Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

Not because I’m incapable of falling in love.

  It’s because I shouldn’t be falling in love with Logan Carrington.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Family means everything to me.

  Those joined by blood, marriage,

  and those who are destined to be in your life

  no matter what.”

  ~ Emerson Chase.

  I couldn’t sleep a wink. My body is still on West Coast time, I’m wide awake and staring at the ceiling. I lay in a room that divides two important people in my life—my brother and the man who consumes me. It would have been selfish for me to drag Logan into a conversation about us with his focus needing to be on tomorrow’s game.

  Yet, my brain refuses to shut down.

  So many questions need answering.

  There are many things that stand against us, and it’s difficult for me to hold back the resentment toward everyone who will have a ‘say’ in our relationship. It’s not just Logan and me. There’s Wesley, Ash, Mom and Dad. Oh... and the whole damn world.

  And that’s to say that Logan’s head’s in the same place as mine right now. I know him well. Understand how driven he can be, yet when it comes to matters of the heart, he thinks with his dick only.

  And I have no idea if I’m any more than a notch on his belt. After all, he did screw that nurse.

  How many other women has he been with while we’re having our stringless fun?

  The time on my cell tells me it’s after midnight. So, I toss and turn, desperate to clear my head to no avail.

  Me: Do you think people would notice if I fell off the face of this Earth?

  I send the text to my sister knowing she will respond instantly since her cell is practically glued to her hand. I made a conscious decision to keep in regular contact with her after my trip back home.

  Tayla: Is this about Wesley and Farrah at that club?

  Huh? I remember they went to some hip club, but I made no effort to speak to him afterward. He has free rein to do whatever or whomever he pleases. Our ‘almost’ sexual encounter was a huge wake-up call for him. I think it’s finally sunk in how stupid his night in Amsterdam was and everything he lost in his life for a moment of pleasure. It hasn’t stopped him from acting like a jerk, and this season has been the toughest for me trying to keep up the charade. I’m ready to move on.

  Me: ???

  Tayla sends me a screenshot of Farrah’s Instagram post. It’s nothing unlike what she would typically post, with Wesley’s arm around her in the middle of the club with her ridiculous duck face.

  Me: The jerk can piss off with her duck face. I can’t sleep. Why didn’t you come to London with the parentals?

  She types ridiculously quick and the message appears.

  Tayla: Exams. A boy. London with the parentals would have been lame. Need I say more?

  I smile, easily forgetting she still has to answer to Mom and Dad. You’d think they would loosen the strings with Tayla having already gone through the teenage phase with Ash and me, but if anything they’re stricter.

  Me: I’m guessing Gran’s with you? Slip some brandy in her night tea and you’re good to go for three hours till she wakes up to pee. I should get some sleep. Night sissy.

  She follows by sending me some random GIF making me giggle quietly beneath the soft covers. I put my phone away and will myself to sleep when my mind begins to unwind and the exhaustion takes over.

  ***

  The boys left for training at the crack of dawn. I didn’t hear them leave, falling asleep and waking up to the smell of coffee filtering through the apartment.

  Alessandra has a shift at the hospital then plans to catch the end of the game when she’s done.

  She cooks me breakfast, gives me some clothes to wear and suggests I stay in case the stalker’s watching me.

  As much as I would love to stay, we have a schedule to adhere to so I call Cliff and explained what happened last night. He seems genuinely concerned, organizing a car service and bodyguard to pick me up.

  Back at the hotel not long later, I quickly shower and change into something more relaxed. A pair of light blue boyfriend-cut jeans and a white T-shirt. I immediately place my sneakers on, ready to join the rest of the crew at Poppy’s parents’ house. With my purse in hand and a jacket in case the weather cools down, I open my door to find Wes standing outside, blocking my way.

  “Is it true?” His tone is sharp, almost demanding. There’s dark circles around his eyes and his clothes appear rumpled and worn.

