Someone tipped them off. It might have been the hostess. It might have been the valet. Either way I’m not going back there. I texted Tamber, and then I called her. She didn’t answer either. I’m sure that she’s seen the story by now.
I think about going to her apartment, but the last thing I want to do is lead the paparazzi right back to her door. Then it hits me. I know exactly where she is.
I’m halfway out of locker room when Cam stops me. By now all the other guys on the team have filtered in and our regular practice is about to start.
“Yo, man we ain’t done yet. Where you going?” he asks.
“Did you see that shit online?”
“The Dirty? They’re trash. Who cares?” he asks.
Cameron “Cam” Phelps is a good guy. Modest upbringing. Religious family. He expects the best in everyone. That’s why Gwen ate him alive. He thinks people brush off gossip. There are certain people in the world who think guys like me, rich guys I mean, see horrible things written about us everyday without a care in the world. They think we can ignore it, like we have some emotional armor greater than them. Here’s the secret: that’s why everyone thinks we’re assholes. We have to be. Some of that shit really stings.
“Tamber cares. She’s a sweet girl.”
Sweet like sugar.
Beautiful like a rainbow.
“Shit sorry man,” Cam says.
He sees the anxious look in my eyes, and he knows that I have to run. He promises to cover for me if Coach starts asking questions. The outside door bursts open, and I hit the flat of the field in a dead sprint. My head is down and I’m going full bore, hoping that Tamber is exactly where I think she is. She runs when she gets mad. She has to be there.
In the distance, there’s a bunch of people running practice laps on the track. I’m looking for my girl. The girl with the mocha-colored hair and the great ass.
Finally, I spot her, right in the middle of the track, wearing the same tight, red shorts she wore a week ago. Her incredible ass shakes with every step while her gorgeous mocha hair, pulled back in a pony tail bounces around on her shoulders. No surprise I can’t get her out of my head.
There’s a determination in her step. Headphones in, head straight forward, she doesn’t want anyone to fuck with her. Not that I’m going to listen to her nonverbal signals.
My pace picks up once I hit the soft clay of the track. It feels good beneath my feet compared to the uneven turf of the practice field. Mesmerized by her backside, I don’t even realize how quickly I’m gaining on her. Granted I have about two feet on her short body.
As I catch up to her, I realize that I’m not even sure what I’m doing out there. I promised her last night that she wouldn’t end up on a gossip blog, so obviously I have to do something about that. Last night she only wanted to be my friend, and now she’ll probably never want to see me again.
But that kiss. The taste of her tongue. I have to know if there is more between us. It may only be one kiss. In which case Katernia Prescott may be my future. Yet if there’s more to it than one kiss—
“What the fuck!” Tamber screams as I touch her on the shoulder. She spins and pulls up a bottle of pepper spray.
“Oh fuck not in my eyes!” I scream like a little bitch jumping to the next lane of the track.
“Oh holy shit Logan. What are you doing?” she asks, grabbing my arm.
We both stop running. I grab my knees trying to catch my breath. Head down, I can’t stop staring at her toned legs.
“When you’re mad, you run,” I say between panting breaths. “I figured you’d be mad because…”
“Because that fucking article? Yeah, Logan. Good guess,” she says.
“I never wanted that to happen,” I say.
She starts running again, and I have no choice but to match her pace. I’m already winded from the sprint over here. I think she knows that.
“But it did happen.”
“I can’t stop the paparazzi,” I say.
That makes her stop. She slows down and turns to me.
“I know that. But you also can’t stop being a rich celebrity. It’s not your fault, but it still happened because of you,” she says. She’s completely right. I don’t even say anything. Instead I look her in her eyes, her gorgeous brown eyes, the perfect complement to her mocha hair.
I grab her by the hand, and she doesn’t react. Her unflinching demeanor says it all. This girl is slipping through my fingers. Last night I really thought I could make her mine, and today she’s already gone.
