Page 39

Logan

“ So you want to fuck another man.” I lift the tumbler of whiskey, jaw tight, despite the casual smile on my lips.

“Of course, that’s the first place you’d go.” The cool blonde sitting across from me crosses her mile-long legs, leaning them to the side beneath the table like a giraffe.

I admit, they were the first things I noticed about her. I’m a legs guy.

“Must you always be so cocky?” she continues. “Maybe if you acted like you cared once in a while, I wouldn’t have to expand our repertoire.”

“I prefer only one dick at the party.”

“That dick being you?” She tilts her head to the side.

“Always.” Stated with my usual bravado, my calculated cool.

A light laugh slips from her glossy-red lips, but it’s insincere.

Natalia van Norse is a six-foot, size zero supermodel with fake tits. Later, I learned she’s also an author and a Midtown influencer, which pretty much makes her a U.S. influencer.

Tonight she’s wearing a black dress covered in star-shaped sequins to match the décor of the restaurant, and her platinum hair is swept into an elegant twist off her neck complete with tiny gold stars scattered across the crown.

She’s picture-perfect, ready to document the grand opening of Galileo’s, the hottest new restaurant on West 53rd Street, which I was invited to attend. I’m invited to attend pretty much every opening, charity gala, red carpet affair.

I’d tossed the invitation aside, but she insisted we make an appearance.

The menu sounded like a prank, and I wasn’t in the mood for camera flashes blinding me all the way inside as soon as our car pulled up at the door. But I acquiesced, and here we are.

The host whisked us away to a private alcove off the main dining room, and now we’re nestled at a gilded table where midnight-blue velvet curtains separate us from the other, less-sought-after guests.

“You’re so provincial, Logan, I swear, it’s hard to believe you’ve lived in New York for eight years.”

“I didn’t know not wanting to share my bed was considered provincial.”

I almost said my girlfriend, but that term hasn’t felt right in a long time.

“And what about what I want?”

I roll a star-topped toothpick between my fingers thinking about the first time I saw this woman. I was out with Garrett Bradford, offensive lineman and my best friend, on our last free night before the start of the regular season.

I approached her purely out of ego. With her height and style and reputation, I decided she was the type of woman “Lightning” Logan Murphy should have on his arm.

Logan Murphy, star wide receiver for the New Jersey Pirates, most completed passes in last year’s season, and on track to win the very first MVP trophy ever awarded to a wide receiver in history—if the sports commentators are to be believed.

Our relationship was rocky from the start.

She was promoting her book of essays, and I liked to read. However, when I discovered her book was actually a collection of essays about how the modeling industry only cared about her body, I made the mistake of questioning the premise.

Isn’t being a model and complaining people only care about your looks the same as me being a football star and complaining people only care about my athleticism?

Sure, I graduated with honors from the University of Texas at Austin with a degree in communications, motivated by the fact that my father owns all the sports radio stations on the AM dial from El Paso to Jefferson City, but nobody gives a shit about any of that when the ball is second and goal in the fourth quarter with ten seconds left in the game.

I’m simply a player who’d better catch that fucking pigskin and get it across the line.

Then online sports betting exploded, and I was dehumanized even more.

The last time a dickhead cursed me out in the comments section, threatening my life because I fucked up a measly twenty-dollar parlay by simply doing my job, i.e., winning , I turned over all my social media accounts to a handler.

I’m not complaining. Much. We signed up for this life. It is what it is.

Natalia only glared at me, called me an un-evolved caveman, and we’ve been on the slow train to done ever since.

Not that I have time for a private life during the regular season anyway.

Studying the menu, I’m even less enthused about being here. Tang? Freeze-dried beef au jus … “It’s a quirky concept, but space food?”

“My hook will be, ‘It’s out of this world.’” Natasha waves down our designated waiter. He’s dressed in a white uniform like he’s part of NASA, and he hurries over as if his life depends on keeping us happy. “I’ll have another stardust martini, and may I see the kids’ menu?”

“Of course.” He nods, hastening away, and our eyes meet.

“I thought you promised to eat more.”

“I’m not eating this.” She flicks the menu with her fingernail. “I hope the children’s menu will have a cheesy pasta or some version of pizza.”

I hold up my hands. “It’s a smart idea.”

Natasha isn’t dumb. She only acts that way on social media.

The man returns with a small card, placing it on the bone china plate in front of her, and she lifts it, curling her nose as she reads. “Freeze-dried carrots, potatoes, and beef cubes—just add broth. Is it supposed to be a game?”

“That does it.” I take the napkin out of my lap and put it on my plate. “I’m out of here.”

“Logan! We can’t leave. I promised to take pictures of all the dishes and post them on my accounts.”

I hesitate in my chair, irritated by this entire night—by my entire state of affairs. Maybe I’m having a quarter-life crisis, but I keep asking myself why am I still with this woman? What am I thinking I’ll get? A do-over?

Reaching across the table, I place my hand on hers. Her brow furrows, and she seems confused by my sudden display of tenderness.