  “Wesley, the car’s waiting downstairs. Can whatever this is wait?”

  “No, it can’t wait, Emerson.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets. “What?”

  “That a man is stalking you?”

  I purse my lips, eyes wide while nodding my head.

  “And you slept at Logan’s?”

  “Ash and Logan’s,” I correct him. “They live together. Ash took me home because I wasn’t safe alone.”

  Wesley had no problem expressing his anger. His fist is resting against the door panel, curled into a ball with his knuckles white. “He could have brought you back here.”

  “You were with Farrah,” I remind him. “Don’t pull that shit with me.”

  He latches onto my arm with force. The pressure begins to hurt as I wriggle out of his grip refusing to let him intimidate me.

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  I begin to panic under his firm grasp. Why on earth would he think that? Everything Logan and I have done is in private, there’s no way for Wes to find out. But the guilt and question accelerate the beating of my heart until I’m sure it will explode at any moment.

  “Who are you talking about?” I play dumb, keeping my gaze controlled.

  “Don’t give me that bullshit, Emerson! Logan Carrington. Are. You. Fucking him?”

  “You know what...” I keep my voice low, mindful of people in the rooms surrounding us may hear, “… leave him and my brother alone. As for you and me, we’re over, Wes. If I want to fuck someone, I believe I have the freedom to do so.”

  He slams his fist on the wall, damaging a painting that falls onto the ground. Great. Now we look like ungrateful celebrities that go around destroying property.

  “Don’t you fucking dare think for a second you have that freedom,” he threatens, cornering me underneath his stance.

  I’ve never seen Wesley react this way. Angry yes, but this is something else and it frightens me.

  He’s never been violent toward me, and I’ve always felt safe around him, but right now, I just want him away from me, terrified he’ll do more than threaten me with his words.

  There’s a commotion in the hall. The familiar voices of Kyle and Kelly move toward us. Kelly picks up on the heated air between us, suggesting we head outside as she pulls me along quickly leaving the men behind.

  The automatic doors open and the photographers begin snapping. I tell her to stop midway to the car and pose for pictures. Sometimes, it’s best we do this rather than they get unauthorized shots that can easily be misconstrued as something else.

  The men walk outside and toward us. I don’t know why I call Wesley over, maybe because I begin to panic that Logan and me being anywhere together is raising red flags. I pull his arm to me and wrap my hand around his waist, placing my left hand on his chest to purposely show off the engagement ring.

  The paparazzi click away in a frenzy, asking a dozen questions we don’t answer.

  The four of us tell them we’re done, entering the limo waiting along the sidewalk.

  As I climb in, Wes stops me and brushes his lips against my ear. “I can play nasty, Emerson. Remember that.”

  The smile on my face fades.

  Reality kicking me like a force of nature.

  ***

  Poppy’s parents’ place is cute and not at all how I imagined. It sits just outside of the small town they lived in—a quaint cottage built by Poppy’s great-great-grandfather. Aside from her parents wh
o reside in the house, her teenage brother also lives there.

  Poppy’s mom, Delia, is the loveliest lady I’ve ever met. A spitting image of Poppy but with orange curly hair that appears wild and unruly.

  She offers us a cup of tea and some scones while we all settle in the cozy living room.

  Cliff’s standing beside the fireplace, directing everyone to sit down. He strategically places all the couples together, leaving Poppy and Harley separate. The only person not here is Farrah.

  Aside from the fact that Farrah wouldn’t be caught dead in this house—her words—Cliff purposely left her out to stir conflict between her and Poppy. A stupid idea since Poppy isn’t the type of person to get riled up over something like this. She’s breezy and enjoys her life without too much drama.

  “Okay, Delia, you can tell everyone the story about Poppy losing her virginity to the milkman. The fans will love that.”

  “You lost your virginity to the milkman?” Wesley laughs.

  Cliff stops him, annoyed. “Save it for when the cameras are rolling, will you?”

