Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1) (29 page)

“Like I said it doesn’t matter.” Tearing my eyes away from him, I give my full attention to the plate in front of me while my appetite shrinks up and blows away.

“It matters to me.” Logan dips his chin and his shoulders relax. He shakes his head as he pulls his gaze up, tormented sea blue-green eyes meeting mine. “I didn’t realize…”

“It doesn’t matter to me because I know the truth, Logan. I know the kind of man you are and you’ve never given me any reason to assume you’d accept that kind of behavior from me. Let Inman think what he wants.” I shrug it off knowing that there are enough Inmans out there for my article to get tanked before it even publishes. It’s in that moment my heart sinks at the thought that I’ll never be able to go back to the ranch.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to stay with me.” Logan’s voice is timid, reserved and reticent. But when his eyes finally meet mine, I feel a shift that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention and my stomach to dip in nervous anticipation. “But I’m not sorry I did.”

My stomach rises to my throat and sends my heart spiraling right into his waiting arms. The words slip out of my mouth before my brain can blow the whistle to stop the clock, “I’m not either.”

A comfortable silence descends over us while we consume our dinners, or well, while Logan feeds the endless pit that is his stomach. I push the delicious nachos around my plate until they’re a pile of multicolored mush.

“Care to share your thoughts?” Logan finally asks as he pushes his empty plate away from him. He reaches for another chip and the bowl of quac without taking his eyes off me.

“Why do you play for Inman? I mean, I get why San Antonio, but why play for a such a…”

“Sleazeball?” I smile at the ease in which the insult rolls off his tongue. I may have been thinking it, but I wouldn’t have said it out loud.

“From what I gathered all this time, you put your faith and standards first. It seems to me that Inman is the epitome of everything you stand against.”

Logan leans back into the seat and thinks a moment before taking the time to answer. “I don’t think I really understood him at first. I mean, when you’re a first round draft pick, and they’re the team you’ve wanted to play for all your life, you just accept the check and be thankful that you’re going to play for the team you want to the most, ya know. And honestly, those first few months, I didn’t really have much to do with him. Carrey was the new head coach even to the league, so his time and attention was spent on making sure Carrey knew his place and how to handle the demands of being a coach in the NPFL.” Obviously distracted by my artwork, he leans across the table and pulls the plate away from me. He smirks, knowing something must really be eating at me if I didn’t devour a plate full of cheese smothered chips. “Did he really bother you that much?”

“No, that honestly doesn’t bother me.” Somehow, our fingers have ended up tangled up in each other and the feeling is oddly comforting. But I can’t be comforted by Logan’s touch, so I untangle them and pull my own to my lap. “I just…have a few other things on my mind.”

Logan smiles a tight smile and leans forward so that our heads are just a few inches from each other. “I know what you mean. I’ve been a little distracted lately.”

Like a gallon of Gatorade over the head, reality settles heavily and stickily over me.

“Logan…can we just…not do this? Please.”

The poor waitress approaches our table, clueless to the tension between us until it’s too late. Glancing between us with a panicked look plastered across her face, she slowly slides a ticket onto the table and backs away slowly and quietly, as if she’s afraid one of us will jump her if she moves too quickly.

I reach for the check, but Logan’s quick reflexes snatch the little black folder from the table before I can blink.

“Let me—”

Before I can finish my demand to let me pay for my own dinner, he has his card pulled out of his wallet and in the folder. From hooded eyes, he glances at me and I can’t talk. I can’t move. His wants are plastered all over his face, but despite the part of me that wants to give in and fall into his arms, my brain is screaming at me to run.

“I need to go.” Logan grabs for my hand just as I stand and try to find someplace with air that doesn’t smell like him.

“Don’t go.” The almost inaudible words race across the skin of my cheek. He’s so close that all I’d need to do is turn my head and I’d find out what those lips would feel like on mine. I can’t breathe and I can’t think. “Please. Don’t go.”

But that’s exactly what I want to do. What I need to do. Because if I don’t walk away right now, it will only be a matter of time and a thorough search of the Santa Cruz juvenile records for him to walk away from me.

“I…
we
can’t do this, Logan.” The tips of his fingers press into my wrist before his hand slides down and his fingers lace mine again. He pulls just enough for me to feel his intentions, but I can’t turn into him. I’ll lose myself and my head and everything else I’ve work so hard to overcome.

