by Kat T. Masen
“Fucking ball breaker. Did you see me fuck that woman in Heathrow? No, but Sandy seems to think so!” he yells into the air as I purposely ignore him.
What the fuck’s new anyway?
“Hey lil’ sis.” Ash places his arm on her shoulder, pulling her in roughly for a hug.
“Little? We’re twins. Granted, you came first. But I slid out of Mom’s vagina right after you did.”
Ash scowls. “Oh . . . HEY . . . thanks for that.”
She’s still in his arms, watching me with a smile planted on her face. She looks so goddamn cute in this tight black bodysuit and skinny blue jeans. It shows every curve and when I say cute . . . I mean fuck. I could just eat her.
She plays with her hair, moving it to the side and exposing her skin. Untangling herself from his embrace, she moves closer to me and wraps her arms around my waist and places her head on my chest. The familiar scent—something sweet—tickles my senses leaving me holding onto her longer than I should. Remembering that Ash stood next to us, I let her go and pretend as if that meant nothing whatsoever. And that your dick didn’t stir at the feel of her tits being pushed up against your chest.
“Let’s go inside. I’ve got a hankering for something spicy.” Ash rubs his hands together with delight, abandoning us without waiting for a response.
With the two of us standing outside the restaurant, she scans our surroundings to see if anyone is watching. It’s Friday afternoon—the streets busy with locals and tourists. From where I stood, I didn’t see anyone following her with cameras but paparazzi had many tricks and wouldn’t surprise me if they were hidden in the bushes or in the apartment block across the street.
“Hey.” She smiles nervously, a slight blush against her delicate skin.
“Hey, that’s all I get? No, nice to see you Logan. You look so hot that I can’t stop thinking about your body in Sports Illustrated magazine.”
“You are such a love-o.” She tilts her head with a smirk, keeping her gaze lifted. “Let’s go burn Ash’s asshole.”
I follow her lead, purposely walking a step behind so I could watch her ass sway. Fuck, why do I torture myself? Because you remember how good her ass felt in your hands.
The restaurant is small and intimate; decorated in maroon and gold. It appears to be rundown; the paintings old and looking weathered. Only a few people sat inside, keeping to themselves in the dark corners. Emmy chose this place because she knew it wasn’t a crowd-drawer therefore wouldn’t attract the paparazzi. The staff were very accommodating, offering the menu and serving the dishes with jugs of cold water.
“Fuck, this is spicy.” Ash wipes his forehead with the napkin, taking a long gulp of the water and immediately refilling the glass.
“Hot? Is it?” Emmy questions, eyes wide with an innocent pout.
“You don’t think so?”
“I eat here all the time. Got a stomach made of steal,” she says, patting her belly and pretending she didn’t tell the waiter to add more curry powder to his dish.
“I just never . . .” he stops mid-burp. “Eaten something so hot.”
“Seems fine to me,” I chime in, hiding my smile behind my fork.
Ash takes a break from eating, his uncomfortable stance making this moment too comical. Leaning back into his chair while breathing in and out in a steady pace, he motions the waiter over and requests another jug of water.
“How was the meeting? You didn’t tell me what happened.”
“They’ve asked us to represent the States in the World Cup trials. Do you even know what this means, Emmy?” Ash bellows with excitement.
“That you’ll play for the World Cup?” she answers looking back and forth from me and Ash.
“It’s what we want but ultimately, the decision comes down to Coach Bennett and our commitment to the Royal Kings. It’s not as clear cut as we would like it to be but Dad is handling all that. The problem is that we just negotiated new contracts so I don’t know . . .” he trails off with worry but quickly smiles again. “If we play trials we’ll get to move back home for a while. I would fucking love that. I miss this place.”
There’s a mixed look of concern on her face. “Uh, that’s great I guess. When do you find out and where will you move to?”
“Here,” I tell her, face blank watching her reaction.
“Wow . . . that’s so close.” She hides her gulp behind her glass of water.
“What? You don’t want me and Ash around?”
“You’re both kinda annoying.”
“We’re not cool enough for her, eh bro?” Ash picks his up his fork, scooping another piece of chicken and smothering it in sauce. “We don’t know for sure yet. We find out in a few months or something. Anyway, what are you up to tonight?”
Emmy lifts the napkin to her mouth, wiping her chin. My gaze instinctively shifts to her pout; full, soft, and inviting with the shade of red lipstick she wore. Despite them being twins, she looked nothing like Ash. He looked like a dork with his crew cut and semi-broken nose. She is gorgeous. Pale skin with a few freckles scattered on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are blue, this bright blue that made it difficult to concentrate if you stared at them. She’s always had long lashes, teased in school for being fake. I remember she wanted to prove the bullies wrong and plucked them out in front of them. They brushed it off like it was nothing until she flipped her eyelids inside out and terrified the older boys. They called her the spawn of the devil and she lapped it up using it as her weapon against them from that moment on.
“There’s a party on tonight. One of my friends is hosting it. Scarlett Winters? You might have heard of her.”
