Page 27 of A Reputation Dark & Deadly

Logan cocked his head to the side and stared at her with that amused smile on his face, the one that gently crinkled the corner of his eyes and compelled her heart to take a break from beating. He took his tongue and ran it along his bottom lip and Peyton couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the gesture. She hated to admit it but it was captivating to watch, the smile made him look beautiful and the lip lick made him look desirable. A low, thrumming pulse pounded against her inner walls and she had to squeeze her insides until it stopped.

"These aren't blue books from my 101 class," he told her. "These are blue books from my upper division Sociology and Crime class. They have a written pop quiz every week and their quizzes need to be graded. You're a fucking TA, aren't you?"

"For your 101 class, yes." She furrowed her brow at the books before looking up at Logan. Something squirmed inside Peyton and she realized he was trying to use her to help him without simply asking for help. "You're a dick."

"I'm a dick?" He furrowed his brow, genuinely surprised that she would call him that. She couldn't tell if the glint in his eye was approving or not but it didn't particularly matter. "I'm a dick? And what does that make you?"

"What?" Her voice was sharp and flat. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, sweetheart," he told her. "It's not a good fucking look for you." He took the blue books in one hand before gesturing at her with his left hand. "You're flouncing around in a fucking miniskirt the whole goddamn day. I can't even call on any of my fucking 101 students because they're too focused on your fucking legs. It's not even hot enough for a fucking miniskirt. So what the fuck are you trying to do?"

"I can wear whatever I want," Peyton said through gritted teeth. "So now it's my fault that your students can't concentrate because they've never seen a woman in a miniskirt before? And you say you're not a misogynist? Are you kidding me? I like wearing skirts. They're more comfortable for me sometimes than jeans. I only get so long before the weather does get too cold for skirts. You never had a problem with it when your other TAs were in skirts. And I know this because I've seen it. So why do you have a problem with me being in a skirt?"

Logan clenched his teeth together but said nothing. Peyton felt a small victorious clap on her back. He had nothing left to say. She had rendered him speechless. Of course, she couldn't just leave it at that. She needed to push him just a bit, just to needle him to make sure he understood that the way he was acting was completely inappropriate.

"And anyway, I thought you said you liked my legs," she said, her voice just barely above a whisper.

"Don't fucking start something you can't fucking finish," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "I know your fucking type. You like to tease, you want fucking attention, but you're just a fucking tease. I don't play fucking games."

Peyton pressed her lips together before responding. "Neither do I," she told him. "Just because I'm not fucking interested in you doesn't mean I'm trying to get your attention."

Logan smiled. He smiled. How did that reaction make sense at all? He took another step towards her and once again, her back hit the door. He placed both hands on either side of her head and leaned forward so his lips were inches from her mouth.

"I don't believe for one fucking second you aren't interested in me, sweetheart," he told her. Peyton's eyes wanted to roll back but she forced them to remain open. The problem was, she couldn't stop the shudder from riding down her spine if she tried. He noticed and his eyes sparkled even more. "What are going to do? Kiss me?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Peyton bit back. "How quickly you forget, you kissed me back."

"So what if I did?" Logan asked, cocking his head to the side. "What are you going to fucking do about it, sweetheart?"

Peyton clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowed into his. He had his head tilted downwards so his nose was a kiss away from her nose and their mouths were so close, all Peyton would need to do is push her chin out and they would be kissing once more.

"That's what I fucking thought," he continued. His voice was low and rough and it sent shivers up and down her spine. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and for a moment, he was completely silent. Instead, he looked at her lips, as if he was transfixed. Perhaps he was. "You talk a big fucking game but you don't do shit about it."

"You're right," she finally agreed. She leaned forward as though she was going to kiss him and she kept her eyes open in order to gage his reaction to the gesture. He didn't move, didn't lean away but he didn't lean toward her, either. The only thing he did in response was open his mouth slightly, expecting her lips to meet his. "I don't do shit. I'm not grading your blue books."

He smiled then, slowly, baring his teeth like a wild animal. But there was an amused sparkle in his eyes, letting her know she hadn't offended him by her refusal. Her lips curled up into a soft smirk, and with ease, she turned around, taking care not to touch him even accidentally, before stepping out of his office.

It was only when she was alone and in the slow, rickety elevator where she leaned her back against the cold metal, tilted her head up, and sighed.

* * *

Two days later, Peyton woke up with the worst cold she had had in a while. Her nose was clogged, her head pounded, and her throat was scratchy. She didn't have a fever so she was fairly certain she didn't have the flu but she decided to send Logan a quick email letting him know she wouldn't be around today because she was sick. He never responded, which didn't surprise her at all, and she took the day to sleep as much as she could. Her appetite was almost nonexistent, but she forced herself to boil some eggs and make some top ramen so her stomach had something it could digest.

By three o'clock, it was raining outside. Not a Southern California sprinkle, but hard rain that pounded against her building and echoed throughout her room. She loved this weather. She loved the rain. She loved the melody it made when it fell against tin. She hated being sick but she loved that she didn't go to class today and she probably wouldn't go to class tomorrow either.

At that moment, a loud knock on her door caused her heart to leap into her throat and nearly caused her to roll off her bed.

She could barely furrow her brow, her head too congested to make it easy to move. Instead, she slid out of bed and slowly made her way to her door. Rolling up on the balls of her feet, she looked out the peephole in order to see who was at her doorstep.

Logan Jeffrey.

What was he doing here?

She contemplated for a moment about keeping the door closed and slinking back to bed, pretending she wasn't home. Surely he wouldn't stay on her doorstep the whole day, not the mighty Logan Jeffrey. But her curiosity seemed to get the better of her and without putting much thought into it, she undid the chain and unlocked the door before opening it a few inches. Just because she wanted to know why he was here didn't mean she was going to welcome him in.

"Yes?" she asked. Her voice came out nasally and unattractive, and the thought that perhaps she shouldn't have even opened the door flittered across her mind for the briefest of seconds like a squirrel pausing during his escape from dogs eager to catch their unexpected backyard visitors.

Logan stared at her for a long minute. "You look like shit," he told her, his booming voice even louder in the silence.