CHAPTER 11
GRAYDON
OC: Umm, what’s with the hard launch?
This motherfucker, seriously, why does he think—
Bennett: Yeah, I saw the same thing.
What?
What the hell are they talking about?
I rest my feet on the coffee table in front of me and respond.
Graydon: What the hell are you talking about?
OC: Uh, your relationship.
Relationship? Has he lost his mind? I know it’s late, but it’s not that late. Maybe he’s been drinking.
Graydon: Put the fucking drink down and go to sleep.
I shake my head and turn off my TV. Jesus, there’s something wrong with that guy. My phone dings with two more text messages.
OC: Are you really going to deny it?
Bennett: It seemed like maybe it was a hard launch. I’m guessing no?
What in the actual fuck?
I scoot to the edge of my couch.
Graydon: Spell it out for me, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.
OC: With the flamingo girl. What’s her name again?
Flamingo girl? Huh?
Bennett: Maple, right?
OC: Oh, right. Maple. The whole joint Instagram account. The picture. Ring any bells? It’s blowing up.
Uh…what the hell did she post?
Graydon: What’s the account?
For the life of me, I can’t remember what she landed on—in all honesty, I really wasn’t paying attention when she jabbered on about it because I didn’t care.
OC sends another text with a link.
I click on it, but the app has to update because I’m never on the damn thing. I wait impatiently, and when it’s ready, I click on the link again and am brought to a profile with one picture posted. It’s the same picture that is used for the profile picture.
It’s Maple and me, smiling at the camera while standing in the practice dome. There isn’t much distance between us, and I’m holding the camera up just enough to make it seem like I’m crowded around her when, in reality, I was trying to angle the damn thing to fit our height difference in the frame.
Jesus Christ.
She’s smiling brightly, her dimples on display while a faint spattering of freckles dot the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. Despite her aversion for me, she is giving off the impression that she’s happy to be snuggled in next to me.
Snuggled in close…
Christ, don’t think about it like that. Do not even fucking go there.
I click on the picture she posted of us, and the caption says: “He’s teaching me football, I’m teaching him flamingos. Come along for the ride.” And then a bunch of hashtags. My name being one of them.
Holy shit!
Over three thousand likes? And three hundred comments?
I glance back up at the profile, and there are already over ten thousand followers.
What the hell did she do? I was certain she’d been lying when she said she was awesome at social media. And yet.
OC: From your silence, I’m guessing that maybe you didn’t know about this?
Bennett: Does Gretchen know?
Graydon: I did, and Gretchen approved, but I thought it would just be some stupid thing that didn’t gain any traction.
Bennett: Oh, it gained traction. People are already planning your wedding.
OC: Me being one of them. I’m thinking a summer soiree. By the way, you two make a good couple. Don’t you think, Bennett?
Bennett: I’m not answering that.
Graydon: WE ARE NOT A COUPLE.
OC: Are you shouting at us? Dude, this is a chill place.
Bennett: Why are you poking the bear? Didn’t he tell you not to call him dude?
Graydon: Why are you both even talking to me?
OC: We like you. We want to form a bond.
Bennett: Bored in a hotel room.
Graydon: Well, we are not hard-launching anything. There is no relationship. This was just a stupid PR ploy to get people to like the team.
Bennett: Seems like it’s working.
OC: Now you have to give the people what they want.
Graydon: And what would that be?
OC: A romance!
I lean against Gate B, arms crossed, murder on my mind.
When I checked the profile this morning, we already had over one hundred thousand followers—how?
Who cares that much about a zookeeper and a football player?
And the comments, likes, and shares? Astronomical. One picture—that’s all it was—and now I feel like I have all eyes on me…which is dramatic, but fuck.
The door to the building in front of me opens and Maple walks out…slowly.
Almost hobbling as she moves, pain etched all over her face. It’s oddly adorable.
When she looks up and spots me, she stops walking and lets out a sigh of relief.
“I’m not making it all the way to you.”
I push off the fence and walk up to her. “Sore?”
“What the hell do you think?”
I run my tongue over my teeth. “Is that any way to greet your boyfriend?”
Her brow twists together, and a scowl forms. “What?”
“Your boyfriend? Isn’t that what you set us up as last night? Romantically involved?”
Recognition falls over her face. “You saw the post?”
