15. Logan
LOGAN
“Give me just a moment,” I tell Emily as I walk past her again in the living room, heading for the end of the suite.
The other actors just left, and I’m so physically distracted that I can’t go over dry, boring contracts unless I do something about it.
Not seeing Chase for a week was supposed to help. But it seemed to only make everything ten times worse.
It’s like I’ve been holding up a dam inside me. It almost broke on the video call last week, but now it just got destroyed.
I’m flooded with him. As I walk down the hall, my cock is aching like a fucking heavy weight between my legs, and I feel like I could come just from brushing up against the couch a little too closely.
There’s something seriously wrong with me, because it’s been like this since I finally broke down and told Chase how badly I’ve missed him, and it only got worse when he stroked his hand down my back.
I need to keep my sanity intact right now.
And there’s only one way to ensure that.
Em gives me a short wave, her eyes already laser-focused on the paperwork on the table. She reads those types of things very closely, and I expect she’ll be deep in that document for at least the next 20 minutes.
I head to the end of the hall in the suite, stride through the master bedroom, and shut the door to the bathroom.
My skin is molten hot, my button-down cloying against my skin.
I lean my back against the closed door and fumble to undo the button on my pants, shoving them down fast and releasing my cock that’s been straining against my boxer briefs.
I start to stroke myself steadily but firmly, and I pick up the pace fast. I don’t have time for this, and I have an entire mountain-sized fire to put out right now.
But he was here.
So close to me. Touching me in the way only he’s allowed to do.
Chase is a potent mix of every fucking thing I’m attracted to. His feather-soft hair that he pushes around like he’s taming it, or his elegant fingers that are somehow also alarmingly strong. The way he holds me. The way he manages to be so pushy and so kind, all at once.
I stroke myself faster, catching a whiff of his scent that’s still on my shirt.
He always smells a little bit like sugar from whatever he makes in the kitchen, but there's also the scent of his deodorant mingled with his natural smell layered underneath.
I groan quietly as I squeeze my cock tighter, pumping my fist.
I can hear Chase’s voice in my mind right now, urging me closer to the edge.
You know you’re going to come for me, he’d say.
Just do it, Logan.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
My hips come forward involuntarily as I get closer. It’s like his words are pushing into my head, toying with me.
Let me take your pictures. Paint you. On a canvas, and with my cum.
Just fucking let me in.
I bite back a moan as I let go, coming hard all over my own fist. I fuck up the angle and some of it falls with a tiny splat to down on the marble floor, and I accidentally drip streaks all over the top of my slacks, too.
I lean back against the bathroom door again, giving up on trying to keep my clothes clean.
My eyes flutter shut, and I try to catch my breath.
I'm screwed.
And already, I’m saying things I don’t plan on around him.
I nearly told him about Daniel, out there on the couch.
The story should be simple to tell.
My best friend got famous, when I was still a nobody.
And the tabloid blogs fucked with his head.
I didn’t know he was around hard drugs until it was too late.
He went out on a houseboat with two social climbing partiers one night, and the pills were cut with something bad.
Something too strong. He’d always struggled with depression and substances, but fame lit a match underneath it.
That’s what I mean, when I say I’m scared.
There’s still no one in my life I’ve told about that part of my past, and I almost did it on a whim.
I wash off and toss on a clean set of clothes, trying to calm the storm in my mind.
I make sure I’m presentable before I head back out. I go to the kitchen and make a quick green juice, then head into the living room.
“You can ask for double,” Emily says before I’ve even sat down.
I pull in a breath, trying to center my mind back onto business.
“They already raised my rate from last season. I don’t need to be greedy.”
“Logan. Showbusiness is fickle. You need to get every dime you can while you’re still the hottest actor in the industry. Yard Line is making the network so much money it would make most people puke to see. Ask for double for season 3.”
I nod at her. I sit down and let my spine relax, throwing my head back and stretching my neck. “Okay. Sure. Let’s do it.”
She blinks at me. “Wow.”
“What?”
She shrugs. “I’m just surprised that it didn't take another hour of convincing. Are you doing okay, Logan?”
I roll my fingers over the back of my neck, massaging it. “Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping that well.”
She’s tapping something out on her laptop as she talks to me. “If you need sleeping pills, I can get some ordered for you. Either the natural stuff or the heavy kind.”
“I just need some breathing room. I think being here in New York will be good for me.”
She keeps typing. “Being out of the LA bubble will help.”
“And I think I’m going to do the nude photoshoot.”