  Poppy leans over and whispers to the group, “The milkman’s son. He brought us fresh milk every day.”

  “We’ll do a quick tour of the town, give the local businesses some exposure, then we’ll come back here and watch the game.” Cliffs shuts his folder, removing his glasses.

  “What game?” Wesley questions him.

  “The fucking game. Royal Kings versus Manchester.” Cliff appears highly strung, more so than normal. “We spoke to the network and got approval to show footage. I think it’ll be good if they win given Ashley and Logan make an appearance this season.”

  “They do?” It’s my turn to ask the questions. “They agreed to that?”

  When I signed my contract three years ago, I strictly stated my family are not to be filmed. It surprised me that neither Ash nor Logan has mentioned their appearance to me.

  “They did. So that’s the plan. Karl…” Cliff yells across the room, “… turn the cameras on.”

  The cameras begin rolling and we take cue, conversing over Poppy’s wild childhood. The scene takes about an hour and then we proceed to head into town. The town itself consists of four stores—bakery, grocer, post office, and gift shop. Poppy has a story to tell about each one, some funny and some nostalgic.

  By the time we head back to the cottage, it’s game time.

  I’ve been nervous all day, praying that last night doesn’t affect Logan’s game.

  Ninety minutes of angst about to start.

  Logan scores the first goal but is soon trumped by the opposing team scoring their first goal. An hour later and it’s still a tie with my head glued to the television.

  “This is game is so boring.” Wes yawns beside me.

  “Will you shut up? You’ve said that three times already,” I hiss.

  With ten minutes to go, Ash bounces off Logan and with a bold kick, Ash shoots the winning goal. I jump up at the same time as Poppy, screaming at the television in excitement.

  The crowd goes wild, the cameras zooming in on Ash as he falls to the ground elated. The coaches are jumping inside the commentary booths. The only people not celebrating are Manchester. This is a decider game and now they won’t make it to the quarter-finals.

  Even Cliff’s happy—a rare moment of him cheering them on behind the cameras.

  “Oh my gosh, Em, your brother is amazing,” Kelly squeals. “You must be so proud of him.”

  “I am,” I beam. “I’m so happy they won.”

  “And Logan fucking killed it,” Kyle says in awe.

  I don’t know what to say. Logan killed it because Logan always kills it. That’s who he is and I can’t exactly say he killed it because he has the biggest blue balls ever.

  “Just like Ash, that’s why they’re best friends.”

  The game ends with the final score two-one. The Royal Kings make it to the quarter-finals. The on-field camera chases Logan down, interviewing him while he tries to catch his breath.

  Through the screen, I stare at how amazingly beautiful this man is. His whole face is grinning, eyes bright with not a hint of exhaustion. He brings the water bottle to his lips and it’s a perfect opportunity for me to study them and remember how soft they feel against my skin.

  The sports journalist holds the mic up to him. “How did it feel to score that first goal?”

  “Amazing,” Logan strains, barely able to talk. “It was a tough game and they played well. Ash just cemented that final win.”

  “The two of you are unstoppable. Would you say that your friendship helps you play as a team?”

  “He’s my brother… it’s more than just friendship.”

  “How are you going to celebrate this win?”

  He drops his head, hiding the devilish smirk playing on his lips while running his hands through his hair. “With something big.”

  I hide the smile that tells the world celebrating this win means I get fucked harder than I’ve ever been fucked before. I should be scared, but down below, the excitement stirs at the unknown.

  Wesley sits on the couch with his chin held high refusing to comment. His legs are restless, bouncing up and down, his expression tight with a reddened face.

  “Is it time to go, yet?” He removes his cell from his pocket, distracting himself much to Cliff’s disapproval.

  “And that’s a cut,” Cliff shouts, switching positions and pointing to Wes. “Wesley, outside. Now.”

  We head into the dining room to finish off with dinner. I tell Poppy I need to use the bathroom but walk past the front door to find out why Cliff wanted to speak to Wes alone.

