Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
"I…" I shake my head.
"Didn't think so. You just kept quiet and let them lob all that bullshit at you because they were too goddamn cowardly to lob it at the person who deserved it."
"What else was I supposed to do?" I whisper. "I was just a kid, Logan. I didn't even really understand what was happening until my mom died. And then they tossed me into a group home. I think that's the first time I really understood just how fucked up the whole situation was. The kids there…" I swallow. "What happened to my mom was all over the news. They made my life hell because I had this rich father who didn't want me."
"Jesus," Logan grunts, pulling me closer.
"I got myself kicked out of there pretty quickly. But the second home wasn't any better than the first. So they sent me to a family. I guess once the family realized my father wasn't going to change his mind and swoop in with a big check, they didn't have any use for me anymore either, so it was on to the next." I rest my head against his chest, sighing. "I got good at getting myself booted out of places before they decided they didn't want me. It was easier that way. As soon as I turned eighteen, I took my little stipend and my scholarship and raced off to college."
"It's time to stop running, angel," he murmurs, stroking his hand down my back. "And it's time to let yourself believe that there is a place for you. There are people for you. It's right fucking here. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I don't give a flying fuck what they say. None of it fucking matters. This matters." He cups the back of my head, tilting it until I'm forced to look up at him. "We matter, Peyton."
"I…" I lick my lips and then nod.
"You going to tell them to fuck off and go harass the prick who actually cheated next time they bother you?" he asks, arching a brow at me.
"Maybe."
He grins. "Wanna get married and give them something else to talk about instead?"
I gape at him, my eyes wide. "What? No. We can't get married!"
He laughs quietly, pulling me back up against him. "Next time I ask, you'll say yes, baby. Just wait."
I groan, pressing my face to his throat. "I'm too something to deal with this right now, Logan."
"Too something, huh?" His hand slides down my back to my ass. "I'll show you exactly what you are, angel."
Chapter Eleven
Logan
"Why the fuck is Joaquin telling everyone that you decked a photographer last night?" Jordan asks, dropping onto the bench beside me.
I glance over at him, shrugging silently.
"Jesus Christ, Logan." He grabs my hand, examining my knuckles. "You did hit a photographer last night, didn't you?"
"Maybe." I absolutely hit a photographer last night. The same prick who took those photos of Peyton and made her cry showed up at the bar as Joaquin and I were getting ready to leave. He shoved his fucking camera in my face, asking if I knew Peyton was fucking Austin Hawkes.
I warned him to back off. He wouldn't listen. He just kept encroaching, shoving that damn camera in my face, bumping into me. So I decked him.
Next time, he'll listen.
Oh, he'll probably try to sue me for assault. Whatever. The police came out and took his statement. They took mine too. He was trespassing. He was in my personal space harassing me. And he wouldn't back the fuck off. Everyone agreed that he pushed me first, so I didn't go to jail.
"Coach is going to murder you when he finds out."
"Who said he's going to find out?" I pull my hand away.
"Motherfucker, you took Joaquin with you." Jordan glowers at me. "The whole goddamn arena is going to know before the end of the day. Believe me, Coach is going to find out. And he's already pissed at you because your ugly mug is all over the news right now."
"He knew what he was getting when he signed me," I mutter. "He signed me anyway. Besides, I didn't take Joaquin anywhere. The fucking cameraman showed up when we were leaving the bar."
Jordan laughs abruptly, shaking his head. "I'm guessing he was the prick who took photos of your girl the other day?"
I scowl at him.
"Thought so."
"Does she know?"
"Hell no." She went back to her place after the game last night to hang out with her roommate. And I haven't seen her yet this morning. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to tell her when I do see her.
I don't regret hitting the motherfucker. He had it coming for making her cry. She isn't a cheater. She damn sure isn't like her father. And I'll be damned if I stand around and let anyone say she is.