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)
I hear him hum. “That’s it. That’s the one.”
“God, I cannot fucking wait to see you again.”
I stay in his suite all week. I don’t read through Julian’s messages, but I do at least message to let him know I’m safe and sound, sobriety included.
I’m pretty sure he knows where I am.
Luckily, he lets me exist on my own for a while.
Logan’s suite mostly becomes a makeshift photo editing den, because it turns out I’m a total perfectionist when it comes to getting Logan’s pictures just right, and I keep staying up too late after my shifts at the restaurant, making little fixes and changing tiny tones of color in the background.
But I also sleep in his bed.
Because I don’t care if it means I’m obsessed.
I bury my head against his pillow and get the faint scent of him, and I take showers in his body wash and make myself come, wishing it was his hand on me instead of my own.
The place gets messier than it would if Logan were around, but I at least keep it clean, other than pillows and blankets being draped around every soft surface in the place and a few coffee cups and cans left out on the balcony table.
It’s a couple of days before I know that the photos are probably ready.
But then it takes another two days before I’m ready to send them. I keep going back to them, over and over again, gazing at Logan and the way I captured him.
The photos are shockingly tasteful.
Him, on the ground in my studio, lying back in front of my painting of a tumultuous ocean scape, the waves tinged with accents of neon, of course.
Or others of him standing up, in shots where he tried on my glasses thinking it would look funny, when in reality it just made him look even more handsome, like Clark Kent.
There are ones where he’s leaning on the windowsills, and his cock isn’t even visible in the pictures. His ass sticks out in the back, though, and it’s enough to make me covet him every time I see it.
The more I look at the photos, the more they feel like they’re mine, too.
I almost send them out to Emily to give to the magazine one night ahead of schedule.
But I can’t get myself to pull the trigger.
I finally send them at the last minute, after Emily shoots me an email reminding me that the magazine’s deadline is that day. I don’t let myself glance over them for the millionth time.
The photos belong to the world now, not to me.
They’ll be ready to publish on the internet in two days, and that night, Logan will return to the Bellwood.
Emily’s return email is succinct:
These are exquisite, Chase.
Ready to break the internet?
-E
I used to think “breaking the internet” was just a phrase people used.
With Logan’s photos, I had no idea how true it was about to become.
CHAPTER 25
LOGAN
I know the photoshoot is getting attention before I even see it on the official website.
“Look at that!” my driver says, chuckling afterward from the front of the SUV as we pull through Times Square, looking up at a billboard. It’s a digital news billboard with a giant screen that runs a scrolling ticker at the bottom, with images that flash over the top.
“That is a giant fucking photo of Logan’s cock,” Emily says, gazing out through the windshield.
“A blurred-out cock,” I say, marveling at the image.
The news ticker reads A Whole Lot More Football Player - Logan Stone Bares it All.
The picture is one where I’m doing pull-ups on a bar that Chase had installed on the doorframe of his studio.
“They picked the image where you most look like Damien Vance,” Emily says. “They’re smart. People have wanted full-frontal from your character since episode 1.”
“They’re snapping pictures of it,” the driver says as we’re at a red light, grinning at a few tourists who are holding their cell phones up toward the billboard.
One man is walking by with his son, and as his son looks up at the image for too long, his father pushes his head in the other direction.
“I wonder if Chase has seen that they’re out.”
“The release email went to all of us,” Emily says.
“He’s on his work shift, though,” I tell her. “He’s going to flip.”
It’s around rush hour, and the traffic on the way back to the Bellwood is brutal. It’s at least half an hour until we pull into the back alley. Security is about a hundred times better behind the hotel now when they know I’m coming, and there are already six big, burly personnel guarding the perimeter of the alley.
But the fans are still gathered there.
“I will never understand how they know the exact days I’ll be coming back to New York. I wasn’t even in town all week.”