Chapters (48)
- Cover
- PRAISE FOR ALEXA MARTIN’S PLAYBOOK SERIES
- Titles by Alexa Martin
- Dedication
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Another one for my ego!
“Wow, you sweet-talk all the girls like that?” I take a sip out of the can, looking at him over the aluminum rim.
He gets off his stool, shaking his head. “You know what I mean.” He walks across the kitchen and pulls off a couple of paper towels before coming back. “You look like you were thinking about something and whatever it was, wasn’t good.”
“Oh no.” I take a bite of my taco. There is no better stalling method than a mouthful of food. “I was just thinking about everything on my to-do list.”
Even though that’s a lie, I do have a shit ton of work to do.
“You still working on that thing for Mahler? What is it anyway?” he asks. His jaw clenches beneath his beard the way it always does when Mahler or any of the League’s higher-ups are mentioned.
“Yup, still working on it.” I take one of the napkins he brought over. “And I honestly don’t know yet, but even if I did, couldn’t tell you. I had to sign a nondisclosure agreement last week. So everything stays under wraps until the event itself.”
“You know how I feel about him, so I won’t say much. But I will say watch out, you can’t trust him.”
I don’t tell him I think he’s right, but I also don’t tell him he’s wrong. At this point, it’s not really about trust, it’s about building my résumé and not burning bridges. But Quinton wouldn’t know this because I never told him that my job is out here just dangling by a thread. It doesn’t matter that Quinton might actually be a friend (that word still haunts my dreams) of mine . . . or at least someone I’m friendly with, I’m not sure he would stop taking a knee for me. And more so, I wouldn’t ask him to. It’d feel more manipulative telling him now that we’re getting along than it would’ve when I hated him.
“It’ll be fine.” Considering my past experiences with Mr. Mahler and my luck in general, this might be a bit of an exaggeration. But no need to tell Quinton this—therefore increasing the size of his head—right now. “The entire thing is only for thirty to forty people. How much damage could it do?”
“Pretty sure that’s the question the girl asks at the beginning of every horror movie.” He takes a giant bite of his taco and gives me a chance to let his words sink in.