Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  The vibration of my cell is loud, echoing through the small restroom.

  Logan: Shit. Now I feel like I owe you something in return. Have fun.

  A video comes through that shows it’s fifteen seconds long. I’m about to watch it when the door swings open, making me jump. In her nine-inch heels, which hammer on the marble floor, Farrah’s dripping in gold strung around her neck and arms making the Queen of England look poor. She positions herself next to me, pulling a compact out of her purse. She dabs her nose without any effort to disguise her fake smile.

  “You’re not fooling anyone by pretending you’re together. I know Wesley hasn’t been on his best behavior.”

  Her catty comment doesn’t warrant a response, so I’m surprised when I open my mouth. “You and your games… worry about your own life instead of ours,” I point out, throwing the towel into the basket.

  She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, gliding her red lipstick on then pouts her lips while admiring herself in the mirror. “I’m the real star of this show. Everyone knows that. Let’s see if you make it to the next season,” she threatens.

  “If by star you mean whore... then yes. Title’s all yours, Farrah.” I move past her, closing the door behind me and stopping just down the hall. I mute the sound on my cell, clicking play on the video. Fifteen seconds of Logan pulling his cock until he explodes all over his palm.

  Fuck.

  He got me.

  I quickly respond, wanting to delete any trace of our naughty afternoon.

  Me: We’re even. Well played, Carrington. Hopefully, I’ll get to see the LIVE version when you’re in “town.”

  I hit delete and hide my cell in the base of my purse hoping he doesn’t respond. If Wes knew what went on he’d be livid. Despite our arrangement, he tries every day to make a move on me. I’ve just been lucky with being able to palm him off or make excuses.

  Back outside, I sit down and get comfortable as dessert is served. It looks scrumptious—some flan dish with a syrup substance lying on top. As I push my spoon into the bowl, Farrah returns and acts as if nothing happened between us. “So, girls, London? Shopping… British men... are we in?”

  Kelly smiles, not pleasing Kyle.

  Poppy claps her hands, excited to visit home and spend time with her family. “Count me in.”

  “I hope you meant for the shopping?” Wes asks seriously in front of everyone.

  “What’s wrong with a little harmless flirting with a tall British man?” I tease, knocking his shoulder playfully.

  In a decidedly odd tone, he says, “My woman doesn’t harmlessly flirt with anyone.”

  “Oh, Wes, baby,” Poppy cries. “Stop being cheeky. She’s not an object.”

  “Poppy,” Wes grits. “You know I love you, but stay out of this.”

  One of the cameras zooms into Wes’ face, irritating him even more.

  “Wesley Rich… get off your high horse and treat the woman with respect. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Yeah, Wesley Rich,” I say, not taking this argument seriously. “I have brains, too, you know. It’s not all about the looks.”

  Everyone laughs, except Wesley. He sulks in his seat while we finish our conversation about London.

  The cameras stop rolling and Cliff’s quick to interject, “Your itineraries will be emailed across tomorrow. We’ve known about this for months but only received the all-clear yesterday. A week from today… we’ll be leaving for five days.”

  A few of us ask some questions, but no one really says anything else. We wrap up lunch by telling each other goodbye and making our own way home.

  On the drive back, Wes is unusually quiet.

  “Why did you take so long in the restroom?”

  “You want a number?” I question, keeping the conversation light and my nerves at bay.

  “Oh,” he mutters.

  “I also ran into Farrah… she said some words, I said some words.”

  “Right.”

  His one-word responses make for an uninteresting conversation, so I lay my head against the window and watch the scenery until we reach home and park the car.

  We go our separate ways as we walk inside. I head straight for the bathroom where I shower and change into something more comfortable. With no plans tonight, I decide to ditch work and lay on the couch, catch up on some television while responding to some fans. I posted a pic that Josie sent me of all of us posing at the table captioning the picture—Filming lunch with the gang.

