Third and Long: A Sports Romance (20 page)

Opening the door, I’m hit with the intense smell of marijuana. Did I somehow end up in Paris wherever Logan’s sisters live? Gwen smokes very rarely, so this is quite strange. Then again I was gone for two days, so who knows what she got up to without me to keep her company.

Inside there’s a Lions football jersey on the floor. I don’t recognize the number. Then again the only Lions number I know is three. I find his choice of number to be so adorably narcissistic.

There’s a pair of football tights on the couch. Gwen’s bra is hanging on the back of our kitchen chair. Her thong is in the sink. I don’t even want to know how it ended up there.

This is typical of Gwen. When she gets busy, she gets
extremely
busy. Fortunately, my bed is mere feet away, so I can catch a quick catnap before heading off to school.

I throw my bag through my open bedroom door and it lands with a heavy thud.

“Ow, what the fuck!” someone screams.

I poke my head in. “Oh my fucking god! What are you doing?”

Gwen’s in my bed with a guy. They’re naked. Oh fuck. I’m going to be sick.

“Who the fuck throws their bag like that?” Gwen screams, struggling to get out of my bed.

When my bed sheet falls away, she’s completely naked. Technically not the first time I’ve seen her naked, but still.

“Is that fucking jizz on your leg you bitch! Did you not even clean yourself?” I scream.

“I’m on the pill bitch what business is it of yours!” she yells back, still smarting from getting hit with my bag.

“It’s my fucking bed!”

“Point,” she says rubbing the sleep out of her eye.

“And who doesn’t clean up after!”

“Sometimes I fall asleep!”

“Can we stop shouting!”

Finally the guy rolls over. It’s Cam Phelps.

“Oh fucking perfect. I thought you were coming over to warn her about the paparazzi,” I say.

Cam can barely tell where he is, rubbing his eyes, realizing he’s in a strange bed.

“He did come over for that. And then we…reconnected?” Gwen asks shrugging her shoulders.

“And your bed wasn’t good enough?” I ask, so fucking furious. I’m going to have to burn everything after this.

“We kind of had a little incident in my bed with…” Gwen pauses, feeling me out “…a jumbo size bottle of lube.”

“Can you just fucking kill me,” I say. “Just fucking end it. Put on some goddamn clothes first though.”

Gwen grabs my sheet and wraps herself up in it, which of course leaves Cam completely naked, not that he’s alert enough to realize. I see way too much. Gwen grabs my arm and drags me out on to the couch. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel comfortable quite comfortable in this apartment ever again.

“So tell me about the weekend,” she says as if literally nothing happened just now, or all weekend for that matter, in my bed.

Rather than feel any kind of shame, Gwen looks giddy as fuck. Her big, excited eyes beg me to dish.

“He’s big. Bigger than him,” I say pointing to my bedroom.

“Oh my god, you slut, yes!” she says going up for the high five. I begrudgingly slap her hand.

“We didn’t fuck and his parents hate me. Any other questions?” I ask.

“So what you sucked his cock?”

She takes my non answer for a yes.

“See I knew this weekend would work wonders for your—ahem—ambition.”

“It’s nothing. It’s over. He wants me to be his pretend fiancée still but that’s it,” I say.

“Are you serious? You guys fooled around! Aren’t you like a little more than fake engaged right now?” she asks.

“I don’t know! The whole situation is so weird. Every time we try to talk about it something gets in the way.”

“Are you at least over your whole boo-hoo I can never date a guy because my mom’s bullshit?”

“I don’t know Gwen. I really don’t. I just want to graduate without any drama. Is that too much to ask?”

She gets up from the couch and goes to put on a pot of coffee. “And piss away a great guy? Yeah, I’d say so,” she says.

“Speaking of piss,” I hear from my bedroom.

A fully naked Cam Phelps walks out of my room and heads to the bathroom. When he returns, cock still dangling and free, he finally notices me there. Not that it phases him.