Ash and I simultaneously turn our heads to look at each other. Was she fucking kidding me? Scarlett fucking Winters. Ash had repeatedly told me he jerked off to her tits every night. He dreamt that one day he would motorboat them and end with his cum all over her face. Crude but so very Ash.
“You never told me you were friends,” Ash quickly reprimands her.
“Yeah, and I never told you that Logan was the one who told Mom you screwed that older lady down the street when you were eighteen.”
I kick her under the table until she jumps. “Way to throw me under the bus.”
Points her fork at me deadpan. “You’re a tattletale.”
I place my glass down, leaning my elbows on the edge of the table. “I’m a tattletale? I don’t think so.”
“You told him that I slept with the guy from the burger joint.”
I exhale. “Ash was adamant that he hocked loogies in his burger. I did that simply to prove him wrong.”
Ash shakes his head disapproving. “Honestly Emmy, that guy was a geek.”
“You told Ash that I was the one who spiked his drink with drowsy cough syrup because I didn’t want him to chaperone me to that party.”
Again, I exhale but much longer this time. “I wanted to go to that party too but knew you wouldn’t listen to me when the fucking bottle came out. Who plays spin the bottle anymore? Dumbest game ever.”
“Dumb?” She laughs. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. Your first kiss was at sixteen playing that game with that Debbie something or other. I can’t believe you were sixteen when you got your first kiss. Talk about frigid.”
Raising my eyebrows, I question her casually pretending it wasn’t true. “Why would you say that? That’s not true.”
Ash clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. The little fucker had to open his big fucking mouth. When I was younger, I was terrified of girls. I only kissed Debbie because of the peer pressure and everyone calling me gay.
“Did you know that Ash fucked your best friend Riley on your bed during one of your sleepovers?”
Her face pulls back in utter shock. “What?! Where the hell was I?”
“You were in the basement with me. I needed waffles and you were trying to find the waffle maker then we got distracted with the fake spider I planted on top of the waffle maker.”
“I nearly died
,” she whispers to herself. “And it explains why Riley complained all night that the room was hot in the middle of winter.”
“You didn’t almost die.” I roll my eyes in frustration. “It was fake. And what’s the worst a spider could do to you?”
“Kill you,” Emmy and Ash say in unison.
The both of them were petrified of spiders. A reason why Ash hated the thought of traveling to Australia to play the summer games.
“So this party tonight? Can we come?” I switch the subject, knowing that the spider talk didn’t ease their anxiety.
“I don’t think so,” she answers instantly.
“Why not?” I question, the same time Ash puts on his whiney face.
“I don’t know because it’s a Hollywood party and the cameras are following me tonight. Trust me, it can get rather annoying.”
What a stupid response. The cameras followed us all the time when we played. The games were all televised shown nationally and internationally. Down to every move including when I had been caught out many times in a heated argument with the ref and sent off for mouthing off.
And then it clicked. If the cameras were following her, Wesley Rich would be there.
I had never met him. I knew he came with a silver spoon in his mouth from the many husbands that his mother screwed then walked down the aisle with. Of his behavior that I had seen on TV, he was a fucking jerkoff. Something about his attitude got under my skin. When Ash told me that Wesley and Emmy were dating, I was surprised she would stoop that low. He enjoyed his women and was known to toss them out when he was done. Apparently, she tamed him.
“Will Wesley be there?”
She keeps her head down, swirling the food on her plate. “Yes.”
“Who cares, Emmy! I’m bored. Plus I need some head to relieve the tension,” Ash whines.
It catches her attention with a reactive response. “Uh uh. You’re married. Don’t go screwing things up. We don’t need any more scandal in our lives.”
“What are you talking about? There’s no scandal,” he corrects her not knowing about Wesley’s indiscretions. I hadn’t said anything to him, keeping my promise to her intact. “And a handjob doesn’t count. It’s not cheating.”
I try to keep a straight face but let out a laugh. We’ve had this conversation numerous times and I agreed—it didn’t count.
“It counts. Believe me. Seriously, you’re an idiot,” she tells him without emotion. “You can come . . . on one condition . . .”
I shake my head glancing at Ash. “Here we go. What?”
“You don’t touch any woman and they don’t touch you.”
“Fine,” Ash agrees, wincing and letting out another loud belch. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
He bolts to the restroom leaving the two of us alone at the table. The remaining patrons had vacated the premise, leaving only the two of us and the waiter in the room.
“So, does that rule count for me or am I free to do whoever I please?”
She glances up from her plate; her blue eyes wild and staring at me with curiosity.
“You’re free to do whoever you please. You’re not tied to anyone.”
“I’m not,” I say freely, keeping my gaze fixed. “So, what’s the deal with you and Wesley?”
“No deal. We’re just filming.”
“As a couple?”
“For the sake of the network. Yes.”
“But you live together?”
“Technically, yes.”
I remain quiet, unsure of why my heart rate spiked and why my fist is clenched on the table. She stares blankly. The unanswered questions swirling in my mind drive me to the brink of insanity, but I had no right to put her on the spot because she had her life and I had mine.
