Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  “You know I don’t watch TV unless it’s sports.”

  I’m not sure how to respond, so I choose to drop the subject of my engagement and focus on Ash. “What happens now? Is your coach mad?”

  “Coach Bennett is fuming but he’s calmed a bit. He sent Ash home to tell your parents and expects us back in three days to commence training. He said ‘if this relationship ruins our game’ he’s out. No second chances.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? So what… you’re not allowed to have relationships?”

  “Not ones that could affect our gameplay.”

  “Huh,” I say loosely. “Explains why you’re a player.”

  He knocks into my arm, causing the hammock to swing faster. “Let’s go out tonight. Maybe we should celebrate his decision? I’ve been a terrible best friend,” he openly admits.

  “Really? Is that a cover for you just wanting to go out tonight and find some random chick to screw? Some Green Meadows hussy waiting for the hottest athlete to come sweep her off her feet?” I lace my voice with adoration, mocking his persona.

  “You know me too well, Emmy.” He grins.

  “I can spot a man-whore a mile away,” I point out confidently. “All right, first let’s see if he’s still alive.”

  “Good idea.”

  We both climb off the hammock with great difficulty. Walking back toward the house, we talk about what’s been going on. As we step past the edge of the pool, I make a mental note to keep a reasonable distance from it. You learn from your past—once a prankster always a prankster.

  “Lighten up, I won’t push you in,” Logan chastises.

  “That’s what you’ve said numerous times. Once played always scarred.”

  “C’mon, I’ve grown up. We aren’t kids anymore.”

  Logan Carrington isn’t a kid—that’s for sure.

  He’s all man.

  One that screams bad boy.

  I feel sorry for the women who fall in love with him. He’s your classic athlete with the biggest head on this planet next to my brother, of course. That’s why they have been best friends since day one—two man-whore peas in one man-whore pod.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  I make my way back to the marble pool coping when all of a sudden I lose my balance from the nudge of his arm and teeter on the edge before my body hits the frigid water with an almighty splash. The impact of the fall drags me under the surface. The sudden cold forces water into my mouth making me swallow while I flail my arms around in an attempt to swim until my head has emerged above the water.

  “You… asshole…” I yell, trying to swim to the side. It’s a lot more difficult swimming fully clothed than in a bikini.

  He’s on the edge—squatting—staring me down. “I said we weren’t kids, never said I wasn’t an asshole.”

  I growl in annoyance, using my leg to climb over and out of the pool. With the jerk walking away, I run toward him and jump on his back like I’ve done a million times before. This time it’s harder, his height and hard muscles make it difficult for me to latch on. When the fuck did he get so tall? Or maybe I’m shrinking.

  “Payback is sweet... dear old friend.”

  He continues to walk, not fazed that I’m hanging on his back like a desperate monkey. “You’ve got to do more than jump on my back wet to come close to paying me back.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry Carrington, game on.”

  “Game on?” He laughs, mocking me.

  “Game on,” I repeat.

  Jumping off his back, I open the door to a screaming match going on inside the house.

  Chapter Three

  “There aren’t enough rounds of drinks

  to cure the broken-hearted.”

  ~ Emerson Chase

  It’s the most awkward car ride in the history of car rides. Ash has taken the wheel like a crazed maniac with Logan sitting equally agitated beside him. I sit in the back with Alessandra, making small talk to pass the time. I can’t fault her. She’s answered every question with ease and has even been speaking about her profession—nursing.

  It all began to make sense—sort of.

  She’s attractive plus, she wears a nurse’s uniform for a living. Ash and Logan used to kid around about nurses being their ultimate fantasy. It was during these conversations that I used to tune out. They thought of me as one of the guys but little did they know I had zero interest in fucking nurses.

  No wonder Ash wanted to marry her.

  We stumble into Harry’s Joint—a local bar with a jukebox as old as Betty White and a dingy pool table nestled in a dimly lit corner. It’s ten miles from home and quiet for a Saturday night. It smells of cigars mixed with stale beer and man sweat. Three of my least favorite things.

  Only after a minute of being inside, Ash orders a round of beers, ignoring us while he isolates himself in the corner rubbing chalk on his cue. Alessandra walks over, placing her hand on his shoulder only for him to remove it.

  “Great,” I mumble from where I’m leaning against the bar. “This will not end well.”

  Logan positions himself next to me, watching them with boredom. “You’re telling me. Fuck! Your dad’s fuming. I could practically see the steam shooting out of his ears.”

  His comment prompts me to text Mom. I know the situation has upset her even though she’s not as vocal as Dad. Pulling my cell out of my purse, I quickly send her a text asking if she’s okay. Since my cell’s still in hand I also text Wes hoping to have a quick chat with him and reconcile after last night.

  A few seconds, I see my screen light up.

  Mom: I’ll be ok kiddo. Just need to process.

  I let out a sigh while gazing at my brother. He doesn’t know how many lives he’s affected by making such a rash decision. It’s fair to say we’re all hurting in some way or another—the moron just doesn’t care.

  Logan nudges me to follow him to the pool table, carrying the tray of beers. By the time we get there, Ash and Alessandra have reconciled and they’re making out like lovesick fools.