Then a crazy plan starts to churn in my mind. There’s no way she’ll go for it. It’s one of those “just so crazy it has to work” kind of things. I start to obsess silently over the best way to present it to her.
“If I could give it all up, so you wouldn’t be hurt, I would.” The words come to me from nowhere. It’s the cheesiest shit in the world even if part of me really means it.
She blushes, and steps closer to me. I wrap my arms around her.
“That’s sweet Logan. Even if it is total bullshit,” she says laughing into my chest as I hug her.
“Look I don’t want anyone to hurt you like that. It’s not fair. You’re not that kind of girl. Hell, it’s bullshit for any gossip rag to talk about girls like that.”
Then she pulls back from me.
“I had a really nice time last night, and I wouldn’t change it for the world,” she says.
“But—” I ask, feeling that there’s definitely a but there.
“But I was serious when I said I wanted to be nothing more than friends. There can’t be anything between us,” she says, dropping the hammer. I feel like she punched me in the gut.
“Tamber—”
“Logan, don’t take this the wrong way. You’re a nice guy. I liked kissing you. But the whole rich kid thing isn’t my bag. I realize you’re trying to make your own way but at the end of the day, your lifestyle comes with an insane amount of baggage, and I’m not ready for that. That stupid fucking Dirty article is proof enough of that.”
“You’re saying I have too much money?” I ask with what must be the most incredulous look in the world on my face.
She steps closer to me again and kicks her heel up. Her hands come to rest on my chest and she looks up into my eyes. I wrap my hands around her waist, doing everything in my power not to grab her ass. Appreciate my restraint. I’ve been dying to do that since the day I first saw her.
“I’m saying that I’m not the kind of girl that can up and alter my life for a boy. Look, Gwen is the only person that knows this, but since the day I entered the fifth grade, I mapped out the rest of my life. I knew what I needed to do in junior high, then high school, college and ultimately what I need to do in the next five years to get what I want. I’ve always had a five year plan. Five years at a time. I’ve built my life around it. It doesn’t change.”
“So even if I were to give you a million bucks right now you wouldn’t take it?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t know what to do with it,” she says, her eyes looking anywhere but mine. She’s genuine. She’s actually serious about this.
“I’ve never known anyone like you.”
“Yeah, well you have to know where I come from,” she says.
“Will you tell me?” I ask with all the earnestness I can muster.
“Not now,” she says.
A few days ago, I looked at Tamber as a challenge, the type of girl that normally wouldn’t go for me. Now I have no idea how to look at her. She’s beyond challenging.
I pull her close. Our sweaty bodies embrace. We may be just friends, but I still can’t get enough of her touch. Some tears drip down her eyes onto me. I wonder what’s she’s sad about. It’s impossible to tell. Tamber’s that much a mystery to me. I mystery I intend to solve.
“Get the fuck off the track!” some guy yells as he comes whipping around at super sonic speeds.
Tamber laughs and pulls me onto the green in the center of the track.
“Planning is in my blood. I’m not a spur-of-the-moment kind of girl. In fact—”
She stops herself short.
“In fact what?” I ask. I’m not going to let her off easy.
In the distance someone hucks a javelin down the the middle of the field, and I realize how much practice I’m totally missing practice for this girl. I may not be drunk at a bar surrounded by paparazzi, but Coach is still going to be pissed.
“In fact yours is the first kiss I’ve had in years, and to be honest, I never kiss on the first date,” she says. Again her eyes look anywhere but at me.
“Have you ever kissed in the middle of the track on a Saturday?” I ask.
“No why? That’s super specif—”
I grab her chin and pull her mouth up to mine. Even giving her a moment, she doesn’t resist. Our lips meet and before I even try, she slides her tongue between my lips. We kiss like that for no less than ten seconds, our tongues playing inside my mouth. Then she pulls away and blushes, realizing how she let herself go for even a minute.
