shar ଓ's Reviews > The Player Next Door

3.5 !!!!

te amo Claire que cocina para no estresarse, juega D&D justo como en stranger things pero con otro nombre es chiquita, cute y pasea perros y se saca fotos con ellos cuando está triste

te amo Logan que llora porque ama mucho a Claire y tiene miedo de perderla once a hooker not anymore

Vivien en deptos enfrentados y se miran por la ventana

la de el da a su cocina y sabe que ella cocina cosas dulces siempre juega solo a adivinar que es lo que hace y cuando cierto tiempo paso se asoma a la ventana a ver si lo que el sospecho fue horneado

ella puede verlo a el cuando trae mujeres todos los fines de semana, sabe que es hermoso y exitoso, inalcanzable para ella pero esta bien, no le molesta.

se quedan atascados en el elevador, terminan teniendo una conversación fluida el descubre que ella es divertida, pasan a los besos y ____ una cosa llevo a la otra y ahora son amigos, ven películas juntos, se cuentan cosas, pasan la noche en la terraza hablando, el la lleva a ver a su padre, se besan, se mienten, mentiras sobre ellos su relación, lo que aparentan y lo que son, están juntos, se divierten, el la CUIDA, ella TAMBIÉN, todo va bien hasta que se lastiman los dos sin quererlo, el la ama y metió la pata, ella siente cosas por el pero no lucha por sus sentimientos, se alejan, se extrañan, están juntos a las apuradas, quedan peor, vuelven a extrañarse, intentar avanzar con otras personas, terminan interrumpiendo la cita el uno del otro, los "otros" ven que su historia claramente sigue latente y se van solos y los dejan a ellos a que se maten o amen, lo que mejor les vengan, terminan juntos, relación impensada, un año, adoptan un perro, el vuelve a dibujar, comparten amigos, son felices.

mis hijos 💌

🏃 Logan held up the nail polish. “Did you want to use this? I can go give it back to Jamie, if you don’t.”
Clare almost never painted her fingernails, although not for any real reason. She liked dressing up and being cute, but nail polish was just one extra thing she never really got into. But the color was a pretty turquoise and Logan seemed to want to hang around, so she nodded. “Sure, why not. Not sure I can bend to reach my feet, though.”
Logan cracked open the top. “I’ll do it,” he offered.
“Have you ever done someone’s nails before?”
“How hard can it be? It’s like painting a very tiny wall.”
“The difficulty is in the tininess, not the skill level.”
“Whatever, I’ve got this,” he said, deftly flipping up the blanket and carefully sliding off the grey, fluffy socks they had given her before surgery. He picked up her left foot delicately, lifting it slightly closer to him.

🏃Clare bit back the sharp inhale she wanted to take. Even post-op, full of painkillers that dulled her senses to a grey, formless blob, his light touch sent sparks across her skin. A tiny, cool brushstroke tickled her cuticle, and she made herself tease him instead. “Oops, looks like you already screwed up,” she said.
He looked up at her, eyes dark, and she realized she had made a grave miscalculation. Now, he wasn’t just holding her foot, he was holding her foot and gazing at her and all she wanted to do was kiss him. But she had been dry-heaving in his car just a few hours ago, and she was currently in a hospital gown that resembled a tent. Meanwhile, Logan looked like he was auditioning for the role of McDreamy’s younger, hotter brother. He would be a perfect character on one of those shows, breaking hearts and saving lives, and—
“Clare?” he said, with a slight air of impatience.
“Hmm?”
“I said, since you’re here overnight, did you want me to run back to your place and get you anything? Or I could call a friend; have them do it.”

🏃No, she’s asleep for sure, but she’d understand. If you wanted to get going, you can. I’m seriously fine, you don’t need to babysit me if you don’t want to. I’m sure you’d rather be home.”
Logan lowered his gaze to her foot, moving to her next toe as he delicately skimmed the brush down her nail. “Who said anything about me wanting to go? I just thought you might be more comfortable with a friend here.”
“Aren’t you a friend?” The words were out of her mouth before she could second-guess them.
He paused. “A friend, yeah.”
“Logan—”
“No, I get it,” he said. “You’ve been pretty clear I’m just a friend.”
The hint of bitterness in his voice took her aback.
(...)

🏃 Clare bit her lip, considering her words carefully. “Friend is a good word, though,” she said, her eyes on the top of his head as he pulled the brush down the nail on her middle toe. “I care about my friends.” When he didn’t look up, she kept going. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” he said flatly, moving to the next toe. “I get it.” Clare didn’t think he did get it, actually, but his tone was final. Logan looked up, his face clearing. “Let me finish your other foot, then I can run back and get your stuff. I assume you need your glasses?”
“How did you know I wear glasses?” she asked, deciding to follow his lead and act like the previous two minutes hadn’t happened.
Logan feigned an exaggerated squint. “How did you know?” he mimicked. He ducked the light kick she sent his way and clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Don’t go messing up my hard work,” he scolded. He caught her ankle firmly, giving her a brief, hooded look. “Behave,” he said sternly.
Clare stilled and a frisson went down her spine. She licked her lips, nodding. “Proceed,” she said, and he returned to his work, heedless of the storm he had started in her veins.

!!!!!

🏃Clare bit back a grin. “But for real, wouldn’t she want you to show the world what you can do?”
“It’s not like I’m going to be in the MoMa,” he protested. “Or even the Walker.”
“Being in Minnesota’s premier art museum would be awesome, but something doesn’t have to be internationally renowned to be worth it. It could just be a hobby. For fun, not profit.”
Logan leaned into her, his body long and warm next to hers. Warmth blossomed in her veins, and he leaned his temple against hers, his hand coming to rest on her thigh.
“You do things to me, Thompson,” he said in a low voice.
“Good things?” she said, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice.
He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes dark and hooded. “Things I never knew I wanted.”

!!

🏃I like knowing what’s mine.”
Clare’s eyebrows flew up even as a bolt of desire shot through her core. “Excuse me?”
“I’m an only child. Never really mastered the whole ‘sharing’ thing,” he said with a lazy shrug.
“I’m sorry, I’m stuck on this mine thing,” she argued.
“I don’t think you are, actually,” he said softly, catching her chin between his knuckles and tipping her face to his. “I think you like it.”
Clare melted into the kiss, her train of thought completely scrambled. “I do?” she managed.
Logan’s lips moved languidly, tasting her like it was the first time he’d kissed her and he wanted to memorize it. “You do,” he said. There was a rasp in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “I think you like being mine, Clare. You like it when I’m bossy and possessive, and I like that it gets you hot, so deal with it. You belong to me now.”
She found her voice. “Then this is mine,” she said, resting her hand on his heart again before dragging it down to his cock. “This too,” she added, attaching her lips to the side of his throat. Logan groaned and pulled her on top of him, thrusting his hips up as she went.
“Yours,” he agreed, sealing their lips together. “All yours.”

!!!!

🏃He had simply never had feelings for someone and wanted their approval at the same time.
But then he met Clare, and suddenly things mattered. She was smart and funny and kind and good, and Logan wanted to live up to her expectations. He really did. But he wasn’t quite capable of it, so he’d taken the easy way out.
He blew it all up, because that way, at least it was his choice. But that didn’t make it hurt any less, and it certainly didn’t take away the deep self-loathing he was wallowing in these days. And it unfortunately didn’t change the fact that no matter what, he still wanted her. More than wanted; he needed her.
Fine, he loved Clare

🏃Logan finally looked up. “Am I what?”
“Fighting for me.”
“Only if you want me to,” he said, swallowing hard.
She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down, his jaw clench and unclench. It was her turn to be brave. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she said. “I screwed up.”
“I did too,” he admitted. “I was feeling guilty and weird about everything, and I lashed out, I guess. And then in the elevator—I thought I could get you out of my system. I was wrong.”
“I still miss you,” she confessed. “I had to close my shades to keep from looking at you.”
“And here I thought it was to keep from having to see me,” Logan said.
“That too. But mostly it was because it hurt to even think about you.” Clare took a tentative step forward. “I should have fought for you, too,” she said, brushing the back of her knuckles against his hand. “I gave up too soon.”
Logan caught her fingers. “I shouldn’t have made fighting necessary,” he said, and brought her fingers to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. “I really fucked up.”
“Me too. Does that make us even?”
Logan smiled weakly, trapping her hand against his cheek. “I still don’t really know how to do a relationship. And I think you deserve better than having to teach me.”
“How about you let me decide what I deserve?” she said, curling her fingers under his chin and lifting his face to look at her.

🏃Clare leaned down slowly, giving him time to back away, and when he didn’t, she pressed her lips against his in a gentle, quiet kiss. Logan blinked, a tear falling down his cheek, and took her face in his hands, pulling her down onto his lap so he could kiss her again.
It was perfect. There was no other word for kissing Logan, because it felt right and good and warm and wonderful and perfect. Clare couldn’t believe she had tried to convince herself she could move on, because there wasn’t anyone out there who compared to the man kissing her right now.
She pulled back, rubbing her thumb against his cheek. “I love you, Logan Walsh,” she murmured.
Logan smiled, that broad, sparkling smile that made her knees feel weak and her stomach all fluttery, and rested his forehead on hers. “I love you more, Clare Thompson.”
“It’s not a competition,” she protested.
“I still win, though.”
Clare’s laugh died in her throat as he pulled her against him and kissed her again.

🏃Logan looked down at his sketchpad and frowned, erasing his last little bit of work and starting over. Frodo, Clare’s obscenely large rescue mutt, sniffed at his leg and let him scratch his head absently. Hands still gave Logan trouble, so maybe the Amethyst Queen would be conveniently standing behind a cluster of Elfborn instead.
Clare and her friends had finally wrapped up their two-year-long campaign last week, and he wanted to draw them something to commemorate it.

🏃Clare came up behind him and leaned down, wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder. A year ago, just the thought of someone seeing him in the process of drawing would have made him flinch, but now he just rested his hand lightly on her forearm.
“What do you think?” he asked, as she pressed their temples together. Clare smelled like sugar and raspberries today, and he let her scent ground him as she scanned the sketch.
“I love it,” she said, pausing before choosing her words carefully.

🏃Clare agreed. She kissed his cheek and Logan set down his sketch pad, tugging her around the chair to pull her into his lap. “I have to get the tarts out of the oven,” Clare protested half-heartedly.
“How long ago did you put them in?” Logan asked, brushing his nose against hers.
“Five minutes,” she admitted, and twisted to look at the timer on his oven. “Make that seven.”
“Then we’ve got plenty of time,” Logan said, dropping his voice into the register he knew she couldn’t resist.
True to form, Clare squirmed on his lap. “Ten minutes is not plenty of time,” she argued, even as he kissed the side of her neck. “And if I burn the tarts I’m making for your friends and the stupid game—”
Logan pulled his lips from her neck and made a mock-stern face. “Hey now, you agreed,” he scolded. “And besides, Sam and Vince are your friends too now.”
Clare smiled through her eyeroll and slipped her hand under the hem of his T-shirt, scraping her nails lightly across his skin.
God, he loved it when she did that. “And what are we watching today?” he prompted.
“Today’s sport is . . . hockey?” she said, and Logan rewarded her with a lingering kiss behind her ear.
“Very good. And? Who’s playing?”
“Well, I know it’s not one of the teams with a racial slur for their name, at least. And thank god, because—”
“Stop stalling,” he ordered, and she sank her teeth down into her full lower lip. Logan loosened it with his thumb and lifted his eyebrows questioningly.
Clare wrinkled her nose in thought. “The Minnesota Wild,” she said, and he knew it was probably a stab in the dark but he kissed the corner of her jaw anyway. “And . . . the Colorado . . . Mountains? No, Avalanche.”
“Final answer?”
She paused, and then nodded once. “Final answer. Hockey game, featuring the Minnesota Wild and the Colorado Avalanche.”
Logan curled his hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a deep kiss. He’d never get tired of kissing her, he was sure of that. “Be honest. How much of that was a wild guess?” he asked against her lips.
“How much trouble am I in if I say forty percent?”
“A lot.”
“Then twenty percent,” Clare said triumphantly.
Logan snorted but kissed her anyway.
Life might not be a game, but Logan sure as hell felt like he was winning.