  As soon as I posted the pic, comments flooded shortly after.

  “What are you doing?” Wes plonks himself on the sofa beside me wearing his sweats and no shirt. He did it on purpose, and as much as it irritates me, I’m still reminded of how attractive Wesley is.

  I raise my cell showing him the pic. He smiles then grabs the remote.

  “I thought you were going out for drinks?” I ask him, half paying attention as I respond to a fan who comments on my dress.

  “Nah. Thought I’d stay home.”

  I keep my thoughts to myself, scrolling down until I see Logan commented on my post. Most people would think nothing of him commenting since it’s known we’re family friends and that Ash is his best friend. The smartass, of course, has to have a final say. Must have been a hot day in Cali. Your cheeks look flushed.

  With Wes beside me, I keep my smile hidden and refrain from commenting. I scroll through the other comments until my cell rings and Mom comes up on the screen.

  “Hey, Mom. You’re on speaker and Wes is here.”

  “Oh, hi honey!” Mom greets with an upbeat tone.

  Wes leans forward, speaking into the cell. “Hey, Abbi, long time no speak.”

  “I know,” she agrees. “I’ll be there in three weeks. Did Emmy tell you?”

  He looks at me, rolling his eyes. “No, she didn’t.”

  “My fault, Mom. We just got back from lunch. But that’s great news,” I tell her. “We found out today we’re heading to London next week for the Victoria Secret show.”

  “How fantastic,” she cheers. “Are you going to visit Ash and Logan’s place?”

  I can see Wes’ demeanor change instantly, watching me with cautious eyes.

  “Hadn’t thought about it. I might call Ash tonight and see if I can squeeze some time with him.”

  “Oh, kid, call him later. They’re out on a double date. Alessandra set Logan up with a nurse from her work. Can you imagine that? I hate to admit, but I think those boys have a fetish for medical professionals.”

  Logan’s on a date with a nurse?

  My stomach hardens at the thought. I’m well aware Wesley’s still watching me, so I quickly come up with something to say to suppress my jealousy. “All right, Mom, I’ll give him a buzz tomorrow.”

  “Night, kiddo… night, Wes.”

  We say goodnight in unison before I hang up and throw my cell on the sofa beside me.

  “What are we watching?” I ask, eyes fixed on the screen ignoring my head telling me that I have no right to be jealous. We agreed that whatever went on outside that hotel room doesn’t matter. Who we saw, what we did.

  “Game of Thrones?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  He pauses the screen and turns to face me. “Em, I’m trying here. I fucking miss you,” he strains.

  “I know,” I say quietly, turning to face him.

  His stubble covers his square jaw, and with his eyes serious and begging for forgiveness, I find myself softening under his gaze.

  Placing his hands on my cheek, I rest my face in his palm allowing myself to revisit the feelings of being in love with Wesley Rich. He’s warm, and only a small part of me wishes things were the same. The other part of me is raging with jealousy that Logan’s fucking some slut.

  I allow him to kiss me—without the cameras present.

  It’s soft, sweet, and nothing like the ravenous Wesley who would practically maul me each time we kiss. When I retract, he tugs on the string of my tank and pulls i
t down, exposing my shoulder. He kisses my skin, and when my eyes close all I see is Logan.

  This isn’t fair. I feel guilty no matter which way I look at it.

  Moving his hand against my stomach, he moves upward until he’s cupping my breasts, growling into my neck and applying pressure with his body weight. The passion builds, but the mere thought of screwing Wes again is outweighed by the guilt of what I’ve done.

  “Stop,” I murmur, laying my hands on his chest and pushing him back.

  “Emerson, please don’t. I need you,” he begs.

  “I need more time.”

  His expression changes, eyes wild and full of anger. “You can’t fucking do this,” he yells. “Walking around and teasing me, telling me now when I know you need to be fucked. It’s been over a month, Emerson. If you don’t need to be fucked then you’re fucking someone else.”

