The Trouble With Quarterbacks

by R.S. Grey

  Oh okay. So she arrived with his friends, and they had to take photos as a group. And then when Melody wanted to take a photo with him, he didn’t want to embarrass her, so that’s how this all happened. What a perfectly reasonable explanation. I should feel loads better.

  I don’t.

  “But then why does she think you two are dating?”

  He rears back as if utterly confused.

  “Dating?”

  I point in the direction I just came from. “I just ran into her in the loo. She showed me the red carpet photo and mentioned you were a couple but said you would deny it because you don’t want it getting out. I just… Please be honest with me. Am I being played here? Am I the fool?”

  “No. Listen.” He reaches out to touch me, but I jerk back.

  I don’t want to be touched right now. I really don’t.

  I look around me, at all the faces in the crowd of people who seem to know exactly what I’ve just done and who I am.

  Everything suddenly feels tilted out of proportion, like I’m looking at the world through a funhouse mirror. The lights, the music, the crowd—everything is off. I hate it all and I want out. Right now.

  “Candace—”

  “What the fuck am I doing? Oh my god. What am I doing?” I’ve lost my grip, truly. I can’t stop myself from mumbling. “I just gave you…” I slap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my god. I’m going to be sick.”

  I turn away from him and rush toward the front exit of the hall.

  “Candace, stop.”

  I can’t. Doesn’t he see? I’m the gross one, the loser. He arrived on the red carpet with Melody, and even if it was an accident (Was it?!), the whole internet is probably aflame with how gorgeous they are together, and then here I am…the other woman. The one in the supply closet!

  I feel so disgusted with myself, like I’d peel my skin off if I could. I want to run out of this room, but I don’t let myself. I only walk quickly, aware of Logan calling my name, but I don’t bother to stop. It feels like none of this is real, like I might wake up tomorrow and find it’s all been a horrible nightmare.

  Logan only catches me because on my way out, I realize I haven’t donated yet. I might not have much to spare, but the people who benefit from this charity have even less than I do. I yank open my clutch, grab what little cash I have, and stuff it in a donation box near the door. Logan grabs ahold of my arm just as I’m walking away, and he tugs me to a stop.

  “Please don’t leave,” he says in a quiet voice near my ear. He’s trying to keep us from causing a scene.

  “Logan.” I turn around to stare up at him with pleading eyes. “Let me go. I truly can’t be in this room. I feel like I might throw up or embarrass myself even more. I’m not mad at you, I promise!”

  And it’s true. I’m not. I’m just confused. I want to leave this room and leave this dramatic life Logan leads. I want to get some space from the events of the last twenty minutes so I can put the pieces together in a way that makes sense. I can’t do that here.

  I try to get free of his grip, but he doesn’t let me.

  “I want no part of this strange love triangle you’ve got going on with Melody.”

  “There is no love triangle. I’m not seeing her,” he insists, his voice hard and clear as he leans in close to me. He really wants me to hear what he has to say. “I swear to you, I’m not. I have no idea what she said to you, but the fact is, she and I have only gone out in a group twice. The last time was the night I saw you at District. Nothing has happened since then. Darius and Liz invited her here tonight. She’s not my date. You are.”

  Then, because maybe he feels like I still don’t believe him, he leans in and kisses me with the whole room watching.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Candace

  I’m so caught off guard I don’t flinch back right away. We kiss, and I let him try to lure me back to our blissful bubble. My concerns start to creep back into the shadows, but just before they’re gone completely, I break away from Logan and end the kiss.

  No. I don’t want this. I need to clear my head.

  “Come back to the table?” he asks after I turn my face away from him.

  I frown, feeling horrible for having to disappoint him. “I truly can’t.”

  Honestly, this night has been a total disaster, and even though I think Logan is telling the truth, I can’t just walk back into the thick of things and act as if nothing has happened. I need a breather and some space. I need a moment to reset and collect my thoughts.

  “I’m going home.”

  His whole body sort of sags as if he’s never been more disappointed.

  “I can’t go with you. I have to stay and take my reserved spot at the table or it’ll look horrible. I’ve committed to being here for the charity.”

  My eyes go wide. “Of course! I understand. I wouldn’t expect you to leave with me anyway. I’ll go and we can regroup tomorrow or something? After we’ve had some time to cool off?”

  He nods, and I’m not going to lie, it’s extremely awkward to sort of shuffle a step back and break his hold on me. It’s not a breakup, but it feels an awful lot like one. He looks at me like I’m tearing his heart out, and I probably don’t look much better myself.

  I force my body to turn and leave. It’s for the best.

  Out in the hall, it’s quiet and empty. Everyone is inside there, with the band and the crowd and the noise of it all.

  The city street is just what I need, packed with real people and their real problems. No one seems to care at all about me as I reenter it. The photographers have all gone home. Workers are dismantling the red carpet, and I pass by them unnoticed. I know I could call Pat and have him come round to get me, but it doesn’t feel right to ask him to do that. Besides, he’s not my employee. I can’t just ask him to drive me around for free. He’s on Logan’s payroll.

  Instead, I start to walk. I’m highly aware of what I’m wearing and how little protection this dress provides me, so I eventually bite the bullet and flag down a cab. It makes my stomach hurt to spend money on things like this. I can’t even look as the ticking dollars start to accumulate as the driver heads back toward my flat.

  We don’t talk, and I feel bad for being such a lousy customer. He probably thinks I’m always this rude, but well, I guess we’re all allowed to have a bad day every now and then. When we arrive, I thank him for the trip and try not to groan as I swipe my card and pay for the fare.

  It’s too much. All of it.

  Maybe I’m just not equipped to be in Logan’s life this way. Maybe I haven’t got the makeup to deal with women like Melody. After all, I couldn’t even smell her bullshit in the loo. I thought she was really being truthful, but now that I’ve had a bit of time to mull it over, I know I believe Logan. He was all over me at his party, in the pool, and Melody was there. If they were really dating, she would have flipped when she saw him with me.

  No. I realize now that she was playing a game—a game she’s much better at than I am.

  I sigh as I take the stairs up to the flat, and I’ve already braced myself for what Kat and Yasmine will say when I open the door.

  Kat sits up on the sofa in surprise when I stroll in. “You’re home early! Is everything all right?”

  The answer is a long one, and I don’t bother starting to reply until after they’ve helped me out of my dress and I’ve had a nice long shower. I don my comfiest pajamas and walk back out into the living room with damp hair and a bare face. I feel loads better already.

  “Spill,” Yasmine insists, and I do. I tell them every detail, from the supply closet onward, and they listen with wide eyes until the very end.

  “So what are you going to do? Even though I think Logan was being honest, it doesn’t change the fact that things have gotten bloody complicated. Are you going to walk away and try to find a less difficult relationship? Maybe with a normal bloke?”

  I shake my head and stand up to grab a snack. I was meant to eat supper at the
gala, and well…that didn’t happen, so I’m bloody starving.

  “Let’s not go down that road right now. I don’t have the head space for it, to be honest.”

  “All right, fine. Let’s just forget it all for tonight, shall we?” Kat says, patting the cushion beside her after I grab a bag of popcorn. “And if you want, you can come round to a cleaning job with me in the morning.”

  She’s offering because I complained about the cab fare home.

  “Thanks, I’ll definitely join you. Can’t believe I spent all that money on that silly dress, even if it was from a resale shop. Maybe I can get them to buy it back.”

  Later, after we’re nearly done with the movie, Logan rings my mobile.

  I consider answering it, and then I think better of it. It’s late and I still haven’t quite worked out what I’ll say to him when we speak next.

  He doesn’t phone again or text, and I go to bed with a pit in my stomach. Nothing feels quite right, and I think maybe I’ve really gone and mucked everything up.

  The whole point of me not walking the red carpet with Logan was so we could keep our relationship private and under the media’s radar, but the moment he kissed me in Gotham Hall, our illusion of privacy was shattered.

  I’ve officially been thrust into the limelight whether I like it or not, and I find that out the hard way: by waking up the next morning to a million texts on my mobile from people shouting at me in all caps.

  YOU ARE ALL OVER TWITTER!

  GIRL! You’re famous!! WTH???

  Hi there! It’s Amy Nichols! I’m a friend of Kat’s. We did that summer holiday together years back? Anyway, I was wondering if you’d fancy coming on my podcast so we could chat about your relationship with Logan Matthews?

  “Kat! Wake up,” I say, reaching for my pillow and tossing it across the room, at her head.

  “What have you gone and done that for? I was having a lovely dream with a sexy bloke. He had this nice French accent…oof, it was good. Maybe I can close my eyes and get back to it—”

  “KAT! Wake up. Really! This is huge. I’m all over the internet!”

  “What d’ya mean?”

  I type Logan’s name into Twitter, and there are loads of photos of our kiss with all sorts of captions.

  Mystery lady locks lips with New York’s most eligible bachelor.

  Logan’s new girl revealed: Candace Williams, Manhattan preschool teacher.

  After arriving to the Feeding America Gala last night with model Melody James on his arm, Logan seemed quite cozy with British teacher, Candace Williams.

  Worse, there are also photos of the morning from a while back when I shouted at the paps in front of his flat! I look like a raving lunatic going at them with my finger wagging and my mean mug frowning at them in condemnation. I groan. Then my mobile rings and I sort of scream and scramble to answer it once I see it’s only Mum.

  “Candace! Finally, we’ve got you!” She turns away from the receiver to address my dad. “Honey, turn it down! I’ve finally managed to get Candace on and I can’t even hear her over your program!”

  “Blimey! All right! I’ve done it then! I’ve turned it down.”

  “Not down enough, Herald! It’s still ear-splitting. I think they can hear our telly all the way up on Mars!”

  I try to ease the tension headache forming near my right eye. “Mum. Hey. Good morning.”

  It’s like she’s only now realized I’m still on the phone. “Oh hi, dear. Did you manage to get some nice rest last night?”

  “Oh, so-so.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I’m only phoning because…well…” Then she laughs. “Drat. I’ve gone and forgotten already!”

  “The program!” my dad calls out.

  “That’s right! Dad swears he saw you on the telly this morning! It was on the news hour when they go over a bit of celebrity gossip. I don’t pay all that much attention to it, though I do love when they show the royals. Who can resist that little Princess Charlotte?”

  “Mum.”

  “Right, anyway. They said you were dating someone! Who did they say she was seen with, Herald?”

  “Some bloke called Logan!” Dad shouts back.

  “Yes! Logan! Lovely name. He’s a footballer from America. Very handsome. Anyway, that wasn’t you, was it? Dad swears, but I think he just didn’t have his glasses on and he saw a blonde girl who sort of looked like you.”

  I look over to Kat for some sort of guidance, but she only shrugs as if to say I’m on my own.

  “I well…I’m not sure what story you’re referring to…”

  “Well, I think you’d know if you were dating someone as famous as him, honey!” My mum gets a real laugh out of this like I’m a total nutter.

  “It’s, well…um, okay, yes. We have been seeing each other, but it’s new—”

  Then she screams and drops the phone.

  “Mum?”

  There’s only static from her end of the line now.

  “I think she’s gone and broken it.”

  Kat sits up. “That’s probably for the best anyway, don’t you think?”

  “Right. Suppose so. I wasn’t sure what I was going to tell them anyway.”

  “Of course. You still haven’t made up your mind about what you’re going to do, have you? Oh well, no time to dwell on it now. My alarm was due to go off any minute anyway. We haven’t got long to get over to that job if you still want to come with. We can grab some coffee on the way if you want?”

  $8 latte from the corner café? No can do.

  “I’ll make us some coffee here.”

