13. Logan
LOGAN
“She’s there. She’s right there. Fuck.”
We’re in the back of the limo, and Emily just opened the door to the riotous sound of the crowd at the premiere.
She thinks twice, peering out, then swiftly pulls the door closed again. The crushing noise of the crowd falls away.
I slide over on the leather seat, looking out the tinted window.
We’re parked right at the edge of the red carpet of the Lincoln Center, one of the most prestigious venues in Manhattan.
Posters for The Wayward Seas are plastered all over the wall behind the red carpet, and the movie premiere is in full swing.
Emily softly whispers the word fuck three more times before she reaches for her phone and pulls it out, tapping out a message.
“Marcos told me that Caitlyn wasn’t attending the premiere,” Emily says.
But as I gaze out from the window, I can see Caitlyn Grener right there at the center of the red carpet, smiling out into all of the flashing cameras.
“Cait changes her plans on a whim all of the time,” I say, adjusting my tie.
Emily shoots daggers at me with her gaze. “You know every single photographer at this event is going to try to get a photo of you with her. Every interviewer is going to try to pry.”
“And I’m going to stand there and be gracious.”
I only went to lunch with Caitlyn Grener twice.
But that’s all it took.
I learned what “shipping” meant really quickly when people saw the paparazzi pictures of us together. I’m not in a relationship with her, or anything close. But Caitlyn’s shining star is the only one I’ve ever witnessed burn brighter than mine has.
Caitlyn just became famous a month ago, and she’s been blowing up just like I did last year.
A clip from Cait’s self-professed “shitty vampire show,” Bite Marks, went viral online.
Commenters exploded, tearing apart the show for being cheesy and having terrible dialogue.
But everyone likes Caitlyn. They called her a “redheaded Margot Robbie,” and people have been falling for her ever since.
Caitlyn’s PR team pulled off a magic trick.
After the viral shitshow around Bite Marks, they had Caitlyn go on a few late night shows and podcasts, and she knocked them all out of the park. She was charming, hilarious, and tailor-made for social media.
We have the same stylist, so we met at a group dinner, then went out to lunch together a couple of times, purely as friends.
The day after, even major news outlets started publishing articles speculating about our “relationship.”
And I was fine.
Ever since, online gossip blogs have been running wild with made-up stories about me and Cait…
and some real stories, too. We aren’t dating.
We don’t secretly live together, which was a lie that about ten different gossip rags said about us.
But it is true that she and I were both cast in a movie that will film next year.
And now the whole world online seems to believe everything else that was written about us.
“God, everyone loves her,” I tell Emily now as she puts her phone up to her ear. “Those girls on the edge of the carpet look like they’re about to pass out.”
“I know.”
“Hi. Kenji?” Emily says into her phone. “Yeah, you fucked us.”
I can hear my agent trying to talk her down, and I look out at Caitlyn again on the carpet.
She’s charming everyone around her, even right now, waving out at photographers in front of the red carpet and probably remembering their names from the last event.
Her red hair is swept up with tendrils falling out of it, and her dress is a deep green, hugging her body like a glove.
The worst part about it is I actually like Caitlyn.
I would have loved to be able to hang out with her tonight without the media going insane over it, but that’s not an option.
“Yeah. Well, we’re not backing out of it now,” Emily’s saying. “I think two people already saw me opening the limo door.”
She hangs up, glancing out the window and exhaling hard.
“It’ll be fine, Em. I’ll just try to stay on the opposite end of the theater.”
“And the red carpet? And the afterparty?”
I lift an eyebrow at her. “I’ll do my best.”
Through the window, I see that Caitlyn’s finally walking down the carpet, heading into the theater. Emily smooths out her white power-suit, and nods at me.
“You going to be okay?” Emily asks.
“I’m fine.”
She squeezes my leg. “Really okay?”
There’s a sea of compassion behind her gaze. Emily cares about me too much. And she knows exactly how badly I handled everything last year. I’ve been doing better lately, but she’s always careful when my name is in the headlines.
She doesn’t know the real reason I’m on edge today has nothing to do with Caitlyn.
All day, Chase has been on my mind.
I’ve been thinking of Chase’s eyes. Chase’s hair. Even the way Chase looks when he walks, which I forgot is something I like so much about him. I didn’t know it was possible for someone to have an attractive walk, but he manages it. He walks like he belongs in every room he enters.
