The Revenge Games Duet

“Jesus, can’t take you anywhere.”

I hear his voice but can’t see him. When I turn around, he’s standing right behind me.

“Oh… there you are Mr. Hussy,” I tease, placing my hands on his chest for support. “Let me guess... you’ve screwed a Playboy Bunny already. Wait... maybe two.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m right, right?”

“I don’t like blondes or fake tits.”

“That’s not what your mom said.”

“What?” he asks in confusion.

“I don’t know,” I mutter. “I had nothing to come back with.”

“That’s not exactly a mom joke,” he chastises. “Stop drinking, okay? It’s like you’re nervous or something. In the limo you were all weird.”

“No, you were all weird!”

“Wait.” He pauses with a smile. “Another non-comeback?”

“Logan,” I say in a soft voice, suddenly tired. “I just need an escape from reality. Three shots and I’m almost there.”

He moves his head left then right, scanning the area then dragging me to a quieter section away from the bathroom. I notice his eyes appear slightly red like he’s tired or maybe it’s from the shots the Playboy Bunnies made him drink. “Are you drunk?”

“I had a few. Not as much as you, though. I thought you told Ash you were laying off the drink because the tabloids said you had a drinking problem?”

“Geez.” I lean on the wall, rolling my eyes at him. “Does Ash tell you everything? Don’t you have something better to talk about than me? What else does he tell you?”

“I don’t know.” He keeps his expression blank. “Are you hiding something?”

“Nope.” I hold his gaze. “I’ve pretty much told you everything. Wesley screwed some hookers, we’re pretending to be engaged for the sake of the show, and when I was eleven, I was the one that accidentally threw your ball over the school fence which got eaten by that psycho dog.”

Logan stares back in astonishment. “That ball was signed by a soccer legend, and you threw it over the fence?”

I lean in, playing with the lapel of his shirt, and sweetening my tone. “Accidentally.”

“How do you accidentally throw it over?”

With a pleasing smile, I alter my story to ease his pain. “My arm kinda slipped… over instead of under.”

“You owe me,” he threatens.

“Yeah, add it to the list, buddy.”

“Buddy?” He raises his brow with a smirk. “I thought we had a deal.”

Lowering my head to hide my grin, I cross my legs to ignore the delicious throb that began the moment he pulled me aside. Our petty arguments rile me up and now result in this—me wanting his tongue to run along the inside of my thigh.

You did not just say that out loud.

Shit!

No, wait... his face remains the same.

Stupid champagne.