“Your flamingo tanks are sold out,” Greg says. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Oh, wow!” I grab my phone to text Trinity and give her the news.
Greg’s phone beeps. Groaning, he flicks the screen on. “What now?”
His already red face slides toward an even deeper scarlet. “Oh, this is bad,” he mutters.
“What?”
He bites his lip and hesitates.
“What?” I ask again, marching toward him and reaching for his phone.
He shoots a glare at Rooster. “What else went on in the strip club the other night?”
I stop and frown at his hostile tone. “Nothing, why?”
“Because this is bad.”
Greg turns the screen toward me. My heart stops as I read the headline.
‘White Knight? Or Cheating Bastard? We Have the Inside Scoop!’
Chapter Fifty-Two
Shelby
“Shelby, nothing happened.” Rooster stares at the phone, slowly scanning the article. “Greg, give us a minute,” he says without looking away from the screen.
“We really need to—”
“Get out, Greg!” I snap, not in the mood for more of his crap.
While I’m waiting for him to leave, I find my own phone and pull up the article.
White Knight—the super-sappy with a side of corniness and cheese love song by sassy country singer Shelby Morgan has been burning up the streaming charts for weeks. In an interview with Glow magazine, she claimed it was written about her current boyfriend. But is it all a lie?
After breaking the story about Shelby’s wild night out at the Royal Dolls Gentlemen’s Club, Sippin’ on Secrets has obtained more exclusive photos of the wild shenanigans that transpired.
A hawk-eyed reader spotted Shelby’s main squeeze in a compromising situation with a stripper. Talk about a downgrade!
Was her boyfriend’s cheating what prompted Shelby Morgan’s wild meltdown?
Can we expect a new angst-ridden cheese-fest of a song to commemorate the breakup?
Only time will tell. But we’ll have the scoop, so check back often for more updates on this continuing drama! Tell us in the comments, is Shelby’s knight in shining armor really a cheater in tin foil?
I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have to be on stage soon.
The happy buzz from our little romantic interlude fades, and irritation moves into its place.
I scroll through the pictures, which show nothing more than Rooster standing in a parking lot with a woman. In one of the photos, she’s touching him and standing within kissing distance. From Logan’s stiff posture and the snarly expression on his face, it doesn’t look like he’s enjoying the attention.
The final picture is of Logan staring off into the distance with the caption, “Worried about getting caught?”
“This is so stupid,” I mutter.
Logan’s quiet. I glance up from my phone and find him standing closer than I expected.
“Nothing happened, Shelby. I walked her out. That’s it. I talked to her about the club.”
“She’s touching you here.” I show him the photo.
“Yeah, and I wish they’d published the next photo which was me removing her hand.”
I squint at him. “From her body or yours?”
He blinks in confusion. “What?”
“You said you removed her hand. Did ya like, chop it off or something?”
“Are you making a joke?” He taps the phone. “About this?”
“What else am I gonna do?” I scroll through the pictures. “You honestly think I’d believe these nitwits over you?”
“Thank you.” The tension in his shoulders relaxes. He gestures to my phone. “Whatever they write means nothing. I don’t care what strangers think of me. It’s what you think that matters.”
“Well, I think you’re the best man I’ve ever known.” I lean up and kiss his cheek.
“Let’s set this aside.” His loving eyes burn with determination. “You need to clear your head and focus on the show. We can figure this out later.”
And that’s how I know I’m right. A cheater or a selfish man would be more worried about defending himself than my show. A confident man with nothing to hide would focus on what’s important.
After my set, Greg ambushes us in my dressing room.
“Miranda has time.” He bustles through my door red-faced and out of breath. “We need to sit down and have a video conference to figure this out.”
“Greg, I’m tired. My throat’s scratchy. Can’t we do this tomorrow?”
“No.” He sets his tablet on my table and connects with Miranda.
Her someone-pissed-in-my-cornflakes scowl doesn’t inspire confidence.
Reluctantly I take the chair next to Greg. Rooster sits opposite of me.
“This isn’t good,” Miranda says instead of hello. “The stripper pole was bad enough but it might’ve died down. Now, this?”
“Hold your horses. Logan didn’t do anything,” I say with as much patience as possible. “He walked the woman out to her car so she didn’t get mugged, for God’s sake. This is ridiculous.”
“It’s the optics of the situation, Shelby.”
“I don’t give shiitake mushroom about optics!”
“Shelby,” Miranda says in her let’s-be-reasonable tone. “This could end your endorsement deals.”
“Give me a break. I was wearing the jeans in those stupid stripper pole photos. My ass looked fan-flocking-tastic. They oughtta be thanking me for all the free publicity.”