“Oh hey Tamber. Thanks for letting us—uh—use your bed,” he says.

My head slowly, and I mean slowly, rotates to where Gwen is standing in the kitchen. My mouth wide open.

“What!” she shrugs. “I may have lied a little.”

I take the deepest, most meaningful breath of all time.

Cam comes out moments later in some gym shorts and a tank top. He asks me how Logan is doing, and I tell him that his guy will be coming back later today. Gwen comes over and gives Cam and I a cup of coffee. Then she sits her own ass down on the couch in between us.

Our couch was not built for a hulking mass of a football player and two girls, so I’m basically edged off to the arm rest. A perfect welcome home really.

Cam flips on the sports channel which lasts all of three seconds until Gwen grabs the remote and flips over to the local news. As usual the mid-morning news is all gossip. I’m expecting something about Logan instead I get quite the shock.

The headline is explosive and clear as fucking day.

MANHATTAN SOCIALITE KATERINA PRESCOTT LANDS IN HOUSTON.

“Why the hell is she here?” Gwen asks.

“You know her?” Cam asks.

I keep my mouth shut.

“Ugh yes! She does a bunch of stupid YouTube videos about ‘affordable’ fashion,” Gwen says, throwing in the air quotes on affordable. It seems like Gwen completely forgot Katerina’s connection to Logan. Not that I’m surprised given the intense weed stench that permeates our apartment.

“Why don’t you like her?” Cam asks.

“She’s completely obnoxious and fake. Just watch once of her videos. You’ll see,” Gwen says.

“Wonder what she’s doing here,” Cam says.

I don’t have to wonder. I know exactly what she’s doing here. Our whole trip this weekend was useless. His parents were flying in Katerina whether they met me or not. They were humoring me. I mean sure I was bullshitting them, but I’m still pissed off. So my etiquette was a bit off. Otherwise I was charming as fuck! This is bullshit.

“She’s going to marry Logan,” I say.

“Oh shit that’s right,” Gwen says.

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“So this is awkward,” Gwen says.

“Yeah.”

“I’m confused,” Cam says.

“Don’t worry dear. We all are,” Gwen says kissing him on the cheek.

Meanwhile I’m fixated on the TV, feeling like I need to take a run.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Logan

Tamber starts blowing up my phone at the exact moment that my parents give me the lovely news. I was all set to hit the road on my motorcycle and head back to Rome for Monday afternoon practice when my dad stopped me in the garage.

Apparently, they didn’t give one single fuck that I brought Tamber out for the weekend. My dad made the call to fly Katerina Prescott in to meet me the moment those pictures at the steakhouse came out.

We’re out on the patio for brunch and mom is rambling on and on about how once I meet Katerina, I’ll have no interest in Tamber. I’m not paying attention to what they’re saying. My hands are balled up in fists as I fume over my plate of eggs and bacon. My phone’s screen lights up with Tamber’s name on the table in front of me, but I’m too angry to read her message.

I can’t imagine how angry I would be if I actually was engaged to Tamber. Then when I look at my fists and see how red they are, I realize the reality of my anger. I may not be engaged to her, but it sure as hell feels like she’s being ripped away from me.

We were pretending so long that I forgot it wasn’t actually real. There’s a reason I chose the hardworking girl with the great ass in the tight little running shorts to be my fake fiancée. She’s so weirdly committed to herself in a way that isn’t selfish or crazy. She doesn’t care about my money, and she’s not interested in fame. She wanted to get to know me for me.

Last night was amazing, the perfect opportunity to make our relationship something more than a pretend engagement. She finally let her walls down and let me in. Now she’s back in Rome, and Katerina Prescott is on her way here in a helicopter.

A fucking helicopter!

Tamber lives in an apartment with her best friend. Every single day of her life has been a struggle. I could barely pull her away from her school work to get her to spend two days with me at a mansion. Now my dad thinks I’m going to be interested in a girl that hocks millionaire fashion tips on YouTube coming in hot on a goddamn helicopter.

