The meet and greet takes forever—a line of fans that stretches out the door, each one wanting a photo, an autograph, a story about that ride in Jackson Hole. I smile and sign and pose, but my mind's three states away, wondering what Kinsley needs to say that couldn't be texted.
Finally, the last fan leaves with a signed poster, and I'm pulling out my phone before Jake can even suggest grabbing dinner.
She answers on the second ring. "Hey."
"Hey yourself." I step outside into the parking lot where it's quieter. "What's going on?"
There's a pause, and I can picture her choosing her words. "I need to talk to you about something."
"Okay." My stomach tightens. "You alright?"
"I'm fine. It's just—" Another pause. "Have you been checking social media today?"
My sponsors will send me things to post and Jake and I video each other's runs from the chutes so that my followers get that view. Every once in a while, I post about life on the road, but I don’t spend a lot of time on there. "Not since last night. Why?"
"Brittany posted a photo. Of you two together."
There. That’s the stone that’s in my gut. "What photo?"
"From behind the chutes. She's leaning up against you, and the caption says, 'Just can't get enough of him.'"
The rock drops from my stomach to the floor.
She thinks I'm cheating on her.
The evidence is right there on social media for everyone to see—me and another woman, looking cozy behind the chutes. How am I supposed to convince her I'm not that kind of guy when there's literal photographic evidence suggesting otherwise?
"Kinsley, that was—she brought a potential sponsor to meet me. It was a business thing." The words sound weak even to my own ears. "I didn't know she was going to post it like that. I didn't even want the photo, but the guy she brought wanted one and—"
"I know." Her voice is steady, cutting through my panic. "Um, I'll admit, my first reaction wasn't great. But I'm not calling because I'm mad."
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by suspicion. "Then why are you calling?"
"Because I need you to know what else she's been doing."
The tone in her voice makes my jaw tighten. "What else?"
"She's been texting me. Mean girl stuff. Ugh–it’s so petty." She pauses. "And she's been sending photos that make it look like you two are together and telling me what a good time she’s having with you."
“Like how?” I ask. Brittney is a superfan. They can get annoying and invasive, but no one’s ever gone after my girlfriend or anything. Then again, I haven’t had a girlfriend for them to go after. Kinsley’s new.
"Can I just send you the screenshots? It'll be easier than trying to explain."
"Yeah. Send them."
My phone buzzes a few seconds later with a series of images. I scroll through Brittany's texts to Kinsley, and my blood pressure climbs with each one. The messages start subtle—He deserves someone who understands him—and escalate into something uglier.You're just a phase. He'll get tired of you.
I stop pacing. "How long has this been going on?"
"Since Jackson Hole."
"Kinsley,” I growl. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because, it’s stupid and immature and I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of getting to me.”
Okay, I can understand that. I’ve brushed Brittney off more times than I can count. "Listen to me. I don't want Brittany. I've never wanted Brittany. She's been showing up at events for years, and yeah, I've been polite because that's what you do with fans. But that's all she is—a fan who's crossed about fifteen lines."
"I know that."