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Me: Stop it. Logan hates me and doesn’t want me here at all.
Sarah: Send a pic of what you’re wearing.
Me: I kind of wish you were a guy asking what I’m wearing. It’s been a while since I was up in the early hours of the morning seeing off a friend.
Sarah: What my supermodel friend can’t get a guy? Doubt it.
Me: The right guy. You know I don’t do casual.
Sarah: I’ll never understand what you and Katie have against casual. Send the photo.
I get up, stand in front of my mirror, take a picture then send it to Sarah.
Sarah: I get it now. Logan has a fox fetish if those are foxes on your shorts.
I chuckle softly.
Sarah: Or he wants to get his hands on all the flesh you are showing off.
Me: You’re crazy. Logan doesn’t want my body.
Sarah: A lot of guys do, why not him? He wanted you back in high school.
My mouth drops open, and I continue to stare at the words in her text. Why would Sarah think he wanted me in high school? His party was the one and only time he showed any kind of interest, and we were both drunk. I’ve never mentioned to the girls about running into Logan that night and I certainly have never told them we had kissed.
My cell vibrates again with another message from Sarah.
Sarah: What no reply? And now that I’ve given you something to think about I’m off to bed to sleep this time.
I send a final message.
Good night/morning, Hun. Love you.
And shortly after a heart emoji appears.
I smile, then plug my cell back into the charger. I wonder if Sarah is right, maybe Logan is more interested than he wants to be. It’s a ridiculous thought; he can’t possibly want me, not after all these years. We’re barely friends after the caustic comments we’ve thrown at each other, with the regularity of a change in season.
Logan may have kissed me on the spur of the moment at his party, but it didn’t mean anything. Well, not to him anyway. Later that night when Katie was feeling much better, I went looking for him and he certainly wasn’t thinking about me. I found him with his tongue down the throat of a girl named Gemma. He went on to date her for a couple of months and after they broke up, he dated another girl Kristy. I wanted to hate those girls, but I couldn’t. They were both too nice and it wasn’t their fault that it hurt seeing Logan move on so quickly.
I only had myself to blame for first pushing him away and then continuing to crush on a guy who wasn’t interested. I never told anyone. I barely even wanted to admit the attraction to myself when he was going out of his way to ignore me.
I breathe in a lungful of air and exhale it slowly, that was all so long ago. We’re adults now and surely we can exist in his large apartment for a few more weeks without wishing physical harm on each other.
I refuse to let Logan rain on my parade because I’m excited to finally be back living in Manhattan. My little apartment in Paris with its view of the Eiffel Tower, when you leaned far enough out over the balcony, was a great base for my work in Europe but I missed New York City. The place I consider home and where I’ve been my happiest.
Besides, I’m retiring from modeling so living in Europe is no longer necessary. The last couple of years I haven’t had as many approaches from designers, not like I did back in my early twenties. At twenty-nine—by fashion industry standards—I’m too old for the big fashion weeks. I’m not disappointed because I’m ready for a change. I have no regrets about my career choice over the last ten years. But now it’s time for me to go in a new direction and fulfill new dreams. I’m going to run my own business and I can’t wait to get started.
Just one last big campaign remaining, which will run over the holiday season with a series of billboard and magazine ads. My last photoshoot will be next week, then that’s it.
I’ll finally be able to say, “I’m my own boss.”
Chapter four
Logan
I enter the security code into the keypad outside Hunter’s penthouse. It’s early, and like I do every morning, I’ve come up in the elevator to use his personal gym. I could use the one for the building, but the truth is, Hunter’s gym has better equipment and it’s private, at least on the days when Hunter isn’t using it.
I walk down the tiled hallway, my sneakers squeaking against the marble floor, the only other sound is the familiar whirr of the exercise bike. I’m surprised that Hunter’s up this early. Maybe he’s having trouble sleeping too.
