of my eye. I grin to myself, seeing
just
a sidelong glimpse of the fiery look I'm getting from her at the other end of the room. Part of me knows it's a cheap shot to let her think what I know she's thinking about Peyton, and I know I should probably get around to settling that little misconception sooner than later. But honestly, making Quinn Archer jealous and getting her riled up like this is just
way
too much fun; especially when I’ve just decided that the whole mess is actually
her
fault anyways.

Peyton finishes showing me her spreadsheets and heads out the door past a frosty looking Quinn. And as if I didn't need anymore confirmation of her being ticked off by the whole thing, Quinn very obviously turns her back to me cold-shoulder-style as soon as I get close to her.

Like I said,
way
too much fun.

“So, Quinn, I need you to be honest with me,” I say, as soon as we’re alone.

She swivels her chair towards me, eyeing me with a frosty expression on her face; “
What
.”

“Now, think about this, because it’s important, OK?” She nods, and just as her gaze actually starts to soften, I grin; “How many of those batteries I sent you did you blow through the other night?”

Her whole face goes this adorable shade of pink as she wrinkles her brow and rolls her eyes at me; “
Jesus
, Logan. Do idiot lines like that work on
Peyton
?”

She swivels her chair back around and goes to collect her things when I lean in close; “Jealous much?” I whisper in her ear, making her jump as she whirls around.

“What are you,
twelve
?” She sneers out, that pouty, so obviously jealous look on her face just making her look extra hot and fiery.

“I guess you just bring it out in me, Doc.” I grin.

“So, you flirting around Miss Delta Zeta
slut
over there has nothing to do with me being in the room and trying to get under my skin?”

I shrug; “Well that depends.”

“On?”

“Did it work?” I wink at her and she huffs and looks away.

“So is all this just because you're mad that I won’t sleep with you again?”

“Been there, done that.”

The slap actually
does
knock the smile right off my face, if only momentarily. But then I'm just grinning uncontrollably at the how
impressed
I am that she
actually
just smacked me.

“
Oh my God!
” Quinn's eyes go wide as her hands fly to her face; “Oh my God, I'm
so
sorry!”

“
Wow
!” I shake my head as I grin at her; “I
like
seeing this side of you, darlin!”

“Logan, I'm
so-
”

“Quinn, I know how to take a hit, you know.” I move in closer; close enough to smell the jasmine of her shampoo and the hint of something minty on her breath; “Besides, that's a nice hook you've got there,
Tyson
.”

She's wearing this sleeveless blouse, and I move my hands up to slide over the bare skin of her exposed arms. She shivers and then pulls away from me; “Gets your hands off me.”

“Really?”

I smirk as I let one of my hands trail up to her shoulder, and then across her collarbone to the open neckline of her shirt. I'm waiting for her to stop me - hell I'm almost waiting for another slap - but she just bites her lip and looks at me nervously; “You shouldn't be
touching me
like that, Logan,” She says quietly, not making a single move to push my hand away.

“You shouldn't be
letting me
touch you like this,
Doctor
.” I let my hand slide boldly down over the top of her breasts, sliding between them and feeling the heat of her skin and the thud of her pulse as I deftly pop the top button on her blouse open with my hand.

“Someone could-” Her cheeks flush bright pink, and she swallows heavily as I slide my hand down into the front of her blouse and under the lace of her bra. Her nipple is stiff and hard against my palm. I slowly tease it with my fingertips, and I can see her lips tremble as she loses her words.

Someone could
what
, Quinn?” I growl, moving against her; “Someone could see how turned on I'm making you?”

“You are
not
turning me on, Lo- Logan!”

She gasps as my other hand slides right up between her legs and slides against the front of her panties. She's wet there;
very
wet; “You're going to have to put up a better argument on that one, Doc.” She whimpers as I push her soaked panties to the side and slide my finger against her opening. I lean my lips close to her ear; “
Because I'm not buying it
.”

