Kicking Reality

by Kat T. Masen

  I quickly respond knowing I had only minutes before we started filming again.

  Hello Stranger.

  The bubble follows with a quick response.

  That’s all I get? C’mon, play with me.

  I scan the table, everyone still busy minding their own business. Wesley hasn’t returned and with him gone, I type extremely fast, conscious of being caught.

  Play with you? I got no toys to share. How exactly do you want me to play with you?

  “Let’s roll, everyone!” Cliff calls from the end of the table.

  Wesley is back, settling himself in as I tuck my cell into my purse. We dive back into conversations about a potential trip to England to watch the Victoria Secret show that Farrah has front-row tickets to. The thought of traveling to England excited me. I had been there only once with my parents and had poor memories of rain and grumpy hotel staff.

  But it wasn’t only that.

  Logan lived in England.

  Poppy claps her hands excitedly, suggesting we visit her hometown while we’re there. Obviously, Cliff had planted this idea in Poppy and Farrah’s heads making it look like a spur-of-the-moment decision. It was the first I had heard of it, but the more we spoke, the more excited I had become. In season one we did a trip to New York City. It wasn’t so special given that I had been there many times before. Our second season had us vacationing in Maui. We had the time of our lives.

  England would be fantastic except for one thing—you’re going to be there with Wesley. Not Logan.

  Farrah talks about all the things she has planned for us, and when the cameras focus on her and Poppy discussing the tube, I half pull out my cell and check the text from Logan.

  Wherever you are, there must be somewhere you can go and privately video playing with yourself. I dare you.

  I quickly re-read the text, not realizing I was holding my breath and that the cameras are rotating between us. I shove my cell back into my purse again, distracting myself in conversation before excusing myself to use the restroom.

  “Emerson, can’t you wait?” Cliff asks, agitated.

  “No, Cliff,” I answer in annoyance. “Excuse me.”

  I remove the napkin from my lap, disappearing to the back of the restaurant where I trap myself in the corner cubicle, pulling out my cell with desperation.

  Why must you dare me? You know I never back down.

  I had never done anything like this. The thrill of the unknown pushes me to act spontaneously. I slide my panties off, shoving them in my purse as I raise my leg and rest it on the lid of the toilet seat. Lifting my dress above my thighs, I position my phone underneath my dress, hitting the record button. Playfully rubbing myself, I close my eyes and allow the excitement to make me come in less than a minute. In no way did it compare to the times that Logan had made me come, but still, it rocked my body until I stop recording with my hands shaking.

  Catching my breath, I hit send with the caption:

  You wanted to play. Here you go. Have fun.

  The video takes a while to send, so I remove my panties from my bag, placing them back on and straightening my dress. I exit the cubicle and place my cell on the expensive vanity and wash my hands. Gazing into the mirror, my cheeks are flushed and emit a glow. Grabbing a wash cloth, I quickly dampen it and try to cool myself down before anyone notices. The vibration of my cell is loud, echoing through the small restroom.

  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 and gold dripping all over her body, Farrah walks in and 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 . . . yes. Title is 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.

  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 would be livid. Despite our arrangement, he tried every day to make a move on me. I’d 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 laying on top. As I dig my spoon into the dish, 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’s 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 serious. “I have brains too you know. It’s not all about the looks.”

  Everyone laughs, all except Wesley. He sulks in his seat while we finish our conversation about London. The cameras stop rolling and Cliff is quick to interject.

  “Your itineraries will be emailed across tomorrow. We’ve known about this for months but only got 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 saying goodbye to each other 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 just watch the scenery until we reach home.

  We went our separate ways when we got inside; heading straight for the bathroom where I showered and changed into something more comfortable. With no plans tonight, I decided to ditch work and lay on the couch, catch up on some TV, while responding to some fans. I posted a pic that Josie had sent me, 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 this on purpose, and as much as it irritated me, I’m still r
eminded 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 that comments about 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 wouldn’t think anything of him commenting since it was known that we were family friends and that Ash is his best friend. The smartass, of course, had 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 could see Wes’s demeanor change, watching me with cautious eyes.

  “Hadn’t thought about it. I might call Ash tonight and see if I could 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 is on a date with a nurse? My stomach hardens at the thought. I’m well aware that Wesley is still watching me so I quickly come up with something to say supressing my jealousy.

  “Alright 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 had no right to be jealous. We agreed that whatever went on outside that hotel room didn’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 is warm, and only a small part of me wishes things were the same. The other part of me is raging with jealousy that Logan is fucking some slut.

  I allow him to kiss me—without the cameras present. It’s soft, sweet, and nothing like the ravenous Wesley that would practically maul me each time we kissed.

  When I retract, he tugs on the string of my tank and pulls it down, exposing my shoulder. He kisses my skin, and when my eyes close, all I see is Logan.

  This isn’t fair. I felt guilty each way I looked at it.

  Moving his hand against my stomach, he moves upwards until he is cupping my breasts, growling into my neck and applying pressure with his body weight. The passion builds up, but the mere thought of screwