Kicking Reality

by Kat T. Masen

“I don’t care what you do outside of this room. I don’t care who you’re with, engaged to, or claim not to sleep with. I care about only this, Emerson. All your focus is on me. Do you understand me?”

  I nod, incoherently, wanting to tell him that his demands turned me on.

  I yank his face away from my ear, holding his head in front of me so he understood that I felt the same way.

  “Logan, this stays between us. Whatever happens in this room stays between us.”

  He lowers his head, biting my lip and attempting to speak through strangled breaths.

  “You make me crazy. You make me think that nothing else in the world matters. Not soccer . . . nothing. I hate you for it.”

  Unable to hide the smile that appears, he pulls back watching me in amusement.

  “I hate you for everything you’ve done to me since we were kids. I want nothing more than to fuck you hard right now that you’re left with this moment torturing you for the rest of your life.”

  “Quite a challenge, Chase.” His mouth widens with a grin, eyes watching the movements of my lips.

  “Try me.”

  He pulls his body up, keeping his hand beneath my chin. Using only his hips, he thrusts himself hard, slamming his body against mine. My head tilts back, neck exposed as he does it again. I quietly beg for him to go harder, the slow, excruciating pace teasing me beyond my means and all that needed to happen is one more thrust and I was all his.

  “I don’t play nice, or fair. I hate you as much as you hate me. And for everything you’ve done to me that has caused me pain—this is payback, baby.”

  Lifting my right leg above his shoulder, he spreads me wider, exposing my clit and without any further warning, he lurches forward, slamming his cock in so deep it causes a ripple effect. My nipples stand on edge as the orgasmic sensations flood my entire body causing me to moan loudly until my throat runs dry.

  Lost in this moment, barely able to open my eyes, I didn’t notice that he had collapsed on top of me, panting heavily with our bodies drenched in sweat. His weight is heavy, but I don’t want to say anything and luckily don’t have to as he pulls himself out and lays beside me on his back.

  We say nothing for a long time, until the room no longer echoes of our heavy breathing and falls completely silent.

  “What time does your flight leave?”

  “Just after noon.”

  “Logan, I’m on birth control.”

  He places his hands on his face, moaning underneath his palms. “Fuck, I don’t know why I didn’t ask.”

  I laugh, coughing instantly. “Because you weren’t thinking straight.”

  “No I wasn’t,” he answers seriously, keeping his expression straight. “Now what?”

  “You go to England, I stay here.”

  “Right.”

  I feel exposed having this conversation in the nude. My tank sits beside me. Pulling it to me, I place it on my chest to feel less exposed.

  “We said no strings attached. Fun without strings. You have your career and I have mine. Maybe when you’re in town again we can get together and have more stringless fun.”

  “I’m still in town.”

  “Yes, you are,” I agree.

  He sits up, back onto his knees and between my legs. Removing my tank, he demands me naked in front of him.

  “I’m still in town for another twenty minutes. So as far as I’m concerned, you’ve just given me the green light to have more fun.”

  His cock is rock hard . . . again. I swallow the lump trapped in my throat and smile back at him.

  “Whatta ya got for me, Carrington?” I tease.

  “Turn around baby . . .” he demands with a wicked grin. “You’ll see.”

  “A man can always tell when

  another lion is sleeping in his den.”

  ~ Emerson Chase

  I hadn’t heard from Logan in weeks.

  Through conversations with Mom, I knew they had a round of important games and their focus was on training. Without raising too much suspicion, I asked questions hoping to get some insight as to what else was going on.

  “So, how’re things with Ash and Alessandra?”

  “Sandy, darling,” Mom corrects me in a posh British accent. “They’re okay, I guess. She’s been looking for wedding venues. There are a couple of places on the east coast but I’m not sure the boys can come back to the States for a while.”

  “Oh?” I hide my disappointment. “I thought there was a chance they may play for the US team?”

