Page 39 of A Reputation Dark & Deadly

"Not really." She shook her head and gave him a smile. "But I know I'm fucking serious." She stood and offered him her hand. "Come on, Professor. Don't be so stubborn." He allowed her to pull himself up and kept his hand in hers despite the fact that the was standing already and had no reason to still hold onto her. "I'll drive."

"I don't fucking think so, sweetheart," he said.

She turned to give him a challenging stare. "I'm not getting in your car where you're only capable of driving with one hand," she pointed out, shooting her brows up as though daring him to argue. "It would be good for you, you know."

He arched a skeptical brow. "What?" he asked.

"Letting go of control once in a while," she said and then slowly interlaced her fingers with his before gently tugging on him once more. "Come on. Trust me, okay?"

Logan said nothing but allowed her to tug him to the front door. After she grabbed her purse and her keys, they walked out of her room and locked the door behind them. Peyton made sure they weren't touching when she led him to her car in the front lot; she didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. He already had a notorious reputation, after all.

When they reached her 2003 Nissan Maxima, Logan arched his brow once more. "This is your car?" he asked drolly.

"This is my baby," Peyton corrected with a proud smile on her face. She placed her hand on the top of the sleek white car and rubbed it affectionately. "This is B. Whizzle."

Logan furrowed his brow, shooting her a look from the passenger side of the car. "Fuck you say?" he asked.

"B. Whizzle," she repeated, unlocking her door and sliding into the passenger seat. Logan followed suit and sat in the tan leather seat. He reached for his seatbelt with his right hand and grimaced before using his left to snap it into place. He reached across his body and shut the door. "I named her after my grandma, who gave me the car after she died. The car is white, so her real name is Betty White but she has street cred, so I call her B. Whizzle."

Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're so fucking weird," he muttered more to himself than to her.

She smiled at him. "You like it, though," she told him.

He harrumphed but didn't deny it. Her smile got even bigger.

"So," she began, trying to sound innocent but knowing she was failing at that. She was backing out of her parking spot and after a quick glance around the lot, hoped she would have the spot when she came back just because it was so close to her dorm room. "What happened?" She glanced at him quickly before reverting back to the road. "And don't say nothing. Or remain silent. Logan Jeffrey doesn't get a broken hand and doesn't show up to his student's dorm room drunk. Are you okay?"

Logan sighed through his nose. "I broke my brother's jaw," he told her quietly.

"You what?" Peyton exclaimed, her eyes wide. She nearly slammed on the breaks but she got a hold of herself. Still, she shot him a look. "Why would you break his jaw?"

Logan clenched his jaw so it popped and glanced out the window and into the black sky. "What do you want me to say?" he asked. His voice was still low but it was poignant and direct.

Peyton wanted to strangle him for his riddles. Why couldn't he be direct and just tell her what happened? Couldn't he tell she was being sincere? "The truth," she told him as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What he did to you was unacceptable," Logan finally said, his eyes on Peyton's profile, intense and steady.

Peyton felt her cheeks get red at his explanation and she hoped he couldn't make out how red she was in the shadows. She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. "I know," she told him. "He's still your brother."

"You think that fucking excuses what he did?" he said, twisting in his seat so he faced her. She could feel the raw anger radiating off of his body in waves.

"Of course not," she told him defensively. "But just because he was an asshole doesn't mean you need to break his jaw."

"I should have done more," he murmured under his breath. Peyton was almost positive she wasn't supposed to hear but she did. She brushed it off and focused on the road ahead.

"That doesn't explain why you're drunk," she pointed out.

"I didn't say it did," Logan said defensively.

Peyton rolled her eyes, pressing her lips together to keep the retort from coming out of her mouth. She took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to say so as to not start a fight with him. He was drunk, in pain, and somehow wound up at her door after breaking his brother's jaw. It felt like forever ago when they were arguing on the side of the road in his Suburban under the moonlight but, in reality, it had only been a handful of hours.

"Fine," she got out, not bothering to hide her annoyed tone. She didn't look at him as she continued. "Be a baby about it. I didn't realize you got all butt hurt about whatever it is that caused you to get drunk. The scary and intimidating Logan Jeffrey never loses control and, somehow, he winds up at my door in the middle of the night, drunk and injured and suddenly, unable to speak." Peyton rolled her eyes and shot him a look. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"Excuse me?" he shot at her, taken aback.

"Did I stutter?" She pulled into the small emergency room just off campus, thankful the lot looked relative empty for a Saturday night. She didn't want anyone to see her and Logan together, especially since Logan would have to explain his injury in class. "I asked you a question and you got defensive. If you don't want to talk about it, just tell me that. Don't be a baby about it." She slid into a parking stall and once she parked her car and turned off the engine, unbuckled her seatbelt and shot him a look. "Now, come on. Let's go check out your hand."

"Excuse fucking me?" he repeated, his eyes two balls of flames.