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Four hours of constantly clicking and typing and excuses later, I give up and crack open the whiskey I’d bought off Beck downstairs. I’d gone back to my apartment after my phone started ringing nonstop with notifications, enough to annoy even the most callous of Rusty’s regulars. Several hours spent, and with none of the online fires extinguished, I’m giving up.
I close the laptop decisively and decide that three in the afternoon is still five o’clock somewhere, toasting the liquor bottle in the air to nobody in particular.
“Here’s to the end of my career,” I say. “It was fun while it lasted.”
There’s no containing the story. I don’t know how the tabloid got ahold of it, but it almost certainly must have been somebody at Sizzle, likely somebody we worked with during the competition. Who else would think to call us a threesome? Somebody must have seen us that week, though I haven’t the faintest idea who it might have been. I’d spent the better part of today going over every minute of those weeks in my mind but came up with nothing. I really thought we’d been discreet.
I’d have been a whole lot less surprised if it came out that Drew and I were involved, considering the security footage they found of us backstage at the live event. Or if somebody had seen me leave with Bailey that one night she and I… reconnected.
The memory of just how we connected, with my hand up her skirt in that dimly lit dive bar, resurfaces and I let it. It feels nice, unlike every other moment of this day so far.
Some people are pissed at my apparent bisexuality, some at the thought of me being involved with two people. Plenty of them are pissed I’m involved with anybody at all, which kind of surprised me. I didn’t realize my single status mattered at all, but apparently it did.
Doesn’t matter that I’ve denied it all over the place. My website actually crashed at the initial amount of traffic, but came back up fast enough that people are still leaving comments. I used every social media account I’ve got to try to talk my way around the tabloid piece, but it’s no use. If this had happened to any other online personality, I’d have been green as hell with jealousy over all the attention. As it is, all I can do is wait for it to be over. There’s no coming back from this.
And God help me… what happens when Bailey and Drew find out? If they haven’t already.
I haven’t heard from them since I left that note this morning. Normally that wouldn’t be cause for concern; Drew’s still got a job after all, and Bailey’s got a couple of days left at the bank. Is it possible they won’t be affected by this?
A boy can dream.
Drew was brave enough to out himself to his family, despite knowing they wouldn’t approve. What happens when the entire world finds out?
28
Bailey
The text messages start over my lunch break, but I’m too busy daydreaming about Cooper and Drew to check them. I’ve heard from Evie a few times the last couple of weeks, though it’s been mostly short “congrats!” types of messages. When we swapped phone numbers I didn’t actually expect her to keep in touch, but it’s been nice to hear from her, even if it’s largely in GIF form.
Drew and Cooper went out of their way last night to blow my mind, I think. Every time I think the shine must be starting to wear on the three of us being together, they do something to make me fall for them even harder. Whether it’s Drew’s all-around considerate actions or Coop’s newfound ability to cooperate, every moment we spend together seems to bind us closer together. So much so that I’m starting to think maybe a define-the-relationship talk is unnecessary. The three of us, we just are. We’re a fact.
After what happened with Drew’s family, I’m terrified of taking us for granted, but I can’t help how I feel. It feels certain, real. Solid.
So when Evie starts sending me screenshots of Cooper’s website, you might say I’m caught a little off guard.
“Ooh, Bailey, you’ve been holding out on us!” Twenty-year-old Shana at the next teller window leans over the partition between us, a sly grin on her face. “Those guys are hot.”
A handful of my coworkers start migrating in our direction. Given the dead zone that is our lobby after lunch, it’s prime gossip hour. And it looks like I’m the topic of choice today.
“Hold that thought,” I tell Shana, trying to play it cool. “I’ll be right back.” I snag my phone and haul ass to the ladies room, locking myself in a stall before swiping to open the messages from Evie.
It’s Cooper’s website all right, plus shots of several of his accounts on social media. Apparently, somebody reported a story about Cooper and Drew and me—there’s a photo of the three of us from the opening gala. I look fat as hell, but the guys look amazing. I don’t remember there being photographers around at that point, but whoever took the picture definitely captured the air of intimacy between us. I do remember how it felt standing there with them that night, long before anything happened between us. It’s staring me in the face, out there on the internet for all to see.
According to the screenshots, Cooper’s been posting about this for hours and his strategy is clear: deny, deny, deny.
I don’t understand. Obviously somebody’s spreading gossip on purpose; that part I get. I didn’t really expect to get through a TV show competition without some kind of drama or exposure of some kind, though it’s all been small potatoes so far. But I didn’t win, and the finale hasn’t even aired yet, and nobody knew my name at the gala. There’s no reason to care, for anybody. Why bring up this shit now?
Cooper’s phone goes straight to voicemail. I keep it simple, asking him to call me back when he can. I imagine this must be something like damage control for him, trying to keep a lid on his reputation.
Nothing to worry about. That’s all it is, damage control. He’s not avoiding you.
I text Drew instead of calling, knowing he’ll be at the studio today. I wonder if they’ve already heard. I hope to God this doesn’t cause more problems for him. Exonerated or not, he doesn’t need any more negative attention at work.
I’m just about to gird my loins for dealing with my coworkers when my phone buzzes with an incoming call. I answer immediately, thinking it must be Cooper.
“Hey,” I say, a little breathless with relief.
“Bailey Annette Ross,” says my mother. “What is the meaning of this?”