  “I don’t know if that’s going to happen. Coach Bennett is reluctant to let them go and they’re under a lot of pressure to win their season. Daddy flew over on Monday so I guess we’ll wait and see.”

  “Ash doesn’t seem to care much about the wedding,” I ramble on, pointing out the obvious. “He couldn’t care less about anything besides soccer.”

  “That’s your brother for you,” she says plainly. “Wesley seems to be keen to walk down the aisle. I saw last night’s episode. I didn’t realize how sentimental he is.”

  I’m quick to shut her down, still holding back what happened. “Oh, yeah. That episode about his grandmother? Load of shit, Mom, he didn’t even know her.”

  “But he looked so genuine?” I could hear the shock in her voice. “Emmy, what’s going on? Between you and him?”

  “We’re just busy, Mom. The wedding is not on our minds.”

  The guilt eats away at me, so I give her only that piece of information. Last night’s episode featured our preliminary discussions about the wedding. Just a short conversation about Wesley’s family and his relationship with his ‘grandmother.’ Cliff wanted Wesley to have more of an appeal to our female viewers and his idea worked, many reaching out to Wesley after it aired about their family struggles with Alzheimer’s. It painted Wesley in a different light—the sweet man with a heart of fucking gold.

  The more successful the show became, the more it became scripted. I never signed up for a soap opera; I honestly thought our lives would be documented in a positive way to help others in our generation.

  “Take your time kid, there’s nothing wrong with staying engaged. I’m just glad to watch you get married rather than hear about it over a cup of coffee.” Her voice becomes muffled, and in the background, I hear my sister’s voice.

  “Hey Emmy.”

  “Hey Tay Tay!” I cheer, happy to hear her voice.

  “Ugh, don’t call me that. Puh-lease.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “What’s happening?”

  “Not much. Just school.” Her tone remains uninterested and bored. “What about you? Anything interesting going on besides Wesley posting a photo of you in a bikini? By the way, nice hair. Totally love the purple.”

  “It’s back to brown now.” Knowing Mom is close by, I pray she doesn’t say anything about Logan. “So, any chance of getting you to fly over for the summer? I’d love to spend some time with you once our filming schedule finishes.”

  “I’d love to but me and the girls planned a trip to Miami if Dad lets me.”

  I laugh, rudely. “Yeah, good luck with that. Pigs will fly before Dad lets you hang out in Miami. He doesn’t even let you go to the city.”

  “Thanks for bursting my bubble,” she complains. “I got to go, I’ll give the phone back to mom.”

  There is a shuffle and more noise until Mom says she’s back.

  “Miami huh?” I bring it up while scrolling through my phone looking for what Wesley posted.

  “Maybe you can take her? Or maybe Ash and Logan.”

  “Let the man-whores loose in man-whore city.” I keep my tone controlled, not wanting the spur of jealously to be known.

  “You’re right. I love Ashley, but in a way, I’m glad Alessandra has tamed him. As for Logan.” There’s a pause, and I wait with bated breath for her to continue. “He’s going to break someone’s heart one day. I truly feel sorry for that woman.”

  I swallow the giant lump in my throat. “Why do you s
ay that, Mom?”

  “Because Logan has always struggled with stability. His behavior has been erratic and unpredictable. I love him like my own but Reese leaving him did more harm than good.”

  “But Aunty Reese is your best friend. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Why? Because she had her own battles. I just wished she would have worked them out and been there for him. At the end of the day, she’s his mother, not me,” she admits.

  I don’t know how we steered onto this topic. As much as I wanted more insight into the past, Mom is on point with Logan’s behavior. He was like that, I knew that. Everything we did together was erratic and irresponsible. But it’s what I needed. I was sick of being the responsible one.

  “Change of subject. . . . Did I tell you George is in heat?”

  Mom laughs through the receiver. “He’s male. Can male dogs be in heat?”

  “I didn’t think so but he’s dry-humping everything in sight. In fact,” I look towards the window where I see him on the balcony dry-humping the outdoor furniture. “He’s going for it right now. He has a thing for the outdoors.”

  “I think I need to pay my grandson a visit.”

  “Yes!” I cheer loudly. “Are you planning to fly over?”

  “One of my fellow author friends has a ranch in the Hills and was planning a book launch in a few weeks. I’d love to go support her plus I wouldn’t want to cramp your apartment. Let me confirm the dates and we’ll make something happen. I know you’re a busy woman building your empire and all but hopefully you have time for your mommy.”

  “I always have time for you.” I smile.

  “Okay kiddo. I gotta go, meeting in the city with my publisher,” she tells me in a rushed tone. “Do you think my red dress with the gold buttons makes me look like an aging whore?”

  “You lost me at gold buttons, Mom.”

  We hang up the call with enough time to spare for me to get changed. I could hear Wesley shouting my name; impatiently waiting outside until he gives up and tells me he’ll wait for me in the car. We had a lunch with fellow castmates at an upmarket restaurant near Laguna Beach. The drive alone will be long, and Cliff wanted the cameras in Wes’s car switched on to capture our conversations.

  A part of me needed the distraction; my mind unsettled after the conversation with Mom.

  “So who’s at the lunch today?” Wes asks, switching lanes without using his blinker.

  “Kyle and Kelly,” I say. “Harley and Poppy. Oh . . . and Farrah.”

  Farrah was known as the Hollywood train wreck. Her father owned some oil company making them billionaires. She was a spoiled brat born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She was politically incorrect and went out of her way to stir trouble—her favorite pastime.

  She was also a walking billboard for plastic surgery; having done her lips, cheeks, breasts, and her latest being butt implants.

  “Great, Farrah. I read on Twitter the other day that Daddy bought her a bigger set of tits,” Wes comments with a sarcastic laugh.

  “Really? Well I guess we’ll see them today. Maybe this is a coming-out party . . . for the double FFs or whatever cups she’s sporting now.”

  Wesley takes the exit, driving towards Orange County as we both laugh at Farrah’s ridiculous behavior.

  “We shouldn’t laugh. In all seriousness, Daddy is a game player. He’ll probably buy this network and boot us off the show because we’ve made fun of her.”

  “Yeah, or he can offer to buy you a pair like last time.”

  I cringe, remembering the episode that was filmed at her parents’ mansion where Daddy Dearest offered to buy me a pair of tits. The episode caused outrage on social media but the ratings were high and no one cared since high ratings equaled a bigger money pot. Most people took my side; blasting Farrah for supporting her dad’s behavior. Others claimed I needed it, my tits being the center of attention for weeks until something else took over.

  We continue to talk about Farrah, knowing Cliff encouraged our bitchy rants to cause controversy. Aside from Farrah, the rest of us got along great. Kyle and Kelly entered the show as a couple. High-school sweethearts from a small town in Minnesota. When auditioning, the networks thought the TV show would break them which equaled drama. During our second season, they broke up for one week. No one slept with anyone else but then Cliff wasn’t happy with the boring outcome so he edited the scenes to make it look like they separated for the entire season and slept with all of Hollywood. Neither of them minded knowing it was scripted and part of the whole acting gig.

  Harley was the bad boy of the group. His real name was Troy Madden—born into a military family and moved from state to state growing up. He was nicknamed Harley because he had only one love in his life, his Harley—Rosita.

  Despite Harley being painted the bad boy, constantly in trouble with the law, he was a big softy. He had your back and you knew you were safe around him. Though the boys looked up to him as a protector, it was Poppy that formed a unique friendship with him. The crazy British girl that came to the States to study fashion.

  “We’re here,” Wesley announces, parking his car and handing the keys to the valet.

  Stella’s overlooked the Pacific Ocean and Laguna Beach. Owned by Stella Grace—heir of the Grace Hotel Chains—it was a known hot spot for the elite and celebrities.

  The restaurant is decorated in all white, with small splashes of azure blue on paintings that hung on the walls. Each table had been carefully arranged; large vases of freshly cut lilies sat in the middle of each table with shining cutlery and fancy glasses surrounding it.

