Chapter 26 Harlow
Chapter 26
Harlow
“If I had known you were going to bring him out in public, I would have met you at Applebee’s and pretended to bump into you so I could meet him. What the hell, Harlow?”
I’m hiding in the bathroom for another call with my friends—seems Danny’s new obsession is getting updates. When he hadn’t heard from me—because I was out with Andy—he did the one thing a desperate friend does: added us to a video call. So here I am, holed up in the bathroom while Andy lounges in the living room.
He thinks I’m peeing, so I have to make it quick.
“The Applebee’s thing is throwing me off,” Portia quips, seeming distracted while glancing at another device off camera. “I thought he was rich.”
“Why would he take you to a chain and not, like, somewhere nice and private?” Ava has her lips pursed and is perched on her couch, filing her nails at the same time.
I shrug. “I didn’t take him there—it was his choice! I’m still freaking out about the whole thing. If it was me, we wouldn’t have gone anywhere.”
“It must be the queso that did it.” Ava blinks innocently.
“We know you like their queso, Ava. It’s no secret,” I hiss. “Guys, it doesn’t matter where we went to eat. I’m running out of time—he’s in the living room chilling with the dog, and I have a feeling Kevin likes Andy but Andy doesn’t like Kevin.” It is an unrequited love.
“He doesn’t like your dog ? What kind of a monster wouldn’t like your dog ?” Portia gasps.
“My dog is an asshole. I don’t blame him.” I sigh. “He’s been giving Andy the bombastic side-eye since we got home from dinner, probably because we didn’t bring him a doggy bag. I think he’s jealous that I’m paying more attention to Andy.”
“Can we please stay on task?!” Danny screeches, clapping his hands to regain attention. “You can’t stay on the toilet all night, eventually he’s going to come looking for you.”
I stop talking and cup a hand around my ear, listening for Andy’s footfalls.
When I don’t hear any, I continue my story.
“So, anyway, we’re at Applebee’s, and I could feel people looking at us. He kept trying to act normal, but it was really weird—he had that stupid mustache on that he’d been wearing in New York, as if no one would recognize him?” I laugh at the memory of the black handlebar mustache stuck to his upper lip. “He has the brownest eyes and thick brows. They’re the best part of his face.”
My sigh is long and wistful.
“You should hear yourself.” Danny laughs. “Brown eyes this, and thick eyebrows blah, blah. Gag. ”
“Dark skin and thick thighs are even better.” Portia smirks.
“Guys. Focus,” Ava reminds us, leaning in to the camera on her phone and getting serious. “Harlow. Who. Is. This. Guy. Stop beating around the bush and tell u—”
“Holy shit, holy shit, hole-ly shit ,” Portia repeats over and over, squawking so loudly that we all pull back, shocked. “Oh my fucking gawd, I’m dying inside.” She pauses theatrically, flapping her free hand, holding up a tablet. “Harlow. Please tell me that’s you in that picture.”
“It’s probably me in that picture.”
“ Go Look . I sent it to our group chat.”
I do.
That picture?
A paparazzi photo that is clearly Landon Burke—and me. There is no mistaking him and me in that booth at the restaurant, french fries and sliders piled high on plates in front of us, Andy’s hands folded on the table as I lean in to hear whatever he is saying over the music.
He is a very poorly disguised Landon Burke.
We’re smiling like idiots and giggling like we have a secret.
Underneath the picture Portia sent, from a well-known social media account, is the headline: Landon Burke in Midwest with Mystery Woman. In Town for a Team Meeting, or in Town to Play? Link to the Story in Our Bio .
“Landon fucking Burke?” Ava whispers. “Seriously, Harlow. How did you not recognize Landon fucking Burke of all people when you met him last week? He is in, like, every other commercial on TV on the planet.”
“I don’t watch a lot of TV.” I sound so dumb that my shoulders slouch. I cannot defend my ignorance of athletes. Not while living in a football city.
Ava is blinking rapidly. “Is this for real, or are my eyes bugging?”
“Even I know who he is, and I’m gay,” Danny can’t help adding.
“Gay people like football, asshole,” I remind him. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
“No, gay people like being social at football parties —huge difference.” He sniffs. “I’m there for the free food and for the tight ends, ha ha.”