“Yes, we can, Allie.” The determination in his voice nearly shatters me and I can’t take another second of this. Looking down to our entwined hands, I loosen my grip enough so he lets me go. I feel his breath on my cheek and my thoughts for what he chooses to do next are so contradictory I feel like I might lose my mind.

“You know we can’t. I’m so sorry, Logan.”

A flutter on my cheek tells me he went for it, and although I’m dying on the inside, I can’t help but smile as I walk away.

***

Morning takes forever to come. I had turned my phone off the second I got in the cab, knowing that if I didn’t, we’d end up on the phone and one of us would end up somewhere we’d regret later. And because trying to watch TV through tears is just annoying, I’m left with nothing but the roar of traffic on the interstate just outside my window and the occasional night owl wandering in from whatever great adventure they found in the city nightlife to dull the constant thoughts that keep stomping through my head like a herd of elephants. When sleep doesn’t find me by one a.m., I throw on running clothes and go in search of the gym. When my key card doesn’t let me in, I manage to sweet talk the manager on duty to let me in for a private workout. I don’t even let him turn the TVs on for me, I just turn on the treadmill and try to run myself tired. Even after an hour of straight running and sweating so hard that I feel like I’ve been dancing in a monsoon, I still feel the ache deep inside but my eyes do start to want to stay closed more so than they want to stay open. I shower quickly before face planting into my bed and becoming oblivious to the world around me.

Except my world turns into the ranch and a fairytale dream plays out of all the things I could possibly want. My heart nearly crumbles when the wake up call comes a few short hours later, shattering images of me curled up next to Logan while we watch the sunset from the cozy cove of his patio.

When I shuffle into the bathroom to make myself presentable, dark, baggy eyes haunt me in the mirror, reminding me that not only am I going to watch the man I’m undoubtedly falling for play the game I love today, it will not be enjoyable in the least. I take more time than normal to get my make up to look like I didn’t pull an all-nighter and so by the time I turn my phone back on, I’m shuffling into the nearest coffee shop for some much needed caffeine.

It isn’t until I see the notifications that I realize almost every eye in the shop is turned to me. Pulling up Instagram, I zoom in on the picture, feeling my stomach drop to the floor. Taken at the most perfect moment—just after the barely there kiss to my cheek—the implications are pretty clear.

Looks like @LLassiterSAR86 is doing everything he can to make up to @AllieFB24 #somethingintheairtonight #iknewit #bettertogether

Chapter Twenty-Six

The rush of blood to my ears makes me dizzy and my esophagus starts to feel like it’s closing in on itself. Ever since the dance, I knew. I knew the chances of something like this could very well happen. Remembering how Logan would blatantly reach for my hand at the cattle auction, I’m seriously lucky that this hasn’t happened before now.

The sound of a blender and the sharp scent of coffee pulls me out of my stupor and my brain finally clicks back on. Dialing Mac’s number, I abandon any efforts for coffee and exit the coffee shop before anyone can start asking questions I’m not prepared to answer.

“Allison Mooreland.” Mac’s angry declaration of my full name makes me wince. “There had better be a damn good reason you haven’t answered your phone. And it better not include having anything to do with Logan Lassiter.”

“Mac, it wasn’t what it looked like.”

His sardonic laugh makes me feel like a little kid all over again. “Well, that’s great news. Because it looks like you and Logan are engaging in a romantic relationship that could ruin your career.”

“I’m not engaging in anything that isn’t strictly professional.”

“Allie.” Mac’s sigh makes me want to cry. We both know that I may not be engaging, but I’m in over my head. “You aren’t still staying at his place are you?”

“Well, up until about an hour ago, I was checked into The Lebanage Hotel.”

“Alone?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me this.”

“I can’t believe I even have to ask. This looks bad, Allie. So you’re heading back to Walker today then?”

“After practice.”

“Did you guys drive in together?”

“No. He came into the city early, but I stayed back to get some writing done.”

“Good. Where are you staying when you get back?”

Good question. The last I knew the inn wasn’t ready for accepting guests yet. “I may be staying here.”

“I need you to figure that out and get right back to me. I also need you to steer clear of Logan in public places. I’ll get with his PR rep and—”

“He doesn’t have one yet. But his sister, Emma—”

“Allie.” Another sigh, and I can imagine Mac pulling at the sandy brown hair that is most likely overdue for a cut.

“I’ll get with Emma and make sure a formal statement is made. Give me about fifteen minutes to come up with something and I’ll post something on my blog too.”

“Allie. I don’t need to explain to you what the ramifications of something like this can be. You’ve worked too hard to let this get to you.”