  “I’m not fucking anyone else,” I lie so easily.

  “Then prove it. Fuck me. That’s all I ask of you.”

  “No, Wesley, give me time to forgive you.”

  “You’ve had time,” he pushes, disrespecting my wishes.

  “Two months is not enough time to get over the hurt of you fucking two hookers,” I argue back. “We were supposed to get married. You threw that out the window, for what?” With my heart racing, scared he will call me out on what Logan and I have done, we both remain as silent as possible, the vibration of my cell distracting me. I quickly pick it up wanting to diffuse the argument.

  There are two notifications on my screen. One from Farrah tagging Wesley and me in a picture. I forgot she’d even taken it. Wes has his arm around me and I’m smiling. The caption reads—Even when the cameras stop rolling, these two can’t keep their hands off each other. #SoontobeMr&MrsRich

  I don’t know why she would post something like that, but I show Wes the picture calming his curiosity. I can see his shoulders relax, the breath of air he’s holding in releasing slowly.

  The second is a text from Ash.

  Ash: Mom just told me you’re coming to London. I’ll call you tomorrow. Trying to find somewhere else to crash tonight because Logan took his date home and told me he’s fucking her till the sun is up. Night sis.

  I don’t know why I showed the text to Wes, maybe because I wanted him to see that Logan and I have nothing going on. That, and my heart’s pumping so hard, emitting a burning sensation in my chest. Placing the cell down, I sit against the couch pretending my silence is driven by our argument and not by the hurt and jealousy over a man who means nothing to me.

  “How long do you need?” Wes breaks the silence.

  I answer with haste, “For what? To repair a broken heart?”

  “I said I was fucking sorry!” He raises his voice again, running his hands through his hair.

  My stress levels peak, on a night when I want to lay here and do nothing. I don’t understand why Logan has to be such a prick. Demanding me to come play then running off with someone else. Mom’s right, he will destroy any woman who falls in love with him.

  Not that I’m in love with him.

  “How many times do I need to tell you? You can’t erase the past so easily. And by the way…” I add, bringing up his stupid comment during lunch, “… your barbaric persona at lunch today was not well received.”

  “Neither was your comment on fucking British men,” he shoots back.

  “I never said I was going to fuck British men.” I shake my head, laughing at the way he twists my words and makes me out to be the bad guy.

  “That’s right. You won’t. Nor will you fuck any other man.” He puts his arm around me, flipping me beneath him and pinning me on the sofa. He stares me down, keeping his body upright on both his arms. With a supremely threatening gesture, he bellows over me, “I’m no longer taking no for answer.” Tugging my top down, he exposes my breasts, reacting with wild eyes.

  I battle with his touch, missing the parts of him that still feel the same. I fight the jealousy reminding me that at this moment, Logan’s buried in some other woman’s body. My emotions run deep, tugging me in each direction without an answer in sight.

  And so, I do what I need to do to remind myself that Logan isn’t mine.

  “Fine, Wes.... have your way.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “It takes a moment of terror

  to realize everything

  that’s missing from your life.”

  ~ Logan Carrington

  I can’t get her out of my mind. I’ve done everything I can to forget about her. Nonstop personal training from the crack of dawn. Then team training at the main fields. When training’s over, I exert myself at the gym. Then when night comes around, the exhaustion kills me.

  And, repeat.

  Day after day.

  “I know you want to win, but don’t you think you’re pushing yourself too far?” Ash worries, stretching his legs before our game.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him, raising my arms above my head and stretching my muscles.

  “You haven’t been the same since we got back from the States. I think I know what your problem is.”

  I raise my brow, wondering if he knows how hard I fucked his sister and that’s why I can’t sleep at night. If he knew the image of her lying beneath me is so ingrained in my memory that nothing else matters right now.

  “You’re lonely. You haven’t fucked some good pussy and you’re on edge.”

