“Uh, hi,” I say. Vaguely, something comes back to me: Peter telling me a story about a woman on The Bachelor who slept with the contestant every chance she got and enjoyed her reputation as a bitch and a backstabber.
Why the fuck would they bring her on the show, I think as Stella takes my hand. Her eyes light up flirtatiously.
“I’m Stella,” she says in a breathy voice. “You may have heard of me.”
“What a whore,” one of the other women mutters.
“Yeah,” I say. “I have.”
Peter claps his hands together. “Now that we’re all here, let’s have a great launch party,” he says, hunching his shoulders up with excitement as he talks. “Because this is going to be the most dramatic season of The Bachelor yet!”
Dance music starts to blare, impossibly loud, through hidden speakers. Before I can grab Peter and drag him off to the side to ask just what the fuck he’s playing at, Stella takes my hand and winks at me.
“Come on, football boy,” she teases. “Let’s make everyone else in the room hate me even more.” Stella leads me into the middle of the room where she starts grinding on me, turning around and rubbing her ass right over my cock, bouncing her tits and running her hands down her body and cupping her tits like a stripper. She turns her head over her shoulder and gives me a saucy look.
“I know how to handle some balls,” Stella says, and I wonder what street corner Peter managed to find her on. The cluster of women in the room suddenly look more like vultures than humans and I suddenly wish that I was anywhere, anywhere in the fucking world, other than right here.
Fuck, I think as the music grows louder and louder. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Chapter 15
Alyssa
I still can’t believe that I spent a night with Logan. In total violation of our contract together, I think as I hustle out of his hotel suite and down the back stairs before anyone can see me. I wonder if maybe he wasn’t just testing me, but it seemed so real, so genuine, that it makes me think it was real.
For once, I saw Logan X with his guard down. The look in his blue eyes had been so tender and so loving. He’d held me close after bringing me to the edge of my limits, he’d breathed on the back of my neck and I’d fallen asleep in his muscular arms.
Even now, out on the streets of Vegas, I can still smell his sweat and cologne clinging to my body. It’s enough to make me blush like a virgin as I hustle home to my apartment. When I open the front door, it’s like I’ve been gone for months. The lights are all turned off and there’s a musty smell hanging in the air, the way that your home smells after getting back from a long vacation.
Hell, being with Logan overnight did feel like a vacation – a vacation that I never wanted to end. I have a lot of work to do today, and I need to push all thoughts of him out of my head, but it just isn’t working. After spending a frustrating hour at my kitchen table poring over mock-ups of the AngelDate app design, I groan and go into the bathroom. Tugging off my clothes, I turn and look at my naked body in the mirror. There are faint lines across my ass – nothing angry or too red, just pink suggestions of the night I had. I smile faintly and run my hand over my butt, wincing slightly. It’s almost crazy to think that a small piece of black plastic is capable of inflicting such damage, but Logan wielded it well.
I wish I was seeing him again tonight.
I wait until the bathroom is completely filled with steam, then climb into the shower and stand under the spray until I’m soaked. I’m hoping that washing Logan’s scent off me will be enough to clear my mind, and I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, the way a YouTube video on meditation taught me to do.
It almost works. By the time I get out of the shower, I feel like I can focus on work.
But not here, not in my apartment. I get dressed in a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt, tuck my loose hair into a knot at the nape of my neck, and then head out onto the Strip where I make for my favorite coffee shop. It’s a shitty Greek diner, beloved by tourists and locals alike, and I sit in my favorite booth as I wait for the waitress to bring coffee and a paper.
“Morning, hon,” she says in a heavy accent. “Here you are, you want anything else?”
I shake my head. The first sip of coffee is enough to invigorate me, but I decide that I’ll flip through the paper as I drink the rest of the cup. Then, I can start working. The paper itself has clearly been in the hands of several other patrons, and I smile faintly as I flip through it.
When I get to the Arts & Entertainment section, I freeze.
There, on the front page, is a picture of Logan X.
ALL-AMERICAN FOOTBALL CHAMP PHOTGRAPHED WITH MYSTERY WOMAN
I blink down at the headline, then hunker down in the booth with the paper so no one else can see. A small sound escapes my lips as I read through the short piece.
Logan Hart, star quarterback of the Indiana Bandits, was spotted in Vegas with a mystery blonde. Could she be the future Mrs. Hart? Hart, 31, is a notorious bachelor ... is this the woman who will finally get him to settle down?
I can’t believe it – Logan, my Logan! – is a football star?
That certainly explains all of the secrecy.
And the money.
But why would he have kept something like that from me?
Based on the way the puff piece is written, it’s obvious that Logan’s really famous. I’ve never heard of him, but I seem to be one of the only people from here to the coast who never has. I mean, I hate sports – and I hate celebrity gossip even more.
Suddenly, I understand, and the thought hits me like a ton of bricks. No wonder Logan wanted to keep things so secret and quiet. If anyone found out what he did in his private life, it would ruin his career. The photo of him says it all: his blonde head, easygoing smiling face.