  “Oh fine. Have it your way, though you never make it quite like they do at the trendy shops. After we’re done at the job, we’ll go for tea or something.” She whips her blankets off and stands up to stretch. “I flat-out refuse to work on a Sunday morning and not have at least something to look forward to after I’m done.”

  She’s right. It’s not exactly the way I want to be spending my Sunday morning either, but that’s our lot in life. We’re not one of the lucky ones, the made-up ladies we pass on the street, having a lazy boozy brunch with loads of coffee and mimosas and croissants and eggs and sausage. I nearly pass out from all the delicious smells as we walk by, and then I look down at my slice of toast with a bit of cheap-o butter smeared on it, and my nose shrivels on impulse.

  Kat laughs and locks her elbow with mine. “Oh come on, don’t go feeling sorry for yourself. The building’s just up ahead, and the flat isn’t too big. With the two of us working together, we should be able to finish it in under an hour.”

  She’s wrong. The place is huge—at least eight bedrooms with loads of crap everywhere, and the family’s made a real mess of it. I’ve been assigned the kids’ rooms, and in one of them, I find three dirty nappies hidden in random spots: inside a cabinet, under the bed, tucked in with some socks. The last one’s so rotten I gag as I rush it toward the rubbish bin in the kitchen.

  “No no no! I can’t stand people!” I shout out. “How in the world do they not notice that there’s a ripe old nappy stinking up the place?! It practically smells like a farmyard in here!”

  “Yeah? Well I’ve just cleared off about three weeks of nose hairs from the bathroom sink, so quit your bellyaching!” Kat shouts back to me.

  We go on working through the morning, doing our best to make this place semi-livable again, and by the end, my legs and arms are killing me. We load up our cleaning supplies and our sacks full of trash so we can clear out. As we head for the lift, my mobile buzzes in my pocket, but I can’t answer it. My hands are too full of the rubbish we’ve got to take down to the building’s dumpsters. We tried cramming it in the shoot up on the fourth floor, but the bags are too full.

  “Your mobile’s going off again,” Kat says from behind her mound of rubbish sacks. “I’ll bet that’s someone else asking you for a favor.” She snorts. “I can’t believe Amy asked you to go on her podcast! I haven’t talked to her in like a decade!”
/>   I groan. “I wish I could make it all go away.”

  “You can’t though, you know. You’re dating him now. It comes with the territory.”

  “Am I? Dating him?”

  “What?” she says, sticking her head round the tower of rubbish. “You’re going to let that little tiff last night ruin it for you? Or is it the mags doing your head in? Oh what a sad lot in life to have your lovely photo splashed across the internet!” She shakes her head as if she doesn’t understand me. “Right, well, if you do break it off, be sure to send him my way, because he’s bloody gorgeous and rich, and charming, too! And maybe I’d be willing to put up with a bit of press if it meant getting to squeeze that arse of his.”

  I laugh and knock my elbow against hers. “You’re mad, you know that?”

  “That’s nothing new. Now come on, let’s go toss this rubbish then grab a sandwich somewhere. I’m starved.”

  My mobile goes off a million times the rest of the day, but none of the texts or calls are from Logan. Most of them are from people I haven’t seen since primary school. A few are from family back home, and one is from a news outlet asking if I’d sit for an interview! I hung up on them immediately, of course. What else was I supposed to do?!

  Other than the call from last night, Logan has been dead silent. It’s late evening as I’m sitting on our sofa, going at a frozen block of ice cream with a spoon, when I realize the ball is probably in my court. He phoned last night and I didn’t answer; if I want to talk to him, I should probably make a move.

  I pause in my ice cream endeavor and glance around. The flat’s dead silent. Kat and Yasmine went out for groceries, and I’m all alone. It’s kind of nice.

  My eyes skim over the huge bouquet of roses Logan sent earlier in the week. I’ve been tending to them as if they’re absolutely priceless: changing the water, cutting the stems, singing them a song or two. They say you’re supposed to talk to plants and they really respond to love and affection…and oh hell, I’ve done it again. I’m avoiding the issue at hand.