Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“Right.”
“It’s unique,” she continues. “Now, there will be a section of the population who thinks it's too raunchy, just because nudity will be on display. But those types of people probably already aren’t fans of Yard Line.”
“Very true.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I slide it out.
Chase
I can’t fall asleep. You’re already up, aren’t you?
Logan
Unfortunately. Early call time.
The restaurant closed late last night and I still haven’t been able to sleep. There’s a pair of cats who sound like they’re attacking each other outside my window.
If you want, you can go sleep in my hotel room. I’m not there, but it’s a comfy bed.
You just like the idea of me sleeping naked on your bed.
Is it that obvious?
If I did that, I’d have to jerk off when I woke up, because your bed is going to smell like you.
Are you trying to make me think about your cock while I’m on my way to work?
Is it working?
I bite back a smile as I turn to look out through the window at the sun slowly rising, flooding the New York streets with light.
My phone buzzes again and when I look at it, Chase has sent a photo.
It’s a picture of him naked in his own bed.
It’s not an overtly sexual picture, and he’s not gripping his cock or posing, but his cock is hard, laying against the bottom of his abdomen as he gazes at the camera. The baby-blue sheets are crumpled all around him, and I gaze at all of Chase’s tattooed skin in the morning light coming in through his window.
He looks so fucking hot, because Chase always does. But I also notice his more subtle, masculine beauty, too.
The way his cheekbones look in the light.
The radiant green of his eyes, and the dark lashes that frame them.
Sorry if that’s too much cock for 5am.
It’s not.
I just thought you might be nervous about posing nude for *me,* so I wanted to make you more comfortable. Level the playing field.
You’re seriously trying to convince me that that’s why you sent me this?
It’s part of the reason :)
Right.
Not the biggest part.
The SUV pulls up outside the film set and as soon as I’m out of the vehicle, I’m bombarded with production assistants giving me the rundown of how the day is going to go.
As I get to the film set, though, my conversation with Emily runs on a loop in my mind.
The truth is that I hadn’t thought too deeply about what the greater career implications of the nude photoshoot are going to be. At first, I just wanted to do it as a way of making sure the media was focused on something other than the bullshit harassment of Caitlyn Grener, and anything else that has come from that stupid gossip.
But Emily is right.
There will be some people who see the photoshoot as a step in the wrong direction.
And I’m not sure I’ve ever had that sort of scrutiny on me before.
I get a call from one of the production assistants after about an hour in my private trailer, and it’s time to head out onto the film set. I’m dressed head-to-toe in 1910s style gangster clothing, including a double-breasted tweed suit, a waistcoat, necktie, and a Gatsby cap.
The scene we’re filming is brutal.
It’s a scene from midway through the film where my character argues with another man in a bodega shop until we both draw our guns, pointing them but never firing.
We have to film it over and over again, screaming at each other.
By the end of the day, I’m exhausted, and the moment I’m back in my own clothes and in the back of the SUV, Emily has a phone ready for me to call into the radio show.
It starts to rain outside as the car pulls away from the film lot.
Droplets start to collect on the SUV windows and I look out at the city as we drive, and quiet thunder rolls through the air.
The guy asks me a couple of easy questions, the typical ones about how it is to play a football player on TV.
But then he steps over a line.
“Now, Logan, I know you’re a private guy. You don’t talk about things like matters of love in the public. But what actually happened with Caitlyn Grener? Can you give us any juicy details at all? Even just a scrap?”
I cut a glance over at Emily and she’s furrowing her brow.
The call is on speakerphone and she just heard all of that, too.
She mouths a silent “what the fuck?” at me, because she knows that we always brief interviewers to tell them that I’m not comfortable talking about my love life on the show.
This guy expressly agreed not to ask about Caitlyn.
But now I’m live on the air.
And the host fucking knows I’m trapped.
“Caitlyn is a wonderful person,” I start to say, choosing my words carefully. I feel like I’m stepping over landmines, and if I phrase anything wrong, I could be misquoted. “I’m very happy for where she’s going, and proud of her career. It’s been a meteoric rise.”