“Sorry, no that’s not right. I can’t let myself—” she starts to say.
“Be distracted?” I ask.
“Yes,” she murmurs. At the same time she doesn’t pull away from me. In fact she hugs me tighter. The media might call out my “character concerns”, yet I’m temporarily this girls rock.
“Two days,” I say.
Her confused look is adorable.
“Let me take you away for two days.”
“I don’t have two—”
“Tonight and Sunday. Bring you back Monday morning. That’s it. I know you don’t have class until Tuesday.”
“How?” she asks.
“I asked Gwen.”
“That bitch,” she says, sniffing hard. She’ll be upset about that Dirty article for weeks. Maybe I can get her to forget all about it.
“Let me show you the billionaire lifestyle for two days. Just a taste. A getaway. Your projects aren’t due this week right?”
“Not on Tuesday, no,” she says.
“So live a little. Let me take you to my parents’ country mansion. It’s an hour away. It’s beautiful. After the game tonight.”
“Logan,” she says putting her foot down and pulling away from me. “I’m not going to be your girlfriend.”
“I didn’t say you were,” I say, slowly leading into my big reveal. “I’m not saying we’re an item or anything.”
“But you want me to meet your parents?”
“Friends meet each other’s parents all the time,” I say.
“Just a friendly trip to a fabulous mansion,” she says.
“Look, if you stick around in Rome the paparazzi are going to be looking for you. Especially after I crush Ole Miss tonight.”
“They won’t find me in the library. Besides that picture is all blurry.”
“You underestimate the paparazzi, and they definitely won’t find you at my parents’ mansion,” I say.
“Just a couple of friends hanging with the parents. Sounds fun.”
“So you’ll come?” I’m starting to get excited.
It takes her a few minutes. She’s really thinking it over. The whole time I’m smiling at her like a dork, hoping to win her over. This plan is bad, but it’s the only one I’ve got. If it doesn’t work, I’m going to have a hard time getting out of an engagement to Katerina Prescott. When my dad wants something to happen, it always does. A dozen thoughts are racing through my head while Tamber is making up her mind.
“Sure. Friends,” she says sticking out her hand.
I’m busting at the seams. She said yes! Now comes the hard part.
“Actually, there’s one catch,” I say.
She crosses her arms and taps her foot impatiently. The look she’s giving me nearly scares me off the plan entirely.
“I need you to pretend to be engaged to me.”
When Tamber slaps me, she puts her whole body into it, a real wind up pitch. And boy do I deserve it.
CHAPTER NINE
Tamber
Of fucking course I said no. What am I an idiot? I barely know anything about the guy. He’s hot, rich, and good at football, and all three of those are accounted for on his Instagram account. Everything else? No idea.
I have no idea what his parents are like or if he has any siblings. There is no way in the world that I would ever pretend to be someone’s fiancée, let alone someone I just met.
He deserved every single one of my five fingers. No one plays me like that, making me feel all safe and secure before dropping a bomb like that on me. He must have apologized for ten minutes straight before Cam finally came looking for him out there on the track.
Logan missed quite a bit of practice while he was out there figuring out how to ask me to be his pretend fiancée for the weekend.
For the weekend. That’s it. A free vacation to a billionaire’s mansion. Friends pretending to be lovers. Talk about distractions.
It turns out that his parents are sick of his playboy antics. They want to marry him off to a nice upper crust girl from New York. I googled her. She’s absolutely stunning. He’d be an idiot not to go for her.
Yet for some reason he absolutely refuses to even consider the idea. So he thinks that if I pretend to be his fiancée, meet his parents, and spend a few days at their house, then they’ll drop the whole thing. Seems like the worst plan in the world to me. Then again I’m someone who’s had my life planned out since junior high.
After he stopped smarting from the pain of my slap, he swore up and down to respect the boundaries of our friendship. I spent five minutes accusing him of trying to get me into bed through the most convoluted circumstances. He swore again and again that he had no intention of trying anything on me over the weekend.