If anyone knew that he loved dominating women and owning them, his life would be over.
I swallow hard. Now, my heart is beating like a drum and it’s definitely not just because of the caffeine. Someone saw us together – that much is obvious from the article.
Does that mean Logan is ready to go public with me? And how, when would anyone have seen us? To my relief, there’s no photo of me, not even a blurry one ... but as I rack my brain for the times I’ve gone to Logan’s hotel, I realize that anyone could have noticed. It’s a public hotel after all: maybe someone caught me going to the elevator time after time.
Or maybe, someone caught me sneaking out of Logan’s apartment in the wee hours of the morning.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Maybe, just maybe, this is a good thing. Maybe now, we can go public.
Hell, maybe we could even have a relationship. The thought makes my lips twist in a smirk. The workaholic and the football star, a match made in heaven?
I can’t lie, the thought of having Logan as my boyfriend – or even more – makes me so happy that I almost feel like I’m in the middle of a wonderful dream. I’ve completely fallen for him.
Sure, we may have done things backwards, fucking first and then falling for each other.
But the important thing is that the emotions are there now.
I just hope he feels them, too.
He has to, I thought as I set the paper down, Logan-side down on the table. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have wanted me to spend the night. I mean, I tried to leave ... and he wrapped his arm around me and kept me firmly there.
I can’t deny that I’m nervous, though. Far too nervous to get any work done. If I want answers, I can’t sit around and wish and pray for Logan to contact me.
No, if we’re going to be in a relationship, I need to talk to him.
I finish my coffee and rinse out my mouth with water in the bathroom before paying my tab and leaving the diner. Outside, the sun is finally out and I walk quickly to Logan’s hotel, practically breaking into a run at every moment.
I hope he’s there. I want to catch him off-guard. I want him to be unprepared, to be open to me.
&nbs
p; It’s the first time I’ve ever come to see Logan without him explicitly telling me to, and I want that to symbolize something: that if we’re in a relationship, it’s on mutual terms. That we’re equals, at least outside of the bedroom.
The elevator takes me up to Logan’s floor and I take a deep breath before knocking on his door. It swings open after just a few seconds, and Logan sticks his head out into the hallway. When he sees me, his eyes go wide.
“Alyssa, what are you doing here?” Logan asks.
“I saw the paper,” I say quickly. “I know someone saw us together, and—”
“Logan, who’s there?”
The sound of a female voice makes my heart shrivel up and die. Pink talons clutch the door and yank it open, revealing a scantily-clad platinum blonde woman. Her makeup is airbrushed and flawless and even though her clothes are skimpy, they’re clearly not cheap. She looks like a model, like a Playmate.
She looks exactly like the kind of woman an NFL quarterback would date and marry.
“What the fuck,” I say softly. No one answers me, and as I look from Logan to the blonde and back again, my heart breaks in two. Tears come to my eyes and the world starts to spin around me. I have to clutch at the doorframe for stability.
“Alyssa, it’s not what it looks like,” Logan says quickly. “Really, I—”
“I ...” I trail off before clamping my lips together and swallowing hard.
“It’s only for show,” Logan says quickly. “I’m going on this stupid reality show and I need to have a fake girlfriend and I swear to god, this isn’t real and it’s not going to last, you just have to believe me.”
I stare at him, suddenly incensed.
“I don’t have to do anything,” I say coldly.
“Alyssa, please,” Logan says. “Believe me.”
His eyes are pleading with me, but I’m done with him. Done with his games, done with his lies. I don’t know how long something has been going on between Logan and this bitch, but everything is starting to make a lot more sense now that I’ve caught him unaware. For all I know, she’s been living in his hotel suite and he’s only been having me over while she’s been gone.
For all I know, I was nothing more than a game to him.
For all I know, there were other woman. Maybe even dozens of other women, all getting money from Logan and letting him tie them up and hurt them.
“Enough,” I snap finally. The world comes back into focus as I tear my eyes away from the blonde’s perfect face and whirl away. Storming down the hall, I barely hear Logan call my name.
The world turns blurry as the tears in my eyes threaten to fall, then start gushing down my cheeks. Rather than wait for the elevator, I rush into the stairwell. My heart aches when I realize that it’s the second time in twenty-four hours I’ve snuck out of Logan’s hotel room.
And that it’s no doubt the last time I’ll ever see him.
Chapter 16
Logan
And just like that, I manage to fuck everything up.
“Who the fuck was that?” Stella asks. She takes my arm and I shake her off.
“She was someone I was actually seeing,” I say curtly.
Stella narrows her eyes and shakes her head, as if the thought is too much for her to comprehend.
“Peter said you were single,” she says, still shaking her platinum hair. “I’m not like, a home wrecker.”
I stare at her.
“I mean, did he lie?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, come the fuck on – you think this,” I add, gesturing from her to me. “Is real? There’s no fucking way – it’s for a TV show!”
“That doesn’t mean that we can’t really be together,” Stella says. If I wasn’t so angry, I might actually feel bad for her. “I mean, like, not forever or anything. But if we get married, the Bachelor people give us our own show.”