“I know.”

“Allie, I have to ask. Is there anything going on between you and Logan that could come back and make this look legit? You know I’ll have your back either way, but I have to know.”

What do I say? Yes, I have these intense, affectionate feelings for Logan that sound suspiciously like love. Yes, I find myself wanting to fall into Logan’s warm embrace more and more. But no, I’m not willing to pay the price of allowing myself that sort of happiness.

“Allie?”

“It’s complicated, Mac. The short version is this: nothing has happened, and nothing will. I have too much at stake to let it.”

His silence makes me scared that that was the wrong response. If I ever thought of myself having a best friend, Mac would be it. I’d give anything to be able to see his face and make him remind me of all the reasons why getting involved with Logan, my current subject, is a bad, bad idea.

“Just be careful, Allie. I want what’s best for you.”

What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“I will. I need to go. You’ll have my statement within the hour.”

“Okay, Al. Thank you.”

Barely a second passes between the time I’m off the phone with him and the moment Emma picks up her phone.

“Hey, Allie. I’m already on it.”

***

The processed air of the training facility has a false rassuring feeling as I quietly pad through the building toward the practice field. I’m so late at this point that I just assume that everyone is on the field running drills, and when I approach the door I hear the once comforting sounds of crashing helmets. Taking a second to put on as genuine a smile as I can muster, I peer inside and immediately pick out the handsome devil that turns my insides into a jumbled mess with a single look from the mass of padded brutes. While I worked with Emma and Mac to make sure that the rest of the world—or more importantly the editor at
The Report
and The Rattlers management team—think that the picture was taken completely out of context, my mind kept venturing to Logan. How is he handling everything? Is he upset that his private life is being slurred all over social media? Is he mad at me, thinking I betrayed his trust? I hope this whole debacle doesn’t set whatever rapport we’ve built back to square one. I may have a few things left for the article, but the sickening feeling in my stomach actually comes from the fact that I’ve truly enjoyed getting to know Logan and would like to continue considering him my friend.

Taking a deep breath, I physically shake off my nerves and open the door. While the team is mid-play, a few of the coaching staff turn to see me enter and the whispers begin. Ollie glances back at Logan who out fakes a spin and slips past Blake to complete a passing drill. Ollie’s chest rises and falls as if he’s readying himself for whatever chaos is about to ensue as I approach him.

“How’s he playing today?”

“Well. But, Allie, you really shouldn’t be—”

“Off my field, Mooreland. Now!” Carrey shouts brashly, interrupting Oliver.

Expecting this, I steady my stance, ready to take on the six-two coach. “I’ve already spoken to Mr. Inman and—”

“I don’t care if you talked to the commissioner of the freaking league himself, off my field or I’ll have you escorted.”

“Coach, she has a job to do. She’s only here to do it.” Logan’s sturdy defense makes my heart squeeze, but with the flare of Carrey’s nostrils, that somehow seems to have gotten all up in my face in a matter of seconds, I know his speaking out is going to do more harm than good.

“Then she can do it from the conference room upstairs. Please excuse yourself from this field, Miss Mooreland.”

I see Logan start to take off his helmet, but I hold up a hand to stop him and nod. “You got it, Coach.” Making sure to keep a posture that screams I’m being respectful, I exit the field and stop a staffer in the hallway to get directions to the conference room. Not that they were all that high, but my spirits plummet the moment I open the door and find Jackson Coleman and Stu Davies sitting backwards in plastic chairs, noses practically plastered up against the window. Both men turn in unison to give me snide grins.

“Well, well. Princess Allie is about to be dethroned, Stu, and it looks like we’re going to get front row seats.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you, too, Jackson. Spread any false rumors lately?”

The grin slips off his face and he stands, bringing himself to his full five foot three height. Mr. Coleman has had a Napoleon complex as long as I’ve watched the game, having made a name for himself in the community with his blunt, yet insipid, commentary. Jackson has ruined more than a few college athletes’ careers by spreading trumped up injury reports.

Mr. Davies, the lesser of the two evil men, is much sneakier than his companion. Stu’s been caught in locker rooms he’s not supposed to be in trying to get some sort of juicy scoop. His name’s never been tied to any detrimental reports, but I’ve heard that if you want something on a player, he’s the guy to go to.

“Aw, Allie, you’ve been banished…like us. Join the dark side, it’s much more entertaining here. And you can kiss your boy toy all you like and no one will bat an eye.”