Last night, I followed the link on his business card and found his Instagram profile.
I didn’t add him as a friend or send him a message, but I scrolled through his art and discovered that over the past year, he’s been prolific, and his art is even more impressive than I remember from his sketchbook.
He paints on massive canvases now.
The artwork is crazy, but his display of talent is undeniable.
He mostly posts paintings, but there are some drawings too, all of them wilder than the last. I can’t imagine who’d want most of them hanging on a wall. Garish neon colors, and paintings of animals with their teeth bared, like the paintings are actively trying to threaten the viewer.
No thank you.
I’ll take the soft, neutral pastel paintings on my walls over that any day, even if they’re objectively boring.
But one painting catches my eye. It’s a male nude figure on a bed, which I’m pretty sure is a self-portrait. It’s stunning. Beautiful brush strokes, and still very colorful, but not in a neon-soaked acidic way.
I looked at his profile again when I had a short break for lunch. And again in the limo on the way to this premiere.
My mind feels like it’s spinning on a hamster wheel.
Fold up the box.
Put it away again.
Slide it next to the others, in the dark.
“Okay,” Emily says, jarring me out of my thoughts. “Let’s get out there, if you’re ready.”
I pull in a quick breath, adjusting my suit jacket. “I’m the master of putting on a happy face. Tonight will be easy.”
She pushes open the limo door again and steps out ahead of me into the chaos of the premiere.
Fans are waiting right there, pressed up against the barriers that seem to barely hold them back.
The walkway leading out of the limo is a sea of phone cameras pointed at me and there are some girls wearing Yard Line shirts with my face printed on them, even though this premiere has nothing to do with me.
I smile softly and wave.
I try to make eye contact with as many fans as possible. I’m getting a lot better at that, now, too. A rush of screams moves through the crowd and dozens of cameras turn toward me, the flashing beginning instantly.
I surrender to the current.
These days, I feel like I’m sliding on a mask when I attend big events. My team taught me how to pose for pictures a bit better, and I do some where I’m smiling, and some where I’m not.
Luckily, I’m one of the last celebrities to walk the carpet.
“Looking absolutely dapper as always, Logan,” a TV show host tells me at the end of the carpet, immediately holding a microphone beneath my chin. “How does it feel to be here in New York again?”
“It feels amazing,” I tell her. “I love this city.”
“What’s your favorite thing to do while you’re in the Big Apple?”
I shift on my feet.
Well, I didn’t exactly get out and see the city much, last time.
“I love the food. I also love the people.”
“New York has lots to offer. Do you have any plans for the evening after the premiere?”
“Ah, yes, actually,” I say into the microphone. “My co-star Charlie is hosting an afterparty. I’m excited for that.”
“We know that fans love seeing you and Charlie Maccan becoming such good friends, especially after some of the events on the show.”
I give her a polite laugh. “Yes, on the show, we can be at each other’s necks. But in real life, he’s one of my besties.”
Besties.
Is that even a word I’d ever use outside of quick little interviews? No.
But I’ve been told that quippy lines and language make for the best soundbites and short-form content.
We make it into the premiere quickly. Inside, I’m seated by Charlie, and at least a dozen people come by to ask for photos of the two of us before the screening begins.
On Yard Line I play a quarterback and he plays a linebacker, and in the show, we’re frenemies on a good day and complete rivals on the next.
People love taking pictures of us playing nicey-nice in real life.
The movie is a period drama about a shipwreck. Despite Oscar-worthy performances, I struggle to pay attention the whole way through.
Caitlyn’s sitting in the row in front of me, and right as the lights dim in the theater, I see the man beside her lean in and press a kiss to her lips.
My stomach twists.
It’s not that I’m jealous. I’m very happy for her.
But I instantly know what this means for the next few weeks of my life. The moment somebody sees that she’s dating someone new, all of social media is going to blow up about how she’s moved on before Logan has.
I can write these goddamn headlines in my mind, now.
I tap Charlie on the arm, leaning over to whisper to him. “Is it better to have gossip spreading about me fucking Cait, or about me getting ditched by Cait?”
He glances in front of us, seeing her getting cozy with the new guy. “Oh, you are screwed, Logan.”
I scrub my palms over my face. “How bad could it be?”
He gives me a look. “You know how bad it can be. Want me to kiss you out on the streets so that they have something else to talk about?”