  I shrug, bored of his interrogation. With the ball at my feet, I shoot for the top right corner.

  Fuck. I missed it by barely an inch.

  “You never miss.” Ash panics under duress. “We’re going out tonight.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Not even another nurse?” He winks, positioning the ball in front of him.

  “Maybe...” I play the idea in my head. “No, actually, I’m busy.”

  He exhales, distracted by the whistle as Coach calls us in to begin our warm-ups.

  We’re a strong team, and this close to winning our quarter-finals. Where our team let us down, Coach is quick to point the finger. Coach is an angry man, dedicated but unforgiving when it comes to mistakes. He repeatedly warns the both of us to pick up our game and not allow our personal lives to affect it whatsoever.

  Ash proved himself—Alessandra’s not a distraction. She’s a nothing. Although she lives with us, she’s rarely home, and on occasions when they both are there they do separate things.

  We finish on time and instead of hitting the gym, I stumble back home and lay in bed. Even when I try to relax, I think of her. The way her body melted underneath my touch and how her eyes begged me to fuck her hard. I couldn’t stop staring at her body, from her nice round tits that pinched perfectly between my fingers, to the smell of her sweet pussy.

  She’s perfect in every fucking way.

  And I hate that.

  Yesterday had me weak. Coach drilled me for sloppy defending and even I knew something was off. I needed a release, and it began with an innocent text that ended up with her rubbing her clit and coming for me. I came three fucking times watching that video.

  My dick’s red, raw, and stinging like a motherfucker with how hard I rubbed it out. I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight—wet, bare, and perfectly pink.

  I wanted to call her and hear her voice, but I held back, reminding myself that we’re having fun. Playing this dangerous game of not wanting to be caught and standing on the ledge playing with fucking fire.

  But all of it, everything, begins to eat away at me.

  I couldn’t curb my jealousy when I saw an image of her on Instagram with Wesley, posted by Farrah Beaumont referring to their lunch date and how happily in love they are. I recall the moment vividly—punching the lamp beside me and seeing it smash to the floor in a million pieces. I didn’t expect to experience that type of jealousy, yet I did, and there’s no cure but to forget she even exists.

  Ash was pumped that I agreed to go out on a double date. The nurse he s
et me up with was a friend of Alessandra’s, a woman named Georgia. She was pretty, long legs and firm ass. Small tits but it didn’t matter. I fucked her once with my red-raw dick and ended up having to pull out when the rubber got uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have done it, but I needed someone else to make me forget about her. I’ve never been so preoccupied during sex. My mind wasn’t in it, thinking about Emmy the entire time.

  I’m tired of it.

  I want my life back without Emmy in it.

  Georgia became clingy, demanding a second round and wanting to stay the night. I told her I didn’t do sleepovers so she left the apartment in a blind fit of rage while calling me every name under the sun. I didn’t care, because I long for solitude.

  Without Ash or Alessandra, I have too much time to think about all the things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

  Then, I caved.

  Season One—Episode One.

  I binge-watched the whole first season of Generation Next and finally saw the so-called ‘moment’ Wesley Rich fell in love with Emerson Chase.

  I hated watching him gain her love.

  I hated, even more, witnessing their first kiss and subtle walk to the bedroom. The way her smile changed after that, she was happy and content.

  I detest he makes her feel that way.

  I hate the fact he still controls her.

  Actually, I hate everything about them.

  Yet, the masochistic side of me continued watching until my eyes grew heavy and sleep was imminent. I’ve started a bad habit and it’s one I don’t know how to break.

  ***

  We ramped up training due to the big game this Saturday against Manchester. I’m pumped and ready to go. They have had straight wins—no losses this season—and I want to break their luck and show them we’re going to take this game to the next level.

  Ash leaves training early to run some errands. I don’t ask, annoyed that ‘errands’ are more important than the fucking game. With Chris watching on, I know he will control his son—I don’t have to be the responsible one today.