My lips drew into a line. “Is this what we’re doing?” After talking Jenna and Lindsey down last night, swearing them to secrecy, and barely getting to sleep around two, I was not mentally prepared to adjust my game plan.
I’d geared myself up for four events with Logan. Four times we had to pretend to be together, that was it. But if he was going to show up every day that I went to work? If Norman was there?Was he going to have to touch me?
“Norman Marcus doesn’t know your practice schedule,” I hissed, handing him a broom. I picked up the box cutter and went back to work.
“Oh. So you don’t want me here?”
I levelled my gaze at him, knife at the ready. “If your mom’s here, I’m assuming he is, too?” Logan nodded. “Right, so he’s going to . . . you know. Expect us to look like a couple.”
It was impossible to whisper in here. The smallest sound echoed. Thankfully, Logan’s sweeping made a good white noise buffer. “We’re just working.”
“And when we’re not?”
He bent over to pick up a piece of packing tape stuck to the floor. “We just need to come up with ground rules.”
“Perfect.” I sliced through the next box, folded it flat and tossed it on the pile. “How about no photos.”
“Like, ever? Aren’t we going to press?—”
“Yes, but the only reason I’m here is to get you to come, which I still don’t understand, by the way.”
Logan frowned, resting his hands on the broom handle. “Why do you think that?”
“That’s what Norman Marcus said.”
“Can you stop with the name?”
“It’s his name, Logan. It’s like Celine Dion. You have to say both.”
He resumed sweeping. “I would’ve come to those events. My mom is being featured here.”
“That’s what I assumed, but then he made it sound like I would have to convince you. He said I had you wrapped around my finger.”
Logan winced, then muttered a few choice curse words under his breath.
I paused mid box cut. “What?”
He set the broom handle against the wall and went back for the dust pan. “I think this is Alice’s doing.”
“Your mom?”
“Yeah. My mom.” He flipped his hat around backward and dropped into a squat, trying to hold the dust pan with one hand and maneuver the broom with the other.
“Stop.” I dropped the box cutter and jogged over. He handed me the broom, and we worked together to clean up the pile.
Logan dumped it into the trash bag. “My parents were at the game the other night. They saw . . . a few unfortunate things in the stands. Douglas girls with signs. And then they came down to the tunnel after, and you know, friends and girlfriends hang out there, and they always bring people along who want to go out after.
“More girls.”
He had the decency to look a little chagrined. “Yep.”
I started to put two and two together. If Logan’s parents were upset about his pictures from World Juniors, how would they take getting a glimpse of the potential he had for hookups on a daily basis?
“But you’re, what, twenty?”
He blew out a breath. “Doesn’t matter. My parents won’t ever stop worrying about me. With these guns—” He flexed his arm and pretended to kiss his bicep.
“Oh my gosh, stop.” I shoved his shoulder and walked back to my box cave. “So what, you think your mom decided to pretend you had a girlfriend? So everyone would find out and you’d be pressured to stay celibate?” I snorted. “Didn’t they see what happened last time?”