I choke out a laugh. “You two are rich, you know that?”

“Quite the opposite, really, but I’d be willing to make quite the payment to get exclusive rights to the Loglie tell-all.”

I normally try to see the bright side to every person, but these two just strike me as a pair of jokers who don’t know the difference between a donkey and a jackass. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Come on, Allie. Logan’s like Fort Knox. What exactly did you agree to, to get this job?”

The fury that I suppressed during my meeting with Carrey and Inman yesterday boils to the surface, and before I can think twice, I dial the number I’ve talked to too many times already this morning.

“Miss Mooreland, what can I do for you now?” Inman’s short temper bleeds through his words.

“Mr. Inman, I just thought you’d like to know that you have Jackson Coleman and Stu Davies slithering around your conference rooms today.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

He hangs up with no thanks, not that I’d expect one. Inman was less than warm to me during our conversations this morning. He had made it his personal mission to point out to me that I had practically brought all this upon myself. If the man has a sympathetic bone in his body, it is in his little toe.

Stu stands from his seat and flips his notebook closed before putting it his back pocket, sneering all the while at me. “Well, a mistress and a narc. Didn’t realize that you were so two-faced, Allie.”

“I’m neither of those things, Stu. And if I was, would that make you the pot or the kettle?” He gives me a confused look just as two security guards enter the room behind me. Both men go quietly, but not before making their subtle warnings of vengeance. I try to shake off their words, but images of them showing up in Walker makes my head hurt.

I may only have my career to protect, but Logan has so much to lose that he can’t afford for me to poke the bears. Sighing, I check the field in time to see Logan glance up. The look is quick, but not quick enough to keep from drawing Carrey’s attention. When a whistle is blown the entire team turns to Carrey whose red face blares out a dismissal of the team. As Logan starts to walk off the field, Carrey stops him and a heated conversation ensues. Arms start flying and fingers point toward the window and I instinctively back away from the window ledge. Unable to tear my eyes away though, I watch the two men with a sinking feeling. When Ollie gets involved, clearly having Logan’s back, Carrey’s already raspberry colored face shouts so loud that his voice becomes a little clearer. Muffled words like “sprints” and “cone drills” are thrown around like candy at a Christmas parade and less than a moment later, Logan throws his helmet on the ground and turns back to the field. Oliver holds his hand out and Carrey puts his whistle in his hand before blaring a glare my direction. Ollie blows the whistle and Logan takes off from the back of the end zone.

***

My whole body sighs as it slumps into the soft bed back at the Lebanage. I really should have driven back to Walker tonight, but when I called the inn, they asked me to give them one more night to prepare a room for me. I couldn’t deny the sweet older lady’s gentle pleads, even though her curiosity as to why I wasn’t staying with Logan any longer did irritate me. The front I’ve had to keep up all day, however, has worn me out so much more than any workout could that I just gave in and checked myself back into the hotel.

At the sound of my stomach growling like a caged tiger, I remember how little I’ve actually eaten today. I have no energy left to stand and make my way down to the hotel’s restaurant, so instead I roll across the bed in a very unladylike fashion, undoubtedly wrinkling the pants and blouse I can’t even bring myself to shed, and reach for the phone to order room service. Once my order for steak and potatoes is in, I flip onto my back and let my mind go to the one place I’ve been trying to keep it from all day.

Logan.

I haven’t really spoken to him at all today and it feels weird. The last two weeks have been a whirlwind of a budding relationship and to an extent, I feel like he knows me better than most. Not that I have a lot of people who really know me. As if sensing I need a friend, the shrill ring of my cell phone breaks up the silence that is starting to smother me. Without looking, I pick it up and answer, not even attempting to hide the exhaustion from my voice.

“Hey.” Logan’s low timbre is like a balm to all the battle wounds I’ve collected throughout the day.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing?”

“Hibernating.” His low chuckle relieves my stretched out muscles, making me curl up into a ball.

“Are you hungry?”

How does he even do that? “I just ordered room service.”

“Oh.” The disappointment in his voice is thicker than the humidity in the air outside.

“Logan, I’m really sorry about practice.” I don’t have to see him to know that his poker face is firmly in place. I’d bet good money his jaw is clenched as well.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. Carrey was being unreasonable.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted you to get in trouble.”

His tone softens again. “I’m never in trouble, Allie.”

“I’d say that the sprints you were forced to run would prove my point that you just told me a lie.”

I can practically hear his frown. “You saw.”