She bites her lip between her teeth, her brow furrowing as I slide my finger into her pussy. And there's something about the way she sucks on that bottom lip that has me rock hard in my pants, and I growl as I lean down, ready to suck that lip myself. Her eyes close, and she tilts her head up as if ready for the kiss I know we both want; ready to close the distance. And I want nothing more than to bruise those lips with my own, and taste her tongue across my own.

“Doctor Archer?” Quinn's eyes shoot open as one of the analyst's voices calls from somewhere down the hallway; “Doctor Archer, did you want to look over those genome resistance reports again?”

Her eyes go wide for a moment, and then she narrows them at me angrily. It’s as if she’s suddenly realizing what happening; as if I’ve just
tricked her
into this position somehow.

“Logan!” She hisses, shoving at my chest; “Get your fucking hands off of me, you meathead.”

Meathead?

“One second!” She calls out to the analyst,” All while pushing my arm away from her. I roll my eyes and slide my hand out of her panties as she fumbles to smooth down her skirt and button her blouse back up, all the while shooting me a dirty look; “I can't
believe
you just did that!”

“Oh,
what
, like that's
all
me, Quinn?” I scowl at her as I lean in close, my voice low; “Don't pretend you weren't just dripping wet to feel my fingers inside you.”

Her face goes crimson red; “Don't be disgusting.” Somehow, the flustered look on her face makes her look almost as sexy as she looked when my fingers were stroking her wetness.

Trisha, the analyst, pokes his head into the room; “Doctor Archer?”

“Trisha! Yes!” Quinn’s face is flushed and she quickly clears her throat as she smiles at her; “Let’s, uh, let’s take a look at those reports.”

She shoots me a look as they both move past me towards the conference table, but I can’t help but bring my hand up to palm her ass as she brushes past. Quinn whirls back to me, her look tense, but her eyes wild, and I just grin at her.

“Get the
door
, would you,
Logan
?”

Trisha’s back is turned as she flips through one of the binders on the table, and I look Quinn dead in the eye as I bring a finger up to my mouth - the very same finger that was up until recently buried in her slit, and grin before sucking it clean. It’s the predictability of her squeamish and wrinkled-nose reaction that’s so much fun, and I smirk and give my finger one last dramatic lick before I turn and leave her to work.

Yeah, good luck with that, sweet cheeks,
I grin to myself as I saunter down the hall back to my own office.

“
I
can’t just let
you out here, miss.” The cab driver wearing a leather vest and a porkpie hat is a
big
guy, but even he looks nervous as he glances at me through the rear-view mirror.

“Oh, it’s-”

What, ‘It’s scary as
shit
here? Here in whatever utter horror-show of a warehouse area of Brooklyn I’m crazy enough to have driven to in the middle of the night’? Cause, yeah, that’s actually exactly what it is. But I had to, and I have to be here.

“It’s fine, I’m meeting some friends.”

The cab driver mutters something and looks warily out the windows at the darkened, dilapidated warehouse that we
just
watched Logan’s car pull up to about five minutes before; “I got a daughter about your age, honey. Ain’t no way I’d let her hang out with any
friends
that hung around a fuckin place like this. ’Scuse the language.”

I push cash through the divider; “Good; don’t. I really am fine though”

Yeah, totally fine.

I definitely shouldn’t be here
, I think to myself as the cab roars away into the depths of the night, leaving me alone in the shadows. Except by the thudding sounds of music and cheering coming from the warehouse looming in the darkness, I know I’m not really alone.

I’m still undecided which one is a worst prospect.

Granted, this was a terrible idea, but I couldn’t
not
follow him tonight; not after I’ve spied on him ducking out of the building late at night and heard him stumbling home even later, usually nursing an ice-pack or bloody towel of some kind. So tonight, I was ready and waiting in the cab out front of our building when he slipped out and got behind the wheel of his Maybach. Tonight, I followed him here to the sketchiest, darkest block in the borough of Brooklyn. Whatever this is, I have to know and I have to
see it
, even if I’m not sure why.