  Gross. Nobody wants to see their brother making out. Ever.

  I grab a beer off the tray, almost chugging it in one go. It doesn’t sit too well in my stomach. My body’s used to the high-end martinis at Hollywood parties. But I don’t want to be that person, especially in front of the boys mainly because I’ll never hear the end of it.

  We decide to play a game of pool. Ash and Alessandra versus Logan and me. It’s great to let our hair down, and even better that the four of us can unwind in a place where no one knows who we are. In the eyes of the few patrons hanging around, we’re a bunch of rowdy drunks playing pool in the corner. I crave this type of solitude. Filming a reality show means we’re always followed by cameras.

  Cliff believes that to catch the essence of a person’s life, cameras need to be around them twenty-four-seven.

  Thankfully, after much negotiation, they permitted me to be camera-free for the weekend.

  Ash and Logan are in the same boat. Their back-to-back wins mean they’re in the public eye more than they care to be. Soccer’s huge in Europe, and overnight the two of them became household names.

  Side-tracked by my thoughts, I catch up to the conversation which happens to be about Star Wars. It forces me to walk back to the bar to order something my stomach will agree with.

  “Hey, Harry,” I greet in a chilled voice with menu in hand. “What do you recommend?”

  Harry doesn’t make eye contact, wringing a hand towel while chewing on a piece of tobacco. “You’re a lightweight. Maybe a glass of ginger ale.”

  I scrunch my face, shuddering at the thought. “What about a martini?”

  He throws the towel on the bench, resting his palms on the edge of the counter while watching me. “You’re that Chase kid.”

  I nod, smiling politely and putting on the charm. I don’t know where this is going, but by the way Harry’s watching me suspiciously it doesn’t look good.

  “On
e of,” I answer, clearing my throat. “Emerson.”

  His stare doesn’t budge making me very uncomfortable. “You’re the one that left the gate open and let Rufus out.”

  “Rufus?” It jogs my memory and without raising too much suspicion, I glance sideways tapping on the counter pretending it wasn’t me. Of course, I let Rufus out. He was an overweight bulldog who looked sad behind the wired gate. I thought he needed to live a little. Mind you, I was eight. My perception of living meant running wild without a care in the world. How was I to know Rufus would run away and never come back?

  What’s that saying again? Something about ‘letting something go, and if it doesn’t come back it was never meant to be.’

  “So, about that martini?”

  He bites down on his teeth releasing a small growl while grabbing a glass and making the martini. I take the opportunity to wander over to the jukebox. Scanning the songs, I notice there’s nothing after nineteen-ninety, leaving very few choices. I settle on some Prince then head back after grabbing my martini from Harry.

  “You know what his problem is?” Ash shouts, sliding the cue between his fingers and aiming straight for the red ball that’s nestled amongst the others in the corner.

  I shrug, looking at Logan for some insight as to what we’re talking about because a moment ago it was Star Wars.

  “He’s a dick,” he finishes.

  “Wait! Dad’s a dick?”

  “Yep,” he says with conviction.

  “In all fairness, he’s done nothing but support you. Remember when you were fourteen and you begged to do that soccer camp in Spain? Dad took time off work so you could go.”

  His eyes lift to meet mine, they’re full of anger and resentment. “So what? He wanted his only son to play soccer.”

  I have a whole argument planned out—it involves telling him that he’s ungrateful and should thank Mom and Dad for the sacrifices they made so he could play—but I decide against saying anything.

  Ash and Logan lived and breathed soccer. When they turned thirteen, it was clear their obsession wasn’t going away. Suddenly, it was soccer training after school each day, and no longer the trips to the lake where we would devise our plans to prank people in our neighborhood.

  That year was defining for me. It was always the three of us, whatever we did or wherever we went. I tried to play soccer with them, but didn’t have their passion or drive. I found myself pulling away and hanging out more with the girls at school.

  Funnily enough, you stop hanging out with boys and all the girls want to do is talk about boys. Boys, boys, boys. The world just can’t exist without them.

  Life changed after that. With Logan’s dad being a deadbeat and never showing up to games, Dad took it upon himself to quit his job and travel with the boys to various soccer camps. Logan’s mom, Aunty Reese, is Mom’s best friend. She was having a difficult time with the divorce and worried that Logan would rebel.

  There would be no time for rebelling. They proved they had the skills even at a young age. Dad, Mom, and Aunty Reese agreed that homeschooling would work best given their hectic schedule leaving me alone to fend for myself in high school.

  I shouldn’t complain—I had fun. I dated boys, did the whole cheerleader squad thing and lost my virginity in senior high to a guy named Dick. False advertising. His ‘dick’ was all talk, no action. One of those jocks that talked the talk but definitely did not walk the walk.

  Everyone was so proud of Ash and Logan. They had a bright future and I sat back and watched until my life did a complete one-eighty.

  I guess as kids, none of us expect to be where we are. Our lives are constantly under scrutiny and in front of the cameras being judged by the whole world.

  Alessandra is sitting on the stool beside me, drinking water and keeping quiet. Ash continues to act like a dick and goes back to ignoring her.

