It makes people do wild things. Get obsessive. Addictive.
I open up my phone and there are dozens of notifications, as always.
I scroll through my messages and see that none of them are from Chase, and my chest falls a little.
I open our messages, tapping one out.
I try a few different drafts, never pressingsend:
Logan
I still can’t believe we did that.
Fuck me again the night I get back?
I miss you already. Is that too much to say?
I miss you.
Do you even like exclusive relationships? Do you do commitment, or just rough, possessive sex? Are you willing to actually date someone who is bombarded by cameras in crowds every time you leave your front door? Do you *want* this life, Chase? Is any of it fucking worth it? Am I an idiot for bringing you into it at all?
…Did “mine” mean for a long time, or just for now?
I never send a single one of them.
I hit the delete button, erasing the letters on the screen more rapidly every time. I slide my phone back into my pocket, sending nothing.
CHAPTER 24
CHASE
“Chase,” Julian says as he strides into my room. “You going to fucking talk to me about this?”
I glance up from my laptop, where I’m editing Logan’s photos I’ve scanned in, to see Julian holding out his cell phone up to my face.
The picture at the center of the screen is of me and Logan.
I shut my laptop, reaching out to grab Julian’s phone.
“Holy shit. How many fucking comments and likes does this have?”
“Millions of people have seen it already, Chase. Nowtalk.”
Julian is pissed and I instantly know why. It’s a photo from last night at the gallery show, and it shows me and Logan sitting at the bar, posing for the camera. But on the bar between us, there are multiple beer bottles, wine glasses, and shot glasses. Someone even had their pack of cigarettes out on the bar, too.
I scroll through some of the comments and most of them are pretty innocuous, just talking about how hot Logan is. But some of them seem very curious about me, too.
“Jules,” I tell him. “I know how this sounds, butnoneof that shit on the bar was mine.”
He gives me a cold stare. “You just happened to be sitting in front of it all? Who the fuck leaves half-full glasses like that?”
“People at gallery openings do, all of the time.”
He exhales. “Can I trust you?”
My heart twists in my chest. “You know what? I’m tired of this. Trust me or don’t, Julian. I don’t care anymore.”
He grabs his phone from my hand, more pissed now. “Honestly, I do believe you. I believe that the drinks aren’t yours, and I know people sometimes leave their empty packs of cigarettes on bar tops. I trust that you’re not going to relapse, and that you’re telling me the truth about last night. But I don’t trust you withhim.”
