His eyes are so beautiful it feels like a kick in the chest.
The silver-grey is so clear right now, and I realize for the first time I don’t feel any distance in his gaze.
He’s right here with me.
And I wish to God I could keep him like this all of the time. He makes me feel like I matter, when for so long, I’ve felt like I’m just floating through life.
“I don’t make the rules. Cuddling is mandatory.”
His smile is so genuine. I couldn’t have even imagined seeing him smile like that back when we were on the rooftop and he was closed off from me in ways I couldn’t understand.
Stay like this.
Don’t go back behind your walls.
Because being let into your world is better than being in my own life, anyway.
I go up to Logan’s hotel room again the following afternoon, and I realize I’ve made a mistake from the moment he opens the door.
Logan clearly didn’t expect me here.
He’s wearing head-to-toe football gear, which is the first thing that clues me in.
“Um, is this a sex thing?” I ask. “Because Icouldreally get into it, if you want me to do a thing where I dominate my former bully, but just give me a moment to get used to it.”
He puffs out a quick laugh. “Chase, I’ve got a photoshoot going on in here for a magazine.”
I peer behind him and see the edge of a tall flood light and reflector at the end of the hall.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter.
Of course he’s not just wearing football shit for the hell of it. This is forYard Linepromotion, and there’s a whole production team in here right now.
“Who’s at the door?” someone calls out from inside.
I whisper near Logan’s ear. “Uh, you can say it’s just a hotel worker.”
I nod at him, encouraging him.
“A guy from the hotel,” Logan calls back. “He’s… here to take inventory of the bar.”
I shrug. He swings the door fully open and I step inside. The living room is like a full-on zoo, and when we walk into the main area there are at least eight people inside. Photographers, stylists, and other assistants are by their sides.
But because I’m in my hotel uniform, no one questions it as I walk into the suite.
A couple people smile or give me a polite nod, but they’re very focused on their own task at hand.
“Logan, have Anne redo the gel in your hair,” someone tells him.
“Got it.”
I walk over behind the bar and pull out my phone,periodically looking at it as if I’m checking boxes on an inventory list. I pull down bottles of liquor, pretending to check how full they are, but I go slowly, watching Logan after a minute.
After he gets his hair fixed, the stylist nods. “Okay. Next few photos are going to be without the jersey. It’ll be shirtless, with just the pants.”
People help Logan remove his giant shoulder pads, and it turns out the jersey is a fake with a zipper down the back so he doesn’t mess up his hair. They pull it off of him, then pose him in front of the window.
Seeing all of these people fussing over him is just another glimpse into how his daily life must feel.