  “I don’t care what fucking chip you have on your shoulder, Rich. Get over it and fucking look like you love the girl,” Cliff berates.

  “I do love her,” Wes answers softly. “I just can’t seem to fix things. I don’t want to lose her.”

  There’s a short silence. “Then keep ya dick in ya pants. Why the fuck were you out with Farrah last night? That club was full. People would have seen you.”

  “Nothing happened. We danced. She wanted to go back to the hotel to suck me off. I said no. I don’t want to lose Emerson.”

  I didn’t expect my heart to race this fast—the guilt and shame weighing me down. I walk away not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation because it only makes everything worse. Perhaps I’m a monster. Two wrongs certainly don’t make a right, but the thought of giving up Logan is something which hurts me more. And that alone terrifies me.

  We finish at Poppy’s with a lovely dinner her mother prepared for all of us.

  By the time we hit the road, it’s late and most of us are exhausted from a long day of filming.

  Kyle and Kelly call it a night. Harley wants to go out and Wesley decides to join him. They ask me to go, but I kindly refuse hoping Logan will call.

  “Why won’t you come out with us?” Wesley stands solid, folding his arms with an arrogant stare. “You have somewhere better to be?”

  Harley watches the both of us. “Listen, I can go if you guys want to talk.”

  “No, Harley,” I tell him, frustrated to the point where I’m no longer thinking with my head. “No point keeping it a secret since our lives are open for public consumption. Wesley and I aren’t together anymore.”

  Harley appears uncomfortable but attempts to maintain composure. He’s a man of few words—dark, broody, your Charlie-Sheen-in-Ferris-Bueller’s-day-off type.

  “I kinda figured that.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck. “Not my place to comment. I just want to go for a drink and maybe pick up a British bird. That’s what Pop told me to call them.”

  It’s his attempt to break the ice. I make the effort to smile at his gesture, unlike Wesley who continues to stand guarded, ice-cold.

  “Maybe I should do the same, huh? Score some British bird that wants to be around me. American women are so over-the-top.”

  “Well, don’t let me stop you,” I fire back, angry
at his insensitive comment. “You go have your fun and I’ll have mine.”

  That comment leaves him speechless, bearing down on his teeth with a clenched jaw. I walk away and head to my room, longing for peace and quiet. As I walk in the room is dead silent—the kind of silence I long for. Shifting to the bed, I lay flat on the mattress, my stomach against the fancy sheets and close my eyes.

  When did my life become this drama-filled soap opera?

  Like most couples, Wesley and I used to have a pretty normal relationship. A few fights, only a handful of massive blow-ups, but for the most part we got along.

  Now, it’s a giant mess. If the cameras filmed our actual real lives and not the ones we pretend to portray, the fans would go nuts. This is reality. Caught in this messy love triangle with two men who rival each other for different reasons.

  Boredom finds me soon after, so I post some pictures online, reply to the thousands of comments that follow instantly. Pictures from our Victoria Secret show to our tour of London. It’s been a busy couple of days with no end in sight.

  Finally, I scroll through my phone and find an old picture of me, Ash, and Logan that Mom sent me recently. It was taken when we were eleven at a school carnival where the three of us were in charge of the cotton-candy stand. Mom snapped Ash with cotton candy all over his head from when Logan and me dared him to put his head inside the machine.

  I type a comment beneath the photo, telling everyone how proud I am of these boys winning tonight’s game. I hold onto my smile, remembering this time with happiness. These two boys are my life, and every part of me is terrified my relationship with Logan will break us if things don’t work out.

  I shut down my Instagram and call Mom. She texted me yesterday to say she would be flying in for a day to watch the game. As much as she would have loved to stay longer, she had a pressing deadline and Tayla back home.

  “Hey, kid!” There’s a considerable commotion in the background. I can barely hear her over the sound of Queen blaring through the speakers.