I’m not confused. I feel nothing, and it’s the moment of clarity I needed.

I make a decision. “What do you want, Natalia?”

“Sorry?” She shakes her head, and I return to her earlier question.

“Tell me about the new dick you want to bring into our bedroom.”

“Oh,” Her blue eyes light, and she wiggles in her chair as if she’s been planning this for a while. “Aristotle Drakos.”

“Wait…” I glance to the side. “I know that name.”

“You met him with Brittany on his super yacht in March, remember?”

Perhaps I am provincial, because I need to clarify. “Brittany, as in your best friend?”

“Of course! I mean, if I were to have a best friend.”

“I thought she was dating that guy.”

Air puffs through her lips, and she takes a long sip of her martini. “They have an open relationship. Everyone’s doing it now, very en vogue .”

I trace my finger along the base of my tumbler and consider Galileo. “Call him.”

“What?”

“Give him a call. Tell him to join us.”

“Okay…” The side of her lips curl into a smile, and her thumbs fly across her phone screen.

Exhaling slowly, I glance at the galaxies painted on the ceiling overhead. Galileo was an astronomer. He looked into the night sky and proved the universe does not revolve around us.

We are not the center of the universe …

They threw him in prison for it.

I think about how weary I am of the nonstop appearances, the social climbers, and the fakery. Eight years ago, my dream came true. I was a first-round draft pick, which meant I was a big fucking deal. It meant my father was wrong, and I wasn’t throwing my life away on a barbaric sport.

Two weeks ago, Natalia left for a modeling gig in Europe, and I realized how much I liked not having her in my space. I’d already decided to end things tonight, then she suggested a threesome.

“He’s on his way.” She lowers her phone, stretching like a cat waking from a long afternoon nap. “You’re going to like Aristotle. He’s very confident in a way that immediately sets you at ease.”

“It sounds like you two have a history.”

Her shoulder rises, and when our eyes meet, I realize she’s fucked him already. I also realize she’s on some sort of amphetamine. And I realize I don’t give a shit.

She flicks her wrist. “He mentioned something about your father being a billionaire, and how he must meet you. Must was his word.”

My brow lowers. “What does he want?”

She shrugs, shaking her head with a laugh. “I’m sure it’s some sort of partnership or business proposal. Everyone knows you’re considering retirement, and he’s wanting to get more into media.”

Pulling my chin back, I study her face. I’m not sure what to make of her sometimes. “I’ve told you I’m not interested in working for my dad. Did you lead him to believe I was?”

“No! I don’t know. He’ll discuss it with you.”

I motion to our waiter, and he hurries over again. “Yes, sir?”

“We have another guest joining us. Let me know when he arrives.”

“Of course.” He nods. “I’ll alert the host.”

“And put this all on my bill.”

He nods before scurrying away, and Natalia leans forward, wrinkling her perfectly-crafted nose. “You surprise me, Logan. I thought you’d require a little more convincing.”

“How long until he gets here?”

She glances at her phone. “Any minute, I’m sure.”

On cue, a familiar man with dark hair and olive skin wearing a bespoke suit strides confidently across the dining room in our direction. Our waiter shows him the way, and as he gets closer, the way his eyes roam my date confirms my suspicions.

Anger heats my throat, but it’s not jealous rage. He can fucking have Natalia, but he disrespected me by sleeping with her while we were a couple.

“Mr. Lightning. Your reputation precedes you.”

Standing, I catch his hand in a shake, gripping it hard and pulling him closer so he can feel my strength. He’s a few inches shorter than I am, and his eyes widen with surprise.

“You crossed a line.” My voice is low and level. “Good thing for you, I’m finished here. You can have her, but I know.”

He exhales a laugh, holding up both hands. “My apologies. I was given wrong information about your relationship.”

“Yes, you were.” I pass him roughly, headed for the door.

A swirl of air around me, and Natalia rushes up to my side. “Where are you going?”

“Away.” I do my best to keep my voice low, trying not to be overheard, but the entire room is craning their necks to look at us. “Have a nice life, Natalia.”

“But what about our arrangement?” She looks around at our growing audience.

“We never had an arrangement, and your new dick is waiting for you.”

The noise of cameras clicks all around us, and I have to get out of this spotlight.

The host meets me, and I follow him to the door, hurrying out to a waiting black Escalade. As soon as I’m inside, my phone is in my hand, and my thumbs fly over the screen.

Where are you? I’m hungry and I want to drink.

Garrett

Lightning! Get your ass to Blondie’s and get some wings. We’ve got a pool game going.

Garrett and I have been tight since he transferred to the team two years ago. He’s a giant of a man, six-foot-four and two hundred and sixty pounds of pure strength, and he’s the one person I can be completely myself around.

His family owns a pool bar and restaurant in his coastal hometown in Alabama, and that small-town, southern background is probably why we bonded right away.

He’s also the best offensive lineman on the team. Without Garrett, I wouldn’t be as close to the MVP trophy as I am.

Stop hustling the college kids.