Marked (Playing Games Book 1)

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  EPILOGUE #1

  EPILOGUE #2

  Marked

  Playing Games Book #1

  Copyright © 2020 by Rebecca Barber. All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: February 2020

  Cover Designed: KatDeezigns 2020

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  For Robert.

  My AFL obsessed husband who puts up with my doodling and encourages me to keep following my passion even when I want to give up.

  CHAPTER ONE

  LOGAN

  “Dude! Have you seen what your favourite little blogger wrote about you today?” my teammate and roommate Bryce asked as he flopped down into the couch next to me, tossing his iPad in my lap.

  “I don’t care,” I lied.

  You’d think by now I’d be used to it. Every weekend, this woman, whoever she was, found a new and creative way to bust my balls. I pretended I didn’t care, but each week when I read her words, or someone shared them with me, my whole body cringed.

  “Listen to this.” I guess I didn’t really have a choice. After tapping the screen, he cleared his throat and put on his best newsreader voice. “What does a million dollars get you? Three marks, eight touches, zero tackles, zero goals and one report from match officials. That sums up pretty-boy, Logan Oliver’s, uneventful Friday night. Maybe if he spent less time watching himself on the big screen and more time tackling his opponent, his mum may have to actually wash his uniform. I’d bet last night’s performance had him barely breaking a sweat. Seriously man, what did you do to this chick that she’s so set on you? Fuck her and not call her the next day? Didn’t get her there and left her to finish herself off? You know chicks hate it when you’re selfish…”

  “Speaking from experience, are you?” I deflected as the words filtered through. I wish I knew who this chick was, then maybe I’d be able to figure out what the hell I’d done to piss her off. The only clue I had was she signed off her articles as ‘T’. What that meant I had no idea.

  “Arsehole!”

  “Truth hurts?” I clicked the buttons of the controller in my hand and waited for it to load. I didn’t want to think about my crappy game last night. I didn’t want to read any of the messages piling up on my phone which I’d deliberately left on silent and out of reach in my bedroom. And I definitely didn’t want to think about the arse reaming I’d copped from coach while I stood there wearing only a towel. “You playing?” I asked, wanting the distraction. A couple of hours of mind-numbing car racing computer games would help. At least that’s what I was hoping for.

  “Yeah. I’m in.”

  When I lost the first round, it did nothing to improve my foul mood. After another four straight losses I gave up. “I’m out.”

  “Where you headed?”

  “Going to get a workout in.”

  “Sounds good. I should join you.”

  “You should, but you’re not going to.”

  “How do you know? Lifting might be exactly how I want to waste my Saturday afternoon,” Bryce questioned.

  “Fuck off. Your idea of the perfect Saturday afternoon is curling up on the couch and enjoying a nana nap.”

  “Hey! Don’t knock it till you try it!”

  “Yeah, okay. No worries, old man.” Setting the controller on the coffee table I stood up and stretched my aching shoulders, deciding if I got in a decent enough session, I’d earn a dip in the hot tub. Throw in a juicy T-bone and an early night and it would be perfect. Especially if Bryce went out. “Try not to snore too loudly.”

  After ducking into my room, I changed into a pair of gym shorts and singlet top. Finding my phone, I snagged my ear buds and booted up my workout playlist. Passing back through the lounge as I headed for the stairs to the gym in the basement, I saw Bryce plumping the pillows and kicking off his shoes.

  “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

  “Never do,” I replied.

  “You’re a shithouse liar, Logan. But I’ll let it slide because you’re coming out with me tonight.”

  “What?” That was the first I’d heard of going anywhere. “No, I’m not.”

  “Ah, yes you are.”

  “No way. I got shit to do,” I protested. I hated being told what I was and wasn’t doing. The coaches and the trainers directed my every move day in, day out. Hell, even the nutritionist told me what I could and couldn’t eat. There was no way I was handing over what was left of my free will to Bryce.

  “Sitting alone in your room, jacking off over your textbooks is not a healthy way to spend a Saturday night. So, you’re coming to the opening of Utopia with me and the guys. Be ready to leave at nine.”

  “I’m not going,” I confirmed before starting down the stairs. As I hit the landing at the bottom, I heard him call out, “Ready at nine.”

  Pushing the article, the writer, and Bryce’s determination to drag me out aside, I stepped onto the treadmill and started to run. Two and a half hours later, I was sweaty, smelly and exhausted. It had been exactly what I needed. Heading upstairs again, the house was eerily silent. Not even the rhythmic sound of Bryce’s snoring. Checking the time, I saw that it was already almost six, no wonder my stomach was rumbling. Ordering some food, I jumped in the shower to rinse off with big plans for the hot tub.

  ***

  “Yo! Logan. You ready?”

  My bedroom door was thrown open, and I spun on my chair staring at the figures filling the doorway.