“Holy shit. It just occurred to me that Landon Burke went down on you.” Ava is whispering as if Andy could hear her from the other room. “Holy shit. Seriously. He went down on you.”
The last thing I need is her to keep saying it—and in that tone of wonderment, like I’ve accomplished some daring, amazing feat.
Also. It feels wrong somehow that they know this personal information about him, now that they know who he is.
Ugh.
What a clusterfuck. How did the media get a photo of us online so fast?
Seriously wild.
“She had sex with him,” Portia drones. “She had sex with Landon Burke. Landon Burke was inside her.”
I pull a face at her choice of words. “Okay, could you not?”
“You had sex with him today when he got there, didn’t you?”
I blush, giving myself away.
“Oh my God.” Portia giggles somewhat maniacally. “Of course you would find the hottest fucking athlete walking aimlessly around New York City and not know who he is—then have him drooling around after you, then follow you to Bumblefuck, USA, and show up on your doorstep.”
She is being so dramatic, which is so very like her.
“Would you please stop cursing?” is the only response I can think of to say because I’m embarrassed and anxious and want to hide behind the shower curtain from my friends.
Damn that social media post! I wanted to tell my friends who I’m seeing, not have the media do it for me.
Lesson learned: nothing will be sacred after today if I am not careful.
The whole damn thing makes me nervous.
This conversation made it worse.
“Harlow, why didn’t you tell us you were seeing Landon Burke?” Portia asks.
“Because! I just found out! Do I have to keep reminding you? Everyone, calm down.” I’m the one who’s not calm. “I’m still processing too. Don’t make me regret telling you.”
“Don’t listen to her, she’s just jealous.” Danny has his lips pursed. They’re glossy. “When a man gets on an airplane to come see you, that is some serious shit. One day, one week, one month—the timeline doesn’t matter, honey.”
It doesn’t?
“It’s not like he flew across the country, he literally flew here from Ohio .” If my tone doesn’t say how unimpressed by that I am, my eyebrows do. “I could drive there right now if I wanted to and still get there by morning, so let’s not give him any awards just yet for grand gestures. In fact, we could almost say he is crossing my boundaries.”
“Girl, please. No one tells Landon Burke that he’s crossing their boundaries.”
“You do when you didn’t know his true identity!” I laugh. “I can’t believe half the shit I have said to that man’s face. Had I known who he was ...” My voice trails off, and my face gets red as I recall some of the stupid, cringey things that have come out of my mouth. “Would I have said them if I knew his true identity?”
I made a joke about him shitting his pants, for God’s sake.
“Let’s be honest—that’s one of the reasons he likes you,” Ava says sweetly, always the supportive one and always looking for a silver lining. Her optimism is one of the reasons I knew I needed her on the team for Kissmet, and I will always be grateful that she believes in my vision.
“I’m sure he loves my smart mouth so much,” I say. “And he’s out in the living room with my horrible little dog, and he’s already met my father, who won’t leave him alone.” I moan. “I’m pretty sure my dad is planning the wedding.”
“I’m pretty sure Danny is already planning your wedding.” Portia laughs.
“Um, would you blame me?” Danny flips his hair. “Do you blame us? He’s literally everyone’s wet dream. He is a professional football player, and he’s hot.” He pauses. “My father wouldn’t give a shit about me being gay if I brought home Landon Burke.”
“Hold up,” Portia interrupts. “So wait. You didn’t tell us—did no one bother you while you guys were in the restaurant? How is there a photograph of the two of you already on the internet?”
I shrug. “I was wondering the same thing. I mean, yeah—people were one-hundred-percent staring. That mustache he loves so much isn’t convincing. But considering this is a small town, and there’s a pro team here, seeing players around isn’t unusual. He said most people don’t want to bother them, especially if they’re with their families or partner.”
“So he called you his partner?”
“No! He wasn’t calling me his partner, he was just giving an example.”
Why are my friends like this?
“My guess is that because he’s not on our team, people were actually tripping at seeing him in Green Bay. They’re used to seeing our players around town.”
True. “I guess I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I’m going to be your maid of honor,” Danny announces to the group. “I call dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs on maid of honor, you bitch,” Portia shouts.