* * *

A
s I creep
around the corner of some shipping containers, I can see two men standing out front of the warehouse door itself. Now, I may be
utterly
out of my element here, but I do know door security when I see it. I skirt around the shadows to the side of the building, and find myself creeping between a pile of old wooden crates trying to ignore the possibility of coming across rats or worse. I creep up to the dirty little window emanating light from inside.

The whole cab ride over, I wasn’t quite sure what I’d find tonight. I mean sure, I had some suspicions about the
nature
of what Logan was up to, but nothing - absolutely
nothing
- prepares me for what I see when I finally claw my face up to the edge of the window and peer through.

The scene is medieval.

Logan is stripped the waist, his tattooed muscles glistening with sweat under the crappy overhead lights as he slowly circles around the man facing him. The other guy is shirtless as well, and both of them eye each other with grim looks with their fists raised up. They’re surrounded by a jeering crowd, all shouting and waving money and fists as the two men in the ring dance around each other.

The guy across from him swings wildly at Logan, who ducks the fist and crashed his own into the guy’s ribs. Logan steps back for a second but his opponent rallies and sends an elbow crashing into his gut, doubling him over. I’m cupping my mouth with both my hands to keep from screaming as the guy starts to rain blows down onto Logan, even though he’s on his knees in the ring.

This is where he goes; this is what he does
.
This
is why I found him that night bleeding and broken in my elevator.

I almost can’t watch this happen, and I’m just about to turn away when Logan suddenly springs to his feet. The whole vibe of the place changes in a heartbeat as Logan slams the guy over onto his back and just starts to wail on him. He looks ferocious and animalistic and just so
raw
in the way he lays into his opponent; that is, except for his face. Because his face is blank and neutral, as if he’s just going through a motion has has to do.

The fight is over thirty seconds after that when the other guy goes limp on the ground beneath him. The crowd of men around them go wild as the bell sounds, and there’s a furious exchange of screaming and yelling and fists full of cash as some sort of referee raises Logan’s arm and two other men drag his unconscious opponent from the ring.

A man wearing a bomber jacket with black hair and an olive complexion pushes his way through he crowd and approaches Logan. He’s grinning, but there’s something dark and something sinister in that smile. Logan glares at him as the man claps him on the back and mimes a few shadow-boxing punches. He’s chuckling as Logan just stands there glowering at him, his chest heaving and his skin shining with perspiration.

The man says something and pokes him hard in the chest, and suddenly Logan just spits at the guy’s feet. There’s a sudden stillness between the two men, and I’m not sure what I’m expecting to happen next. But the man only laughs as he points a finger at Logan, prodding his chest again as he winks at him, before he turns and walks calmly away. I watch as Logan shakes his head and spits on the ground again before he walks out from my my viewpoint.

* * *

“
J
esus fucking Christ
;
Quinn
?!” Logan hisses at me as he steps out of the side-door to the warehouse. I’m leaning against the side of his car, glaring at him; “What the
fuck
are you doing here?!”

I take a step towards him as he rakes a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, still shirtless in the dim glow of the streetlight; “What the fuck am
I
doing here?” I’m shaking my head and staring at him “Are you fucking
crazy,
Logan? Do you have some sort death wish?!”

“Lower your
voice
, Quinn,” He growls, his eyes darting to the side door. He grabs my arm; “Look, just get in the car-”

“No! What the
hell
was that back th-”

“
Get in
the
fucking car
, Quinn, before someone sees you.”

I shoot him a last glaring look before I step into the car, jumping as he slams the door after me.

* * *

“
T
hat’s
what you’ve been doing!?” I hiss at him, staring at him like he’s completely insane as we roar back towards Manhattan; “I mean, you
said
you were
boxing
for fuck’s sake, but
Jesus
;” I shake my head at him, suddenly scared about what I’ve just witnessed; “I mean there aren’t even any
gloves
.”