I stare at her. For a moment, I almost forget that she and I were after the same thing: sponsorship and fame, money and fifteen minutes in the sun.
“I mean, you did sign up for this,” Stella says, making me wonder if she’s maybe smarter than I’ve given her credit for. “You had to know it was going to happen. Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?”
“I ...” I trail off, just now realizing what a colossal mistake I’ve made. For so long, I thought it was so important that I win this damn thing and make my father proud.
Except now, I’m starting to think that nothing I do would be enough to make my father proud, to make Peter think that I was doing things right and walking the line of perfection. I had hoped to retire from the NFL before the age of thirty-five, and doing this would have given the money I needed to live comfortably – and pay off my sports injury bills – for the rest of my life.
But is that all that fucking matters in the world?
Money?
Since meeting Alyssa, the only important thing in my life has been my relationship with her.
“I have to call her,” I say, putting my face in my hands and groaning. “I have to make her understand.”
“Oh, honey,” Stella says. When I look up at her, she almost looks concerned.
“What?”
“She’s not going to listen,” Stella says. “She caught us together.”
“She didn’t catch us doing shit,” I snap. “She came over uninvited, and—”
“And saw a random woman in your hotel room,” Stella says wisely.
“She has to listen to me,” I say.
Stella laughs shortly. “Hon, if you think that, you’ve never met a woman before,” she says. “Listen to me on this one – I know what I’m talking about.”
I don’t reply. My mind is reeling and spinning with everything I can do, all of the possible ways to get Alyssa back.
“Look, if you want my advice, just go on The Bachelor and pick a woman. Preferably me, or at least make sure that I make it to the final three,” Stella says. “Pretend to date someone for a couple of months after the show, then break up. After that, go after your girl.”
I stare at her. “That’s too much time ... and if she didn’t believe now, she’s sure as fuck not going to believe me then,” I say quickly.
Stella shrugs. “I don’t really care,” she says. “But you’re going to torpedo this thing if it comes out that you had a girlfriend right before you go on the show.”
“I don’t fucking care about the show,” I snap. “Don’t you get it?”
Stella narrows her eyes. She sits down on the edge of the hotel bed and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Not to sound like an asshole, but then what the hell are you doing here?” Stella asks.
I stare at her. There’s no possible way I could make her understand how I feel, the pressures I’ve felt my entire life. How I thought that this was so important, only to realize that I’ve been completely wrong, about nearly everything.
“Just leave me alone,” I snap.
Stella blinks at me in surprise, but she gets to her feet and leaves the room. I’m not alone for more than ten minutes before Peter comes rushing in, white in the face and visibly sweating.
“Please, please tell me that I’m hallucinating this,” Peter says hysterically.
“You’re not,” I reply. “I want out. I want out of all of this.”
“It’s too late,” Peter says. He paces from one end of the room to the other, quickly, like he’s urgently waiting to use the bathroom or catch a plane.
“It’s not too late,” I snap back. “You’re the one with the power and the influence around here! Call the network and tell them that I want out, how hard is that? All you have to do is pick up a fucking phone!”
Peter stares at me, then shakes his head slowly and groans.
“God, what did I do to deserve this,” he says under his breath, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. “Did I sin in a past life? Wear too much Pucci when I was younger?”
“Enough already,” I say hotly. “Jesus Christ, you’re suppos
ed to be helping me here,” I add. “And I want out. I’m not doing that stupid show, money or no money.”
“Logan,” Peter says, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s done, baby. You already signed the contract. The network isn’t gonna let you out of it, not unless you get really sick or something. And no, don’t even think about faking that,” he warns me, shaking his finger in the air. “It’s all taken care of, and all you have to do is get through it.”
I stare at him, unbelieving.
“If you back out now, your reputation is totally fucked, forever,” Peter says, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard him curse out loud. It should drive home how serious the situation is, but all I can think about is how funny it is to see my handler finally snap and lose his mind after years of trying to corral me.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I tell him. “I’m done with pretending, I’m done with this shit!”
“Logan, listen to me,” Peter says, speaking very slowly like he’s talking to a child. “If you quit now, if you back out, you’re going to lose everything. Not only are you going to get fired from E!, you’re going to lose your position and your contract with the Bandits.”
“So?” I shrug. “I was thinking of quitting, anyway, while I could still walk.”
“Logan,” Peter repeats. “Listen to me very carefully: you wouldn’t just lose your contract with the Bandits. You’d likely to have to repay everything you’ve gotten from them, all of those millions over the years, and they would charge interest on your future salary.”
“I ... I don’t care,” I say flatly. “I don’t need money. Having it hasn’t exactly done me any favors.”
Except, a little voice in the back of my head says. That’s not true – without money, you never would have had Alyssa.
“If that girl, the one who came here today, were to expose you, you would never work again,” Peter said. He groans. “Jesus, I thought it was bad that you were into this kinky shit, but this, this! This is so much worse. What if she goes out and tells everyone what she saw?”
Mister X Page 10