She snorts a laugh, not even looking up at me. “Yeah, we’ll get right on that. Strip down and I’ll take some shots of you right now.”
“I’m not joking, Em.”
Finally, she glances up at me. “Logan. You were serious about that?”
“I was.”
She pulls her hands off of the keyboard, crossing her arms as she looks at me. “You could barely handle looking fans in the eye until lately, and now you want to do a photoshoot completely naked for everyone to see?”
“It’s different if they’re not in the room. I’d go nude for a play, a movie, or TV show any day. Doing it for a magazine isn’t any different.”
“Goddamn,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “You really aren’t kidding, are you? You’re going to break the internet.”
I smile softly. “That’s the idea.”
“Don’t do it if you’re not 100% certain you’re fine with it. These images will be on the internet for the rest of your life.”
“Screw it. Let them look at me.”
“Damn, maybe New York really is treating you well. I’ll get in touch with all of the major magazines. This is going to be a big bidding war.”
“I’ll give all of the money to charity. One that supports people struggling with their mental health, but nothing that’s predatory. There are too many mismanaged nonprofits.”
Em nods at me. “We can get the team on it. Wow. I can also tap my contacts for the best photographers in the city.”
I shake my head. “No. I already have someone in mind.”
My newfound sense of control only lasts for a few hours, though.
Later that night I break.
I open my phone and right at the top of my notifications are a bunch of tags from a new video going around TikTok.
Not one of mine.
One of Caitlyn’s.
A video of her just surfaced. A fan took it on the street three weeks ago. It shows Caitlyn walking up to a restaurant, meeting a man, and leaning in to kiss him. It’s the same man from the premiere that I saw her with.
And the comments on the video are scathing.
Wow… guess you can take the girl out of the trailer park but not the trash out of the girl??
WTF???? Cait cheating? @LoganStone @LoganStone @LoganStone
She was with Logan Stone, wasn’t she? Cheating whore.
Fuck this. Not watching Bite Marks anymore. Team Logan @LoganStone
#TeamLogan Fuck this bitch!!! @LoganStone
Try again. Not going to be a fan of a cheater. Ughhhhh celebrities just keep getting worse.
I feel sorry for @LoganStone, like, damn dude. You deserve better.
I slam my phone down on the table and stand up, striding around the room. I pace back and forth, looking out over the city.
My hands are shaking as I pick my phone back up, then drop it again.
It was bad enough when my name was brought into this, but the way they’re treating an innocent, kind, newly famous woman that they know nothing about is enough to make me snap.
I lean my head over the couch and push into the cushion, screaming at the top of my lungs.
Blood rushes to my face, making it feel tight and wrong, and I ignore it, screaming again until my throat gives out.
I stand up.
Pace to one side of the room, then walk back.
I reach my fist back and swing it down to punch the top of the couch cushion, but it slips at the wrong time.
“Fuck,” I hiss as my knuckles clip the wooden corner of the table by the couch. My hand screams with pain, my skin tearing as it hits the corner of the wood.
I step back, reeling at the pain.
I feel like I’m about to watch it happen again.
Like I keep seeing the same speeding train hurtle toward a brick wall, over and over.
I can’t watch social media destroy someone who doesn’t deserve any of it, with completely fabricated, false stories. Caitlyn didn’t cheat on anyone. And I sure as fuck want no part in this burgeoning crusade against her.
I pick up my phone and message her immediately, telling her that I’m going to fix this. She’s probably under a barrage of messages and stress right now, and when I call her a moment later, she doesn’t answer.
I’m fucked if I do something.
And fucked if I don’t.
I could have told the world that I wasn’t dating Caitlyn weeks ago. Could have squashed the rumors, if I hadn’t been so closed off from speaking about my personal life.
She isn’t him, I tell myself.
Caitlyn isn’t Daniel.
And she is going to be okay.
Even as the thoughts race through my mind, I know they’re illogical. This type of media attention destroyed my best friend, but Caitlyn doesn’t have a drug problem, and I’m sure she will handle the harshness of fame better. But nothing about this feels logical.
This all could have been avoided.
But it wasn’t, because I’m me.
I didn’t do enough to save Daniel.
And that’s never going to fucking happen again.
I text my publicist saying to release a statement saying that we were never dating, and Caitlyn didn’t cheat on me. Some people will still believe the bullshit, to be sure. Not everyone will see the follow-up. But I have to try.
And I need to do the photoshoot. Sooner rather than later. I would take any attention if it means this will go away.