“And?”
“Consider yourselves a public property couple. Assume there are cameras on you at all times, especially on the island. And for god’s sake, avoid confrontations with your ex-boyfriend that end up plastered all over local news, please.”
I stare at her as I realize what she means.Oh god.
“You really have been holed up with him, haven’t you? None of your family’s said anything?”
The only one who’d mention my foolishness is my mother, and I blocked her number. Maybe Maren, but only if it mademelook bad. My father believes that all press can become good press with the right spin, and he’s probably delighted I appear to be with Logan making him “happy”.
“Camera caught the exchange between you, Logan, and Dalton. The press has gone with variations on jealousy—Logan’s jealous, Dalton’s jealous, you’re torn between two lovers. Stupid shit. But there’s no counternarrative, and the two of you left me out to dry.”
I close my eyes, and I cringe at any version of a love triangle being out in the world.
“That narrative, if we’re not careful, will only get larger if Dalton takes over Alex’s position in dealing with the team.”
“That won’t happen.”
“Actually, it might. I’ve been hearing it’s between him and Klaus. The Advisory Council likes the idea of a naysayer keeping the team’s budget in check instead of a yes-man who lets the cash flow.”
“Dalton having anything to do with the team is a recipe for disaster.”
“I’m more concerned about how it looks between the three of you. What I’d like to see is you and Logan established in the media and the court of public opinion as a completely solid, genuine couple. Make Dalton the interloper.”
“And how would we do that?”
“I have a plan,” Tamiko says with a wry grin. “But I’m not sure if you or Logan will like it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sawyer
Ican’t remember the last time I was nervous about something where my gut brimmed with excitement rather than dread.
Logan didn’t want to hide, so I think he’ll be okay with Tamiko’s plan, but executing it without consulting him is still risky. There’s nothing Logan takes more seriously than his career. He’s told me, and he’s shown me how true that is.
I follow the Bullets’ representative to the seat Tamiko arranged behind the Bullets’ bench in Boston. When she came to see me, she already knew exactly what she wanted from me. Up until I arrived at the arena, I’d been convinced that coming here was good for Logan’s career, but doubt is trickling in. What if, despite Tamiko’s certainty, I’m playing this all wrong? I’ve read him all wrong? What if there’s a very big difference between not hiding and beingthispublic?
I’m also trying to convince myself that I’m not giving into someone else’s needs at the expense of my own. Which, in thewhirlwind leading up to boarding the Tucker private jet to get here in time, didn’t even cross my mind. Fixing the problem Tamiko identified was my priority.
Tamiko’s positive that the more the press and public see Logan and me together, the less the age gap will be criticized. Familiarity breeds content, she said, which isn’texactlyhow that phrase goes.
On the plane here, I took a peek at my social media accounts, and hockey followers and middle-aged women—weirdly—were raging about me being thirty-one and Logan being twenty-one. Apparently,I’mtaking advantage of him. Even if familiarity actually breeds contempt, I can’t see how any of them could dislike me more.
Part of me wanted to reach into my phone and shake each and every one of them. They don’tknowhim.
On paper, yes, the age gap might be eyebrow raising. A few months ago, before I met Logan, I would have been right there with the naysayers. But I’m convinced that if the critics came to know him like I do, they’d understand our age difference barely matters. A few pop culture references that I have to explain sometimes. He’s more mature for his age than most obscenely talented twenty-one-year-old guys with overflowing pockets of money. On top of that, I’m recovering from a traditional age gap relationship that nearly destroyed me.
Honestly, I don’t know if that thought works in my favor, but age wasn’t the problem between Dalton and me.
Or maybe it was.
God, I wish I could just pick a lane of thinking about the mental chaos Dalton caused.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Dalton doesn’t matter.
At this point in our lives, Logan and I have common needs. It’s that simple. Anonymous people on the internet don’t get to sway me when they don’t know either of us.
Or at least that’s what I’ve kept telling myself ever since I deleted all my social media apps just before the plane landed. Even the little bit I read is wiggling into my brain and emotions in a way I don’t want. Anonymous opinions will fester—I shouldn’t have looked—I’m just hoping that the sight of Logan acts like a salve.