  We’re ushered to the table outside where Kyle, Kelly, Harley, and Poppy sat. Saying hello and hugging each of them, we take a seat admiring the stunning view and perfect day while we wait for Farrah.

  The waiter serves us some expensive wine, and we drink while having a light conversation until we’re brutally interrupted by Farrah. Each of us had our own camera crew—Farrah’s crew probably the worst of the bunch. I couldn’t stand them. Two sleazy men, Rick and Marty, both who I could only assume have fucked her which is why they do everything she says.

  “OMG you guys it’s been like forever!” She air-kisses us all, taking a seat at the end of table in her tight white dress that barely contained her confirmed double FFs. Her hair extensions touch the table, and she’s quick to push them back, keeping the blond tresses away as she drinks the wine demanding another glass. Another thing about Farrah—she enjoyed her wine. Rarely seen without a glass in hand.

  Our food is served and we begin talking about our plans for the summer. Majority of the conversation is non-scripted with the cameras recording the whole lunch. Poppy is the first person to bring up our engagement.

  “How’re the wedding plans going?” she asks in her pommy accent. “I’m so chuffed it’s going to be a winter wedding!”

  Both Wes and I knew this would come up because Josie told us we had to talk about it. I also had a very heated conversation with my publicist, Nina, over when I could start talking about our relationship breakdown.

  “Coming along nice,” I say with a smile. “We’re scouting venues and I would love for you to come dress shopping with me.”

  Farrah laughs behind her fork, adding a sly comment. “You’d probably come out wearing some washed-up rag.”

  “Funny, Farrah.” I place my fork down giving Cliff what he wanted whenever he placed the two of us in a room. “That’s what most men think when they’ve been with you.”

  Everyone at the table snickers, all but Farrah. She’s trying to control her anger, drinking her third glass of wine and still demanding a refill. The waiter might as well leave the bottle in front of her.

  “It’s interesting that you mention the wedding. I heard you guys were on the rocks?” She poses the question with much pleasure.

  Wes places his arm around me, bringing my hand towards his lips and kissing my engagement ring. With the cameras all pointed at us, I nestle my head against his sho
ulder and allow him to defend our relationship.

  “You believe anything you read, Farrah. Em and I are walking down that aisle. She’s my woman.”

  I want to roll my eyes at such a barbaric reference but didn’t want Farrah to read anything into it. This conversation could easily escalate into one of our well-known fights that results in us being physically held back by security.

  Things hadn’t always been difficult between us. In season one, we got along and became friends. Despite her wealth, we had a lot in common and bonded over that. It was season two that everything fell apart. She had made some bitchy comments about me to Kelly and Poppy during a girls’ night out and once I saw that footage, I knew I had to protect my back. She had a knife and was ready to stab me.

  The crew yell cut so everyone could take a break and regroup. The makeup artists went straight for our faces, touching up the foundation and lipstick from the warm sea air. Wesley announces his need to take a piss, disappearing to the restroom.

  Poppy gives me a reassuring smile from across the table, stopping the waiter to ask what the meaty-looking thing on her plate was. When she hears the word ‘heart,’ her face pales as she quickly pushes the plate aside.

  I follow everyone’s lead and pull out my cell. I log into my Twitter page, posting some tweets to keep the fans engaged. Within seconds, the notifications blow up my screen and I take a few moments to answer some questions. The fans loved the interaction but on the flipside, so did the trolls.

  There were a dozen unread emails, mainly from our suppliers regarding the fitness line. I made a mental note to log in from home after the lunch and get some work done. The demands were huge and while I had a great team, I enjoyed being hands on.

  I scroll through the other unread items when a text appears at the top of my screen.

  How you been, Chase?

  The message from Logan comes out of nowhere. Two weeks and he doesn’t talk to me after fucking me twice in the hotel room. Part of me is angry, another part forces the zen to spread because I had no right to be angry.

  We weren’t in a relationship.