The wind buffets against his face and through his hair, and he grins and shrugs before he turns and spits blood out through the open car window; “Yeah, well, that
is
why they call it
bareknuckle
.”

I stare at him; “It’s barbaric.”

He shrugs again, looking both completely insane and absurdly attractive in this dirty, hot way as he sits there shirtless in the car; his muscles and tattoos still gleaming with his sweat; “Not gonna fight you on that, darlin.”

OK, I know he’s this big macho ex-Marine or whatever, with all hardcore tough-as-nails crap that comes with that. But this is
completely
insane; he
must
know that.

“This is totally nuts, you know that, right?” I reach out with a tissue from my pocket and dab at the blood on the side of his face; “You could die in there, Logan.” I say it quietly, keeping my eyes locked on his.

“Is that your medical opinion, Doctor Arch-”

“Yes.”

His eyes narrow at my cutting him off, but he nods slowly as the streetlights streak across the windshield; “Well, not today.” And there’s that grin again; that armor coming right back up and shutting me out.

“I saw you arguing with that guy, afterwards.”

Logan’s face tenses, but his lips stay closed.

“You could've knocked him out, but you didn’t.”

“My
my
, Doc, resorting to violence? Isn’t that against your oaths or something?”

“Stop being cute; why didn’t you hit him?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“What, is he
paying you
or something?”

Logan barks out a laugh; “I’m a majority shareholder in a multi-billion dollar corporation, Quinn. I’m not exactly hurting in the finance department.”

“OK, so why the hell would-” I stop, the answer suddenly as clear as day in front of me. Why would a man like Logan do
anything
anyone
says, especially someone he clearly hates like the guy from the fight?

“You’re doing this because they’re
making you
, aren’t you?” Logan doesn’t say a word, and I push on; “They aren’t
paying
you, so what, are they
blackmailing
you or something?” Instantly, I know I’ve hit a nerve as I see his face harden again as he stares out at the road in front of us; “I’m right, aren’t I.”

“Sort of. No.” He sighs as he runs a hands through his hair; “It’s complicated.”

“I’m listening.”

“Not to this.”

“Try me.”

Logan looks at me with a curious smirk on his face; “Let’s get a drink.”

Yep; there he goes shutting me out again; “Fine” I say defeatedly, turning to look out my own window and shake my head.

Logan turns a quick corner, and he suddenly pulls up at once of the nicest, most exclusive boutique hotels in the city.

“Do you like scotch?”

I blink at the posh, ultra-cosmopolitan bar on the ground floor of the hotel and turn to stare at him; “Are you serious? No offense, but have you
seen
how you look right now?” He looks like, well, he looks
hot
, but he also looks like he just went three rounds in a bareknuckle boxing match.

‘Cause, you know, he did.

He’s also still not wearing a damn shirt, and
I’m
hardly more appropriately dressed for this kind of place, wearing cut-off denim shorts and a t-shirt. Logan just shrugs though; “Simple question, Archer. Scotch: yay or nay?”

I sigh; “Fine, yay. Very yay.”

“Great.” His grin widens, and he nods towards the glove compartment; “Pop that and grab it, and let’s go.”

Inside is a bottle of scotch that probably cost the same as at
least
a month or two of my rent. I’m opening my mouth to ask what the heck we’re doing, but he’s already hopping out of the car and tossing tossing keys to a valet as he yanks a t-shirt on.

“
Fine
”, I mutter as I snatch the bottle and step out; “Bringing your own booze to a bar? Little low-brow for a guy like you isn’t that Logan?”

He grins and takes my arm as he steers us through the front doors of the hotel, past the lobby, and past the bar; “We aren't going to the
bar
, we’re going upstairs.”

I balk at him “Uh,
excuse
me?”

He rolls his eyes; “Quinn, get over yourself. We’re going
all the way
upstairs.” He nods to the front desk guy who seems to know him, and Logan palms the guy a fat wad of bills before steering me towards the elevators.