The whole reason he wants me to be the girl that he brings to meet his parents is that I’m respectable. He complimented my work ethic and my attitude eight different ways. His parents seem to have incredibly high standards, and would outright dismiss most girls that Logan has dated over the years.
Right before Cam took him away to go practice, I asked him why he simply didn’t refuse his parents’ arrangement with the Prescott family. It’s not like we’re in the Middle East or the 12th century. Arranged marriages aren’t a thing anymore.
He rambled on about politics in the billionaire life. He could be completely disowned by his family as an embarrassment if he doesn’t do what they want. According to Logan, they might disown him anyway if he goes into professional football.
By the way he crushed Ole Miss into the ground. Last week he threw four touchdowns with three of them going to Cam. Earlier this evening he threw five total with four going to Cam. A new school record. He absolutely bent the opposing defense to his will. In all things Logan gets what he wants. It’s in his nature.
However, rather than focus on his performance, the sports media will no doubt be talking about his character concerns, his inability to stay away from the party scene, and speculating about how all of that will affect his position in the draft. The difference is that this time that picture of me stumbling tipsy out of Marquise Steakhouse will definitely be included in the discussion.
So that leaves me with two options: stick around in Rome where my picture will be the epicenter of celebrity gossip or take off to a fabulously expensive mansion for a few days.
As Gwen told me: The Party Girls are going to be too hungover to work on a Sunday, and you’ll be back by Monday.
She also told me: I’ll chop your balls off if you don’t go.
My best friend seems a bit confused about female anatomy.
For the record I told him no at least ten times. Logan always gets what he wants.
The Oliver family mansion lies somewhere between Rome and Houston. Closer to Houston really. Logan picked me up in a limousine some time after the game against Ole Miss. Ever since waving goodbye to me, Gwen’s been texting me fur
iously to see how it’s going. From the back of the Oliver family limousine, I text her a status update.
Dirt road. Wide open countryside. He’s looking at me.
I text the scene quickly to Gwen and drop my phone into my lap. It’s well after 10 p.m. The game between the Lions and the Rebels started fairly late, and Logan had typical press conference stuff afterward. We left for his parents mansion as soon as possible. The Oliver family’s personal driver picked us up.
I felt quite ridiculous leaving my apartment in the same skinny jeans and red Lions shirt that I wore to the game, but Gwen assured me I’d be fine. She also assured me that I’d be sucking his cock by the time we got to the mansion. It took a bit of explaining that friends don’t go down on each other. She called me an amateur. No matter how many times I tell her that I’m only doing this guy a favor, she reaffirms her conviction that my drought might soon be over.
Logan Oliver III sits on the opposite side of the limousine’s cabin. He didn’t explain his reasons, but asked me to sit away from him. Out on the track and on the football field, he was only Logan, the cute boy who took me on a date. In the back of his parents’ limousine on the long winding drive out to the middle of nowhere? He is definitely “The Third” as his teammates call him.
Don’t fuck this up Tam. He’s a chill guy. Enjoy the weekend. I’m peanut butter.
What?
Way out in the distance over the wide open countryside, lightning strikes. Even though the storm looks to be coming this way, it’s always hard to tell in Texas. I’m grateful for anything that’ll help me make embarrassing small talk with Logan’s parents.
It was in the middle of the game against Ole Miss that Gwen finally convinced me to take a vacation. She texted Logan after the game and made him promise again that he wasn’t trying to get me into bed like I was some cheerleader.
He swore up and down that he would be a perfect gentlemen. I suppose sitting on the other side of the limo is symbolic of the fact that he isn’t going to try and take advantage of me. While he’s a nice guy and a good kisser, we’d never work together. He’s a handsome, sexy, successful guy that I have absolutely nothing in common with. Besides I don’t need the drama that comes with his lifestyle.
Third and Long: A Sports Romance Page 6