Page 23 of A Reputation Dark & Deadly

"What do you mean, Karla does things that only benefit herself?" Peyton decided to ask, needing to shift the focus. And what better way to do it than by asking about another person?

Logan grabbed the lower half of his face and shifted his weight. He shifted his eyes over to her. "You sure you want to know about this stuff, sweetheart?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "I know you said you don't want to sleep with me but there's something inside of me that doesn't entirely fucking buy that."

Peyton gulped but didn't deny his words. She had chosen her diction carefully when she had said that, hoping he wouldn't pick up on her subtle cues. But he had and the current look he was giving her - dark, intense gaze - sent sparks straight to her pelvis. His eyes dropped to her throat as he watched her throat bob up and down when she swallowed.

"Because I think you might actually fucking like me," he continued. Thankfully, he made no move to get closer to her. She didn't think she'd be able to handle him being so close. Not with the way her body was reacting to his words, how hot her skin felt, how hard her head pulsed.

Peyton still didn't say anything.

"What?" He perked his brow, wrinkling his forehead and seeming genuinely surprised by her lack of response. "Got nothing to say? Don't want to run your fucking mouth?" He walked toward her slowly. She could hear each soft thump of his feet - she couldn't tell if they were bare or if he had on shoes - as he made his way over to where she sat, not breaking eye contact. "I'm fucking surprised, sweetheart, because you always seem to have a fucking opinion on everyone and everything."

"I don't hate you," Peyton finally said. Her heart jumped when he took a seat next to her on the bed, twisting his body so he could look at her with ease.

"Well, fucking thank God," he said. Peyton rolled her eyes at his obvious sarcasm. "From you, that's the greatest thing I could fucking hope for. As long as I'm not on your shitlist" -

"You know," Peyton pointed out, not caring if she was interrupting him, "I find it ironic that you give me crap for running my mouth when you do the same thing." He stopped speaking and looked as though he was about to go off on a tangent regarding her interrupting him but something stopped him. Peyton didn't know what that was but he actually looked open enough to listen to her so she continued. "To answer your question, yes, I want to know why you think Karla does things for selfish reasons."

"I don't think, sweetheart," he told her. "I fucking know." He seemed to hesitate, his armor cracking just a fraction, just enough for Peyton to notice, but he pressed forward. "Karla wasn't my only TA last year. I had three or four but Karla was my favorite. Being my favorite means more time with me, more conversation." Peyton made a face and he laughed. "What? You said you wanted to know."

"I just don't understand why these girls would buy into your misogynic bullshit," she pointed out.

"Excuse the fuck out of me, sweetheart, but I am not a misogynist," he told her. "The girls hear about my reputation and let me know they're interested. I have my rules and they follow them. Well, most everyone follows them." He shot her a look but there was a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Please don't think I would fall into being one of your booty calls," she said.

"If I remember correctly, sweetheart, you fucking kissed me."

"Yeah, and you kissed me back. And I'm your student. And I'm blonde."

Logan wrinkled his nose. "What does hair color have anything to do with my rules?" he asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.

Peyton furrowed her brow gently, trying not to add to her headache. "Rikki told me you had a thing for dark hair," she explained. "You liked experienced brunettes with a brain and a tight body. Not an innocent blonde."

"Rikki told you that?" Logan asked, his deep voice laced with doubt. He cocked his head to the side, and even with the sharp gesture, every lock of jet black hid stayed firmly in place. "You mean Braids? Braids has no idea what the fuck she's talking about. She's the same girl who fucking ditched you at that goddamn party, leaving you alone to fend for yourself."

Peyton's eyes flashed. "I can" -

Logan interrupted her by rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "You can take care of yourself, right? You really must be innocent if you don't take everything she says with a grain of salt. Braids is fucking mental. She corners me after class and tries to fucking seduce me before we're even alone. And when I tell her no, I'm not fucking interested, she starts sobbing in this disgustingly ugly way, her black makeup running down her face..." Logan let his voice trail off and he shook his head. "That girl is fucking crazy and, quite fucking frankly, I question your judgment if you're seriously friends."

Peyton sat back, staring at her hands folded in her lap, letting his words slowly seep into the skin of her body.

"So," Peyton finally said, flicking her eyes to him, "what is your type?"

Logan stared at her for a long minute. Peyton had no idea why she felt compelled to ask him the question in the first place. It was none of her business and she didn't care. She shouldn't care. But a small part of her did and she hated herself for it. Not only that, but just asking the question put her in this vulnerable spot of basically admitting to Logan that she was interested in what type of girl he liked. He could throw this in her face, he could use this against her, or he could think she was just as crazy as Rikki was because she had asked. The longer he continued to stare at her, the more she realized she definitely shouldn't have asked.

"I don't have a fucking type," he told her. His voice was tired, his eyes a dull color rather than bright and aware. Peyton wondered how much sleep he got last night. Probably not very much if Karla had to call him in order to get her. She had taken his bed on top of that. He cocked his head to the side again and before she realized what he was doing, he slowly traced a finger down her cheek before reaching her lips. "All I give a shit about is that she has a brain and a pretty face. And that she knows what she's fucking doing."

Peyton's brow pushed up and she inhaled deeply. So Rikki was right about something: virgins need not apply.

But then he took his thumb and traced it gently along her bottom lip, his eyes consumed with his gesture. "Then again," he said. "There are always exceptions."

Peyton swallowed, and the gentle push of her lips on the pad of his thumb caused him to blink. "You need fucking sleep," he mumbled, standing up. "I'll have food for you the next time you're up."

Peyton nodded, watching him retreat to the door. "Prof" - she called but cut herself off. When Logan locked eyes with her, she said, "Logan. Thanks. For everything."

Logan said nothing in return. He didn't even nod in acknowledgment. If anything, he simply stared at her before walking out of the door and shutting it gently behind him.

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