“Don’t feel bad,” I rush out. “I can’t stand it. You’re too handsome to be moping about.”
“I’m not moping.”
His voice doesn’t convince me. I know we still have a lot to discuss, logistics and all that boring nonsense, but I want to lift his spirits and have a pretty good idea of how to do it.
“Tell me, are you really over there scheduling your week? La-de-da. You can do that any time. Why don’t we have a bit of fun? Something to put you in a better mood.”
“Fun?”
I suppose I’ll have to spell it out for him then. P-H-O-N-E S-E-X.
“Yes, well seeing as it’s already late and we’ve both got early mornings…” My voice is heavy with suggestion. No subtlety here. “I can’t come round to you, but maybe we could do a bit of…y’know…”
“Aren’t your roommates there?”
“They’ve gone, finally. I’m all alone, and I’m wearing…” I look down. “Right. Well, not exactly lingerie, unfortunately. I do like to be comfy when I’m home.”
He laughs. “Tell me. I want to know anyway.”
“It’s a huge ‘I heart NYC’ t-shirt with a chocolate stain near the middle, and underneath I’ve got my shorts on. They’ve got little sheep jumping about. Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Could you forget it and I’ll start again with something a little more sexy?”
“No. You’re always sexy.”
His voice has gone all raspy, and I have to bite my bottom lip to keep myself from losing it.
“Well, thank you…now tell me, what have you got on?”
“Black sweatpants.”
“And?”
“And boxer briefs.”
“Hmm…is this how people do it? They describe what they’re wearing and then they sort of just lead into it? I’m not so good at this.” He laughs, and I toss my head on the back of the sofa like I’m utterly hopeless. “Right, how ’bout this? Let’s start over, and I’ll make it really good.” I drop my voice an octave to sound all phone-sex-operator-y. “Oh, Logan, hello. You’ve just caught me at a bad time. I’m totally nude, you see.”
“Candace—”
His voice sounds amused, and that is not what I’m going for. He can laugh at me any time. This is serious sex business.
“Oh, no. I’m so cold. I haven’t got anything to put on. What will I do?”
I can barely make out his laughter, as if he’s trying to stifle it with his hand. I double down on my efforts.
“Oh myyyy. My legs are so smooth and silky!”
“I can’t take you seriously when you’re like this.”
“Like what? Naked and oh so sexy? I know, it’s hard to handle. Now stop messing about and put your hand down your trousers. I’ll do the same.”
I lie back on the sofa and hoist my t-shirt up so it’s just covering my breasts.
“Are you touching yourself?” he asks, more than a little curious.
“Well not yet. I’m trying to loosen the waistband on my shorts. It’s like I’ve done a sailor’s knot on them or something,” I groan, wrestling with it. “It’s hopeless.”
Just then, the door to the flat flings open wide and Kat and Yasmine stroll in, their arms laden with grocery sacks. They spot me in my compromising position right away.
“Oh, come on, perv!” Yasmine groans, shielding her eyes. “Not on the sofa! We all sit there!”
“I wasn’t doing anything!”
“Yes, you were!” she argues. “Why’s your shirt all scrunched up like that? Were you going to have sex on the phone in our living room?”
“NO!”
Logan’s really laughing now. He’s never been so amused in all his life, I’ll bet.
Kat, meanwhile, strolls right toward me and takes one look at the coffee table, her face crumbling in anguish.
“Candace! You cow! You’ve let a perfectly good pint of ice cream go to waste!”
I immediately hang up on Logan.
Chapter Seventeen
Logan
Though Candace and I didn’t work everything out on Sunday night, at least there’s some hope for us. I was worried after the gala that she’d been pushed to her breaking point. I know how hard this life can be, and I don’t begrudge anyone for wanting to escape it. Even though I talked to Melody at Gotham Hall and she broke down and apologized for causing a rift between Candace and me, it doesn’t mean it’ll be smooth sailing ahead.
This way of life isn’t for the faint of heart and I don’t want to force Candace into it, but after our call—after she hung up on me and I sat on my couch laughing about it—I know she’s worth fighting for. Her brand of crazy feels too unique to pass up.
My week starts the way they always do. Weights. Training. Interviews. Meeting with my financial planners. Meeting with my apartment manager. Meeting with my agent. Meeting with my marketing team. Meeting with my coaches. Sleep. Food. Repeat. Candace. Candace. Candace.
She’s the silver lining in all the bullshit I trek through on a daily basis, and she doesn’t even know it.
We live in the same city, but we might as well be in two different worlds.
With how busy we both are, we don’t manage to see each other on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. We do talk on the phone, though. After Sunday night, I can’t resist calling her. Even if her roommates usually interrupt us, I still like hearing from her. It’s easier to get her alone in the middle of the day when I call and catch her during her lunch breaks at school. She eats in her classroom while she puts me on speakerphone, and today, she’s telling me about an art project she has planned for the kids in the afternoon.
“We’re making slime!”
I frown, not quite understanding. “Slime?”
“Oh, it’s this gross toy kids absolutely love. Like a sort of Play-Doh goo? But somehow worse? It drives me absolutely insane trying to clean it up, but they go wild for it. Plus, I can usually get them to act sweet for at least twenty minutes after we’ve done it. Er…okay, that’s a stretch. At least five minutes. Five minutes of peace is worth the trouble, believe me.”
“Take a picture of it so I can see what you’re talking about.”
“Will do!”
She has to rush off the phone before I do and I’m left missing her, which doesn’t sit well with me. I distract myself by looking at Rosie’s itinerary for my afternoon. She has my life broken down into fifteen-minute intervals all the way from now until 8:30 PM. Tomorrow, my day starts at 5:00 AM.
I know Candace doesn’t have it any easier. She has a shift at District tonight, and I send a quick text to Pat to make sure he’ll be there to drive her home when she’s finished. He shoots back “10-4” and then Rosie arrives with a box full of empty Gatorade bottles.
As promised, my face is plastered all over them, and I don’t even realize there are a few different versions until she tells me we have to give the team at Gatorade our final approval by the end of the day.
“Uh, right. Let’s just go with that one then,” I say, pointing to the one closest to me.