Page 19 of Tell Me Lies

“Her fan is on; she’s good.” He chuckles. “That kid is a diva. What three-year-old demands a fan to be on full blast?”

“Her, apparently.” I smirk. “She really is something.”

Putting the popcorn into two big bowls, he takes a seat on the couch and hands me one. This time, he sits closer. “Course sheis. She has the world’s coolest dad.” He points the remote toward the tv. “Whatcha wanna watch?”

“Anything besides crime documentaries. Otherwise, I won’t sleep,” I admit. “For, like, weeks.”

“Yeah, I’m not about that shit either,” he mutters. “Freaks me the fuck out.”

It’s comical to me that he can turn his pirate mouth off when his daughter is around. I mean, yeah, he slips up occasionally and drops a swear word in front of her, but he tries to contain it.

This shouldn’t feel so natural, the two of us sitting on the couch, gorging on popcorn. Because just last week, it wouldn’t have. Heck, it felt uncomfortable when he came home and I gathered my things before leaving. He was a stranger. He still is, but now, it doesn’t seem nearly as weird.

“I’m excited about our little trip.” He smiles, flipping through Netflix. “I’m even excited for the shitty Christmas cookies.”

“You should be,” I say, popping a few pieces of popcorn into my mouth. “And I’ll even take you to my very favorite restaurant. If you’re lucky.”

“I’m always lucky,” he says playfully, making my heart flip. “Too bad it’s only the beginning of September. The leaves probably won’t be changing yet. I bet that’s pretty and shit when they do.”

When he sees the surprise on my face, he shrugs. “What? Think the big meathead hockey player can’t enjoy a little scenery? I’m more than just a big stick and pretty face, you know.”

I ignore thebig stickcomment because the last thing I should be thinking about is Logan Sterns with his big … stick.

Even though that’s exactly what I’m thinking about right now.

I have to stop myself from squirming. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any action. And to force myself to not imagine things like Logan Sterns’s big stick … yeah. Not easy.

“I love driving around and seeing the fall foliage,” I say, forcing myself to think of anything else. “We’d always go to the White Mountains in October. Right when the foliage was at its peak.” Suddenly, I frown. “Wait, you mentioned fans flocking to you when you go anywhere. Do you think people are going to go nuts when they see you, the infamous Logan Sterns, at a small amusement park in New England?”

The corner of his lips turns up as he chews his popcorn, and his eyes give me a mischievous look. “Infamous, huh? I am pretty popular, aren’t I?”

“Calm down. Don’t let your head swell any bigger. I have social media. And Google.” I roll my eyes. “Your face is everywhere.” Giving him an amused look, I laugh once. “I also go shopping from time to time. So, I’ve seen your … rather revealing underwear campaign.” I can’t fight the giggle that bubbles from my lips. “Now … remind me, what was the slogan?” I tap my chin. “Oh, right.Keeping theboysin place.”

He is completely unfazed as he stuffs some more popcorn in his mouth. “Hey, no one wants their nuts bouncing around in their pants during workouts. I’ll advocate for that all day long. Gotta keep the boys secure.”

“Noted.” I nod.

“Anyway, you’re ignoring my question. The fans? Are they going to go insane?” I chew the inside of my cheek. “I mean, are they going to take photos of us?”

To Logan, I’m just the nanny, watching his kid. But in the book world, even though I’ve sucked for the past few years, I’m still very well known. If the tabloids put a picture out of Logan Sterns with his mystery girl and my readers saw it, they would go insane. And I don’t want that sort of attention.

“Why, Boston? You embarrassed to be seen with me?” he teases.

“No,” I answer quickly. “It’s not that I’m embarrassed. But if pictures got out, my readers would jump to conclusions. You know, about you and me. And that’d just make things weird.”

“Or they’d eat that shit up, and you’d be forced to write a hockey romance about a hot single dad.” He winks. “Now, that’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“No.” I try to give him an annoyed look.

But the truth is, since being around him, I’ve had a new story plot brewing in my mind. One about a single father who happens to be insanely good-looking. Oh, and he plays professional hockey.

I can’t tell him all of that. He’ll think I’m a stalker.

“You’re so going to make me your muse, aren’t you?” His smirk only intensifies. “Wait … can I be on the cover?”

“No!” I reach forward, swatting his arm lightly. “You are not my muse. And, no, you cannot be on my cover!”

“You’re no fun.” He sighs. “As for fans at Christmas Land with the shitty cookies, I’ll wear a hat and sunglasses, and no one will know who I am. Hopefully.”

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