“Please,” he scoffs. “I already have a dress and a suit picked out online, and now I’m looking at white shoes.”
Portia gasps. “Oh my God, Harlow, think of all the handbags you can buy when you are hot and heavy.”
“Portia, you did not just say that.” Ava laughs. “She couldn’t give two shits about handbags. Have you seen the tote she carries instead of a purse?”
“Hey, what’s wrong with my tote?” They can be such assholes when they want to be. “I have no use for designer bags, where am I going to carry them? To the dollar store?”
Ava shakes her head. “I still cannot believe Landon Burke is right under our noses. Like, I could literally get in my car right now, and in five minutes be at your house and staring into his eyes. That’s crazy.”
“For serious,” Danny says. “My fucking mind is blown. Like I want to go out tonight and celebrate. Who wants to go out, get drunk, stay out all night, and call in sick to work tomorrow because Harlow is banging a hottie?”
All three of my friends raise their hands.
“You are not calling in sick tomorrow!” I laugh. “We have to go over the in-app purchases, dickheads.”
“Oh, poor you—you’re just there getting laid by the most famous wide receiver in the Americas, boo-hoo.” Danny makes a crying face, hamming it up for the camera. “The rest of us losers will be in our lame apartments working on our early Christmas lists so my new, hot stepzaddy can buy me things.”
“I’m not after him for his money.”
“We know you’re not, baby doll.” Ava giggles. “You’ll literally be the worst WAG in the league.”
They all laugh.
“I don’t know what a WAG is, but it doesn’t sound like a compliment,” I answer honestly.
“Just do yourself a favor and don’t google any of his past relationships.” Danny’s evil laugh punctuates his sentence.
Portia groans. “Dude—why the hell would you say that? Now she’s going to google his past relationships and freak herself out.”
“Listen, honey.” Danny sighs with importance, directing his comment at Portia. “There’s something romantic about the athlete and the girl no one expects him to choose, isn’t there? She’ll be fine.”
Fine?
I am not fine.
Not after I go online once we end our call— like Danny told me specifically not to do . Because that is exactly the dumb bullshit I do, sit on the toilet and google Landon Burke girlfriends . The search results leave me staring at my cell phone screen and make me want to cry—or curl up in a ball, at least. Or run off to the nearest derma spa and rearrange my face.
Or not walk out of this bathroom at all. Climb out the window, perhaps?
You cannot stay in here and hide all night.
But ... but he dated a supermodel.
So what?
Um, and an actress.
The actress wasn’t serious, they went to one movie premiere together, big deal.
And a social media influencer with, like, millions of followers.
My stomach is in knots.
None of these women are “normal” people like me—they are all famous.
“Comparison is the thief of joy,” I remind myself, telling myself in the mirror, repeating it several times. Then I say it again, the words not resonating in my brain or my heart.
I’m wallowing.
Ten minutes ago you were happy, Harlow.
I was. Until Danny pointed out the obvious, that Landon is out of my league and has never dated a girl like me.
You are amazing, stop doubting yourself!
Honestly, being at that restaurant this evening wasn’t easy, but at least I knew a little bit about what to expect. I was semieducated about who Andy is. I was armed with some information. I knew that things could get crazy, but they didn’t. For the most part people respected our space, if you don’t count the photo taken with a wide-angle lens.
Andy is a big deal.
And now my friends know, my father knows, everyone on the internet who follows professional sports knows.
My phone pings.
Then it pings again.
Two friends whom I haven’t spoken to in months have messaged me. Then a third, all of them with the same text:
Landon Burke !?!?!?!??!?!?!
I don’t respond.
I am not a model.
Far from it.
I have literally walked around in front of him with sex hair and did not care. I walked around that hotel room in the worst pajamas Ever —that’s how far from being a model I am!
“Of course he dated women who were also famous. So what?” I’m staring at myself in the mirror again, talking to myself. “He’s single, and it doesn’t say anything about infidelity in any of these stories online.”
Still.
A model? And not just any model, but Paisley Blue. She walks in the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show on television, for God’s sake. There are photos of her online decked out in bright blue and yellow, his team colors. Another of her with his number painted on her bare chest. She was on the cover of a sports magazine, floating in the ocean.
How am I supposed to compete with that?