“Go on. Ask the question. You want to know if we’re still sleeping in the same bed or if I’m fucking him. Right?” She waits for my response, irritated that we were talking about this. “The answer is no, Logan. I don’t fuck him.”
“I never asked that.”
“I can see it burning the tip of your tongue. He cheated on me. He was the one that broke our relationship,” she reminds me.
“Interesting. Were you not the one that just told Ash that handjobs classed as cheating?”
“Yeah, so?” She shrugs.
I lean in closer, purposely making her uncomfortable. “So me fingering that tight little pussy of yours is not cheating?”
I expect her to blush, squirm in her seat, and make this moment awkward. But of course, Emerson Chase had to have the last word—the only woman to never back down.
“In my mind, we were already broken up. So get of your high horse because you getting me off meant nothing more than that.”
Fuck. Me.
Ash thunders back in complaining that his ass would burn for days and now he knows what it feels like when women complained his dick was too big.
It was enough for Emmy to almost throw up at the table.
We call for the check before making our way outside. There’s two men wearing baseball caps standing at the opposite side of the road. They keep to themselves though look in our direction every few seconds. LA swarmed of paparazzi; a reason why I hated visiting this place.
We chat briefly about tonight; Emmy agreeing to pick us up at eight. The networks organized a limo expecting a huge viewership with this episode. She told us that she would need to let them know we were riding and if the footage was to air—our consent as well.
Ash hurries the conversation, climbing into the car, rushing us to get back to the hotel in case his ass exploded again.
We take off and with Ash’s erratic driving, I should have offered to take the wheel considering this is a rental. He seems to know his way around, ignoring the GPS and cussing at drivers that drove the actual speed limit.
Emmy had been the only girl to ever challenge me. She knew how to get to me and her comment in the restaurant didn’t leave me so easily. I know I’m competitive, but my desire to make her squirm overtakes any rational thoughts I once had about Emerson Chase.
Tell me something Emerson Chase. Would me fucking you also class as nothing more?
That would put her in her place. I wish I had some visual contact so I could see her face turn bright red.
I don’t know Logan Carrington. Give it a try and see how you go.
I stare at my phone, almost gulping as I read the message. It’s not like it took her minutes to respond where she had time to think about it—it was instantaneously.
My fingers can’t type; confused and unsure of how to respond. All I could think about is thrusting my cock inside her. Placing my lips on her clit and tasting her sweet pussy once I’ve blown inside her.
All the things you shouldn’t be thinking about because of the man beside you: your best friend, her brother.
I place my cell in my pocket avoiding any further contact for now at the same time Ash swerves in a gas station and runs for his life, leaving me alone in the car.
The temptation is too great.
And so, I type . . .
You’re asking me to do something very dangerous Emerson.
If you know me, you know I never back down from a challenge.
The bubble lingers for what feels like minutes. Ash walks out of the restroom with a relieved look on his face. He climbs back into the car and gives me a rundown on how dirty it was inside and how his ass is literally burning, and he doesn’t think he can go out tonight. I’m half paying attention to him until her message appears on my screen.
Ditto.
“Can you believe Emmy telling me not to score tonight?”
Yes. I could. Emmy always believed that if you commit to something—you had to stick through with it. Relationships were no different. And despite her telling us the ins and outs of cheating, she knew very well that what she had done with me was wrong.
It was lover’s revenge.
Driven by anger, hurt, and wanting to make Wesley Rich feel just as sma
ll as she was feeling.
I should walk away. Remove myself from this tangled web.
But I wanted in.
All in.
I wanted her revenge and everything that came with it.
“One of the deadliest combinations is butterflies and jealously.
Then, you know your heart is in real trouble.”
~ Emerson Chase.
Logan’s last message rendered me speechless.
I knew him well enough not to back down. Play the game and you won’t look like the fool that got jealous when you threw in that comment of him fucking all of Hollywood.
I’m standing in my wardrobe; black-laced bra and matching panties, wondering what I should wear tonight. I really didn’t want Ash and Logan to come; feeling like I was backed into a corner. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy their company, I just knew Wes could be a dick and had never met Logan which meant he would be a double dick.
The texts between us were fun, but I left it at that. Logan never showed interest in me before the night at the lake and these flirtatious conversations were just a part of everyday life from a man with a long belt.
At least, it’s what I continue to tell myself.
The black off-the-shoulder dress is calling my name, paired with some heels that laced all the way up the front of my legs stopping just underneath my knees. I place the shoes on first, knowing it was a mission to get these laced up. As gorgeous as they were, they were a huge pain in the ass to get on.
My cell is laying on the white carpet, beneath my feet. Leaning down, I see Mom’s name flash on the screen.
“What’s up, Mom? I’m literally knee-deep in this leather heel that is a blessing and curse.”
“Are those the ones you wore to that award show where that rapper gave you his number and you had to tell him that he had food stuck in his grill?”
“Your attention to detail is priceless, Mom.” I laugh. “And yes, they are the hooker heels.”