“Half of San Francisco saw the post, Baker.”
She twists her hands in front of her. “Yeah, I feel like people are taking the account the wrong way.”
“You think?” I gesture with my arm. “People think we’re practically engaged.”
“Which was no fault of my own. That’s just an assumption on the public’s behalf. Please tell me you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”
“Oh, okay.” She sighs in relief. “At least I’m not some homewrecker. I was sweating about that this morning when I checked the account.” The smallest of smiles creeps over her lips as she leans in. “Did you see all the follows?”
“Yes, I did,” I practically growl. “I saw all the bullshit comments too.”
She stands taller. “Why are you so angry? Isn’t this what we wanted?”
“I can’t be romantically attached to you,” I say, my anger getting the best of me before I realize how I said that.
Maple leans back, as if she was just slapped.
Her lip quivers for a moment. “Well, I understand that looking like you’re romantically involved with someone like me might tarnish whatever reputation you have, but I’ll be sure to focus our social media attention on the cause and not the perceived relationship. ”
“Maple, that’s not what I meant.” I sigh, feeling like a fucking dick.
“It’s fine,” she says, turning away from me and doing her best to walk away, despite her physical pain.
“Wait,” I say, catching her by the wrist and turning her around. When her watery eyes look up at me, a weird sense of…pain ricochets through my chest.
Again…I made her fucking cry again?
I know I can be a dick, but to make someone cry? Multiple times? That’s…that’s not the man I am. It’s not the man my mom raised me to be. So why am I so lost, so unable to control my emotions when I’m around her?
Regardless, it’s not okay.
“Maple—”
“There you two are,” Gretchen says from behind us, interrupting me before I can apologize.
I glance over my shoulder to see her walking through the gate, her heels clacking against the concrete.
“Glad I caught you before you headed over to the birds.” She clasps her hands together and looks between the two of us.
“Wanted to let you know that the Foghorns front office was flooded with press this morning from your social media idea. Everyone wants to know the scoop on what’s going on over here.
” She smiles brightly, as if this entire thing was her idea.
“I told them that I’d discuss with you two how we should proceed. ”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“How about we sit down so we can discuss?” She gestures toward the building in front of us that I’ve found out is used for receptions and parties.
Maple painfully makes her way toward the building and I hold the door open for her and Gretchen before we find a table off to the left, offering us a little privacy.
I glance Maple’s way as she slowly lowers herself to her chair, her face attempting to remain neutral, but I can tell from the grimace pulling at her lips that she’s in pain.
I have an overwhelming urge to help her, to hold her hand while she lowers herself down, but I know for a fact that she would deny it, even possibly swat my hand away.
“Well.” Gretchen folds her hands, looking far too pleased to be here. “This was a pleasant little surprise, waking up to a whole lot of followers on an account with one picture. It’s a great start, but how we proceed is what will really keep people interested.”
I’m not appreciating the words she’s choosing, because it seems like things are about to get way more complicated.
“First of all, I’m holding off on all press requests at the moment, not only because I don’t think you’re prepared for such attention just yet, but also because we want to edge everybody.”
“Edge?” Maple asks.
“Yes, we want to give them little breadcrumbs, small insights into what you’re doing, but not give them the relief they need.”
“Can you not use sexual terms when it comes to this?” I ask.
“Yes, please,” Maple agrees. “Graydon is quite disgusted by being tied to me intimately, so please spare him.”
“I’m not…that’s not what I said,” I almost growl, but it doesn’t get Maple’s attention as she avoids all eye contact with me.
Gretchen pauses and leans back, her black-lined eyes studying us as her red-painted lips purse. After a few seconds, she motions between us. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” I say.
Maple folds her arms over her chest. “Nothing’s going on.”
“I sensed tension last time we met, and I thought that maybe with the success of this account, there might be reduced tension, but that’s not what I’m seeing now.”
I remain quiet because there’s no need to get into this. Gretchen just needs to say what she needs to say so we can move on with the day.
But Maple has other plans.
“He’s upset because people think we’re a couple, and the thought of him being romantically attached to someone like me makes him shiver to the point of vomiting.”
Jesus.
Christ.
“That is not what I said,” I growl.
“Well, that poses a problem,” Gretchen says as she shifts in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Because the front office loved this attention so much, they wanted to discuss a possible PR relationship.”