No wonder my fists are so red that they look about to burst.

“Logan?” my mom says cautiously. As aloof as my dad may be, mom can read the emotion in my gritted teeth.

Without uttering a word, I stare right at her, hoping she feels the betrayal. Stretching across the table, she rests a hand on my balled up fist. Bold move, mom.

“Logan, I realize that you like Tamber. She seems like a nice girl. But you need to realize that that’s all she is. She isn’t wife material. She isn’t an Oliver.”

Tamber is more wife material than any girl I’ve ever met. The thought catches me by surprise too when I put the words Tamber and wife together like that in my head.

When I think the phrase “Mrs. Tamber Oliver,” I can’t help but smile.

Jeffrey starts clearing plates and refilling coffee. His interruption is the only thing stopping me from letting my mom and dad have it. I want to unleash a decade of annoyance at the way they’ve been controlling me and grooming me. I may be Logan the Third, but I am my own man.

My sisters made the right move. Run away. Put an ocean between them.

The moment Jeffrey leaves the room our breakfast is interrupted by the thundering blades of Katerina’s helicopter. My dad’s eyes light up at the thudding whir of the blades. He’s operating under the assumption that I’ll forget all about Tamber as soon as I see Katerina.

The helicopter sets down out on our field. I get the sense that Surefire and Daisy are all riled up at the commotion. As the blades and rotor power down, my parents rush out down the steps to our backyard. There’s no easy way to get out of this, so I follow them.

Soon the pilot gets out of the copter and opens the door to my apparent destiny. It’s been a while since I’ve seen pictures of Katerina. It’s not like I spend a lot of time watching fashion videos.

When she steps off the copter, I actually am somewhat blown away even though I hate to admit it. My dad puts his hand on my shoulder and mutters something about how he told me so.

Katerina Prescott is quite stunning. To say any less would be lying to myself, and I’ve done enough of that lately. She steps out of the helicopter in a gray pencil skirt and lavender blouse. Both accent her curves in all the right places.

Unfortunately for her, she also chose to wear rather large heels, so the walk across the uneven ground of our very large backyard turns out to be quite difficult for her. If Tamber were here, she’d probably be rooting for her to take a dive. Silently, so am I.

The pilot leads Katerina to the brick path that leads up to our estate. We meet her halfway. My dad introduces the three of us, wrapping his arm proudly around my shoulder. Given the smile beaming on his face, I’m starting to think that maybe he should marry Katerina and leave me out of it.

“Logan Oliver the Third, I have heard so much about you. A pleasure to finally meet you,” Katerina says, leaning in for a hug that I can’t refuse.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I say, wishing that I could be talking to Tamber right now.

“Oh, I do love that fabulous Southern drawl of yours,” Katerina says. “Almost as much as I love this house!”

We walk up to the breakfast patio, and my dad announces that he’s going to give us a few to get acquainted. My parents leave me there with a girl I have no interest in. A girl that they are going to coerce me into marrying one way or the other.

We take a seat at the table and Jeffrey pours us mimosas. Keep them coming. I’m going to need a lot more to get through this.

“So tell me Logan, how is school going for you?” she asks, her eyes studying my body. Tamber was always sneaky about checking me out. Katerina looks like she wants to eat me for breakfast. I’m a pancake on her plate and right now she’s drizzling me with syrup.

“Great actually,” I say, doing my best to show as little interest in her as possible. “I’m declaring for the draft as soon as the season is over.”

“Oh yes, I heard you might be the number one pick,” she says. “I’ve seen you play and you are quite stunning out there on the pitch.”

“You’re a football fan then?” I ask, neglecting to tell her that we don’t call the fucking field a pitch.

“Of course silly! How could I marry a football player and not know a thing about the sport he loves?” she asks.