  This isn’t her fault.

  She’s fallen in love with a loser.

  Should I even be using the word love?

  How do you fall in love with someone after knowing them for five minutes? Impossible.

  “I’m sorry about my brother.” I lean into her trying to make my voice heard over the music.

  “Your brother is... passionate,” she responds with a gentle smile.

  “Interesting choice of word. You can call him an asshole, it’s okay.”

  She shrugs half-heartedly. “He’s my husband. In my family we don’t call our husbands that.”

  Averting my eyes and lowering my gaze, I try not to let my feelings show. Am I that much of a bitch toward Wes? Here’s a woman who’s committed to a man she met and married the same night, and here she is telling me, in her own way, she’ll stick by his side no matter what. Wes and I have been together for three years, and the engagement has me questioning everything.

  The uncertainty is honestly driving me insane.

  His lack of responding to my messages is driving me insane.

  I pull out my cell again and tap on the message I sent him. It shows me it’s been read but still no response. Fucking asshole!

  “Can I ask you something?” I question, controlling my voice and pushing aside my irritation. “Since you’re my sister-in-law and all.”

  The endearment keeps her smiling. “Sure.”

  “How did you know you wanted to marry him? What pushed you past your doubts? I mean, surely, you would have had some doubts?”

  “No doubts,” she answers confidently. “He made me smile, laugh, and feel alive. I’ve never felt all those three things in one moment. When he asked me to marry him, I agreed because if he could make me feel that way for the rest of my life then what a life to live.”

  My gaze shifts toward my brother, angrily slamming the ball and cussing at his poor shot. Logan stands behind him, heckling and calling him soft. I wonder if Alessandra feels that way now, witnessing the darker side of my brother. I just can’t see what she sees—someone who makes you smile, laugh, and feel alive?

  I want to ask her specifically what makes her feel alive. It can be interpreted in so many ways.

  Have I ever felt alive? Surely, I must have.

  Yet, as I try to think of the moments when I felt alive, I can only think of when Wes proposed. Our relationship has been calculated from the moment we met, and maybe that’s what has allowed the doubt to creep in. We’re both programmed to feel or act a certain way, and by now, it’s become second nature.

  “Are we going to kick his ass or are you going to stand there acting all girly?” Logan hisses from across the table, watching me intensely with his eyes fixed on mine.

  “Who you calling a girl?” I slam my palm onto the table on purpose, holding back the pain which ricochets up my arm.

  “The person standing across the table wearing a dress with pussies all over it.”

  Lowering my eyes, I gaze at the pattern on my dress—it’s navy with scattered kitten faces. The halter neck combined with flared skirt make it very vintage. The designer’s known for thinking outside the box—something I admire about her clothing.

  “Kittens. And I’ll have you know that an upcoming designer gave me this dress as a present. I happen to love it,” I answer defensively.

  “Shit, Emmy…” Ash laughs. “Maybe you need to switch teams. Team pussy.”

  Logan raises his hand to his mouth, trapping in his laughter. “If you can’t beat ’em eat ’em.”

  Ash erupts into laughter, smacking his hand against the table. Logan’s no better with his snide remark and arrogant laughter only irritating me more. Just like always, they gang up on me, teasing me relentlessly about anything and everything. Some things never change, and for once in my life, I kind of missed this—letting my hair down and just being me. Pussy dress and all.

  I brush it off like it doesn’t bother me, walking across to the other side of the pool table. Grabbing the spare cue, my eyes dart back and forth analyzing the game. I have zero chance. The orange ball’s too far left and I’m not that good of
a player to rebound it off the side and into the pocket. The blue one’s an inch away from the black, which is positioned so close to the pocket I’ll end the game for the both of us.

  Fuck. I don’t like to lose either, especially to my dipshit brother.

  Leaning down, my body angles along with the cue, my eyes focusing in on the orange ball. I have a small chance of making the shot, and just when I’m about to push forward, I feel Logan’s body lean on the back of mine. Resting his hand on top of my own, the warmth engulfs my skin as he applies pressure and directs my aim to the blue ball. “Aim for the blue ball,” he whispers in my ear. “Toward the left, nice and slow.”

  The muscles in my stomach spasm in fits of laughter. I accidentally press back into him, connecting with his crotch. My laughter is impossible to contain, my body almost falling limp onto the table.

  “Do you know how funny that sounded?” I let out between breaths. “Aim for the blue balls, nice and soft?”

  I slow my breathing, still unable to hide my grin from his lame request. I think I’ve calmed down enough until Logan brings my body up and against his. His grip is tight and the heat of his skin is wrapped all around mine in this uncomfortable position.

  “I said aim for the blue ball. But hey… nice to know where your mind is at.”

  The smartass applies pressure on my hand, pulling back slightly then forward as we watch the white ball roll slowly toward the blue ball avoiding any movement from the black.

  I want to jump with excitement, but I’m well aware his crotch is firmly against my ass and he’s far from soft.

  Oh my God... what the hell is happening? It’s got to be the beer mixed with the martini. I must be imagining things. Logan is gross. Has been since we were little. He’s the same boy who thought dumping slugs in my socks would be fun.