  “I told you we were leaving at nine. Hurry up! Get dressed, pretty-boy,” Bryce taunted, throwing the words he knew boiled my blood back at me.

  Bryce vanished leaving Jack and Nick staring at me. They exchanged a look before Nick spoke. “You’re not reading, are you?”

  “Yeah. Just ‘cause you can’t read doesn’t mean we’re all dumb jocks,” I retorted as I took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

  “Come on. Get ready so we can get out of here. I hear Utopia has a killer rooftop bar, and I could use a beer after yesterday,” Jack said with a smile as he turned and headed out.

  I guess I didn’t really have a choice now. And I could probably do with a night out. Maybe a beer or two would help shake off the frustration. Kicking closed the bedroom door, I changed quickly into a pa
ir of jeans and a button-down. A quick visit to the bathroom, and after running my hands through my too-long hair, I added some gel hoping to tame it, and pocketed my phone, wallet and keys.

  “You arseholes ready?” I asked, stepping into the kitchen where they were all stuffing their faces with potato chips and nursing a beer. “Who’s driving?”

  “Uber,” they replied in unison.

  “You ordered?”

  “Ordering now,” Nick replied, tapping on his phone.

  Twenty minutes and one very crowded car ride later we were untangling ourselves and joining the queue out the front of what appeared to be a very popular night spot. From our position at the back of the line, I could hear the music pumping and I could feel each beat of the bass in my chest.

  Leaning back against the brick wall, the cold breeze blasted down the narrow road bringing with it the first drops of rain. While I hoped we wouldn’t be waiting long, I looked at the way the girls around us were dressed and wondered how they weren’t popsicles. With skirts short enough to see exactly what they were wearing, or not wearing, underneath and tops that were only held on by the thinnest of straps.

  “The talent is worth getting out of your jammies, isn’t it?” Jack asked, clapping my shoulder.

  Shuffling forward, we caught the eye of the bouncer manning the velvet rope and he beckoned us forward. Stepping out of the line, we shuffled passed the people waiting.

  “You guys don’t need to wait in line,” he grumbled. At least that’s what I think he said. The way he spoke was barely audible over the giggling and gossiping going on by the crowd. Although I felt slightly guilty, I guess this was one advantage of living in this town and doing what we did.

  Pushing through the doors, I had no idea what to expect, but it wasn’t what was spread out in front of me. I guess I was expecting to see a dance floor packed with bumping and grinding bodies and low lights. Instead, the bottom floor was filled with pool tables and a long bar along one wall. People milled about, leaning on tables drinking their beers. This wasn’t so bad, although I wasn’t about to admit that to Bryce. He’d never let me live it down.

  “Rooftop?”

  Not sure they’d hear me; I nodded my reply.

  Following the boys, my eyes scanned the crowd. The talent on the dance floor wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. Fifteen minutes later, a drink spilt on my shoe, and we’d emerged on the third level, bypassing the flashing neon-lit dance floor, and emerged in the fresh air on the roof. When Jack handed me a beer, I took a long pull, loving the refreshing flavour.

  “What’s your poison?” Bryce asked, knocking my shoulder with his.

  “Huh?”

  “See anything you like?”

  He pointed to the dance floor below where the ratio of male to female was very imbalanced. It was a meat market, and maybe there was something wrong with me, but I wasn’t interested. While I wouldn’t mind getting my dick wet, I wasn’t hunting. Not like the guys beside me who were cataloguing skirt length, hair colour and cup sizes.

  “Not tonight.”

  “Why the fuck not?” Nick sounded shocked, but he didn’t meet my eye. He couldn’t. His were firmly fixed on his next victim on the floor below.

  “Not my style,” I replied with a shrug, draining the last of my beer.

  “Well, your loss. Boys, wish me luck. I see a little blonde with my name written all over her,” Bryce announced proudly, dishing out slaps on the back before heading for the staircase.

  “Bryce!” Jack called out behind him.

  Somehow, Bryce heard him over the music and stopped mid-step. “What?”

  “No glove, no love.” That earned Jack the finger.

  “Don't be a fool, cover your tool,” Nick added.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised that they were calling their comments out across the crowded room, making sure they were heard over the music. With one last mouthed ‘fuck you,’ Bryce disappeared down the stairs and into the crush leaving me with the two boneheads.

  “Another?” I asked, needing a drink.

  Winding my way through the people, I received back slaps, was stopped and offered advice and tips on what to do better as well as more than one smart-arse comment about my performance. This was the exact reason I didn’t like coming out. Especially after a shithouse game. If I played well, everyone stayed quiet. But if I stuffed up, there was a line-up of people ready to let me know about it.

  Finally reaching the bar, I leant on the wood and looked around. It wasn’t a trashy dive bar, it was actually pretty nice. With all the bottles of high-end booze lining the wall, I was tempted to go for something stronger but made a better decision.

  When it was finally my turn, I ordered and fished my card from my pocket. They didn’t miss a beat with the charging here. I guess they had to pay for all the fancy potted palm trees somehow.

  Winding my way back through the crowd to where I’d left Nick and Jack, I wasn’t shocked to find them sitting back on the fake leather couches with a half-dressed girl in their laps. This pair was nothing if not predictable.

  I could’ve been pissed; I should’ve been, but I was relieved. If they were all distracted by boobs and booze, I could make my escape and head home. A new plan formed in my mind which involved a couple of rounds of NBA Live, an ice pack for my shoulder and a decent night’s sleep.

  Downing my ice water, I handed the guys their drinks and offered a wave.

  “Logan. Meet Kerry,” Jack grinned, rearranging the girl in his lap, inadvertently flashing me a glimpse of her red panties.

  She slapped his chest before burrowing her head in the crook of his neck. “It’s Katie.”

  “Nice!” I mouthed over her head. “I’m out,” I announced. “Have fun boys.”

  “No,” Nick protested half-heartedly before attaching his lips back to the withering brunette draped all over him.

  “Have a nice night, boys. See you at training. And remember,” I paused, waiting until they detached their lips from their seemingly willing victims. “Don't be silly, wrap your willy.” I winked, they groaned, and I took off.

  Making my way back through the crowd, I spotted Bryce with his blonde pinned against the wall, their mouths mashed together, her hands tugging at his hair and his hands; I couldn’t see exactly what they were doing up her skirt but I didn’t need to be a genius to work it out either.

  Finally, down on the bottom floor, I wasn’t looking where I was going, my eyes fixed on the exit when I slammed into a tiny little thing that doused me in something sticky and disgustingly sweet smelling.

  “Shit! I’m sorry!”

  Reaching down, I grabbed her shoulders and held her steady. It wasn’t until I really looked at her that I saw just how fucked I was.

  CHAPTER TWO

  TASHA

  Fuck it! I wasn’t just pissed that my fifteen-dollar cocktail was now overpowering my perfume; I wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be dealing with the shit going down tonight. Giselle had dragged me out tonight, upset and angry about finding her arsehole now ex-boyfriend cheating on her with her neighbour against the wall in the laundry room.

  When she’d shown up at my place with mascara smudged all over her face clasping a brown paper bag with a bottle of tequila, I didn’t have the ability to say no. So, when she started handing out shots and insisting we go dancing, I couldn’t deny her. Or maybe I could’ve, but my options would’ve been watching her wipe herself out on tequila and corn chips while crying her eyes out or get her showered, dressed up and let her dance the pain away. After she’d raided my cupboard, stealing clothes that looked better on her than they did on me, here we were. Five minutes through the door and she was already bumping and grinding with some tattooed, bearded guy who smelt like smoke and talked with a Scottish accent. I don’t think she could’ve found someone more opposite to her clean-cut, uptight, suit-wearing real estate agent ex if she tried.

  If I wasn’t worried about her ending up dead in a ditch somewhere, I would’ve spun back aro
und carefully in these ridiculously high heels Giselle insisted I wear and been at home curled up with a good book and a block of chocolate already.

  Now I was being held up by the one person in this damn town who I least wanted to be in contact with. Logan Oliver.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, hoping he’d take his huge, warm hands from my bare shoulders.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding like he cared.

  “Fine. Thanks. Sorry about your pants.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Let me replace your drink,” he offered with a smile.

  Inside, my stomach turned. I was face to face with Logan Oliver. And he had absolutely no idea who I was. Although I’d seen him on screen and on the field a million times, up close, he was something else. There was a small scar over his eye which broke the whole pretty-boy vibe he had going on. There was something about his height, the broad shoulders, the way his jeans hugged his powerful thighs that made him even more attractive than when he wore those short shorts that cased his magnificent arse.

  “That’d be great. Thanks.” I was agreeing before I realised what I was doing.

  Reaching down, he took my hand and led me through the crowd right up to the bar. Even in the six-inch heels I was wobbling in, I was still dwarfed by his towering height. I didn’t know if it was the warmth from his hand radiating through my body or the smell of his powerful cologne that had me clenching my thighs together, but I knew I had to put some distance between us before I did something incredibly stupid. Something stupid like throwing myself at him and seeing just what all those muscles felt like under my fingertips.

  “What were you drinking?” he asked, his voice deep and raspy and doing things to me it really shouldn’t be.

  I didn’t want to tell him. I hadn’t been embarrassed when I’d ordered it from the bartender not ten minutes earlier, but even the idea of telling him had my cheeks burning. With Logan’s intense sky-blue eyes boring into me, I almost caved. Right when I was about to blurt it out, the bartender appeared and saved me.