Page 50 of Tell Me Lies

When she slides her finger across it, Walker’s face appears. I try not to look too closely, but when I see Logan in the background, my heart speeds up.

“Hey, babe!” Walker says, grinning at his wife. “Looking good!”

She pulls her arm back to give him a better look at her outfit—a Wallen T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and cowgirl boots.

“My cowboy hat is in the kitchen,” she says. “Did you ever think you’d see the day I dressed up for a concert?”

“Hell no, baby. We grew up in Georgia—lived there for nineteen years, for Christ’s sake, and I never once saw you in any cowboy boots.”

“It’sMorgan Wallen, Walker,” she deadpans. “I’m showing up all right.”

Though I try not to look directly at the screen, when Poppy puts it in front of my face, I can’t really help it.

“Look at my girl. She’sreallytrying to get Morgan’s attention tonight,” she singsongs.

“Dang, Mace.” Walker grins. “You trying to be Morgan Wallen’s next baby mama or what?”

“Please, I’ll save the tortured boys for my books,” I say, looking at the screen. “That boy’s got far too many demons for me to wrangle. Though I’ll admit, he’s nice to look at and even better to listen to.”

“Hey, let me say hi.” Logan’s voice comes through the speaker.

Then, the phone is snatched from Walker’s hand and is now in Logan’s possession.

“Looking good, Boston,” he drawls slowly, bobbing his head up and down.

“Thanks.” I blush, biting my bottom lip as I take in the sight of him in a suit, my mouth instantly watering. “You look nice too. Very … Christian Grey.”

“I have no idea who that is, but because I look damn fucking good, I’ll take it as a compliment.” He winks. “Although I bet this Christian fella has nothing on me.”

The expression in his eyes tells me that he has so much he wants to say, but can’t say it in front of the other people listening in on our conversation. I haven’t told anyone about our … arrangement. And I doubt he has either. I’m not ashamed; I just don’t want people painting it out to be something that it’s not. And I know my sister and Poppy—that’s exactly what they’d do.

“Hey, phone stealer,” Walker says from somewhere behind Logan. “We have to go. Our interview is next.”

“Give me a goddamn second,” Logan utters.

“Dude, we don’t have a second, and I want to say goodbye to my wife,” Walker’s voice calls out.

Poppy turns the phone to face her. “Where’s my husband, Sterns?” She narrows her eyes. “You think I want to look at you?”

“Yeah,” Logan deadpans. “Everyone does.”

Poppy’s eyes roll clear to the sky, and she gives him afuck offexpression. “Hand the phone to Walker, Logie. You had your moment. And now, it’s over.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Have fun, Boston.”

Within seconds, Walker and Poppy say their goodbyes, and I head to the kitchen and get started on a White Claw. Or maybe two because it’s going to take me a bit to get loosened up. Events like concerts aren’t really my thing, but I’m trying to live in the moment and enjoy the now. Whatever the heck that even means.

My phone dings, and when I pull it from my pocket, I smile when I see Logan’s name. Other than when he’s been training or at the arena, he’s here. So, the times we’ve texted, it’s been about Amelia.

Logan: Fuck, you look hot.

Logan: Now, I’m headed out to an interview with a fucking semi.

Me: Sorry about that, Mr. Sterns. As Poppy said, gotta show up for Morgan Wallen.

Logan: I already messaged him and said if a sexy woman named Maci with brown hair and the finest ass in New England approaches him, she’s off-limits. He promised not to try to make you his second baby mama.

Me: Ha. You’re funny.

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