Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
"If you say so." He shrugs before shooting me a wink and then strolling away.
"Peyton!" the cameraman across the street shouts at me. "How do you know Austin?"
Austin? Who the hell is Austin?
"Mr. Hawkes, does Logan Moreno know you're meeting up with his girlfriend behind his back?" the cameraman shouts, glancing at the guy who just kept me from falling on my ass.
I startle at the question, turning to gape at the man's retreating back. That's how I know him! He's on billboards all over the city. He's the frigging quarterback for the Washington Monuments.
"Great," I mutter, stomping toward my car as the paparazzi continue shouting questions at me. "Just great."
Why does the universe frigging hate me?
Logan isn't home when I get back to his place. I hop in the shower and then curl up on his bed before reluctantly pulling out my phone to see what the world is saying about the two of us.
I'm not entirely surprised to find that the photographer from outside the restaurant has already posted photos of Austin saving me from falling on my ass. But I'm mad as hell when I see the headline they chose to go along with said photos.
Like Father, Like Daughter?
I skim the article from Celebrity Teatime, my blood boiling. They're trying to make it sound like I was out meeting up with Austin. The photos show him with his arms around me. Austin is grinning at me. I'm staring up at him. Coupled with the headline, it looks bad. Really bad.
"Dammit!" I cry, tossing my phone across the room as tears well in my eyes. I fling myself backward and then curl up in a ball around Logan's pillow, taking deep breaths.
It's like I just can't escape my father. No matter what I do, I'll always be an affair baby. I'll always be the kid he created but didn't want. I'll never be good enough.
I'm so damn tired of it.
And now, they're dragging Logan into it too. It's not me they're laughing at this time. It's him. They expect me to be a horrible person. My mom slept with a married man. As far as the world is concerned, being worthless is encoded in my DNA. But Logan doesn't deserve to be dragged down with me.
And I don't deserve their crap, either. I've never done anything to deserve it. I can't help the way I was born. The only one responsible for cheating on his wife is the one they continue to give a free pass. It's infuriating!
"Baby?" Logan calls from the doorway.
I sniffle, leaping to my feet. "It isn't true!"
He must notice the tears on my face because he curses and strides toward me, his expression downright lethal. "What happened?"
"I… They…" I groan, burying my face in his throat. "It isn't true, Logan. I wasn't cheating on you."
"What the fuck?" he mutters, tipping my head back. His gaze runs across my face, nothing but concern written there. "Who the fuck said you were cheating on me?"
"The waitress at the restaurant called Celebrity Teatime," I whisper. "Some photographer showed up when I was leaving. He started snapping photos. I tripped into a guy. I nearly knocked us both over, but he kept us on our feet and made sure I was okay. Then the freaking photographer started asking me if you knew I was meeting up with him behind your back. I guess he was Austin Hawkes."
Logan growls softly.
"I didn't even know who he was until the stupid photographer started shouting his name," I mutter. "But they're already publishing stories, saying I'm just like my dad." My bottom lip quivers. "They think you're an i-idiot for being with me."
"Fuck them," he snarls, scooping me up into his arms. He strides toward the bed before settling against the headboard with me against his chest. "I've never given a flying fuck what they had to say about me before, do you think I care now?"
"You should," I whisper. "They're never going to stop pointing out that I don't deserve you."
He cranes my head back, forcing me to look at him. "Do you really believe that bullshit?"
"I…" I swallow nervously. "I don't know."
"Well, I do." He presses his lips to mine, his kiss firm and unyielding. "You're worthy exactly as you are. You aren't your father. They don't get to judge you because of his sins, baby. Fuck that noise. If they want to judge someone, they can walk their ignorant asses over to Capital Hill and judge that prick. He's the motherfucker who got your mom pregnant and then abandoned both of you. And he's the one who let you suffer in foster care instead of stepping up when you needed him most."
"I wish it worked that way."
"Why can't it?" he asks me. "Have you ever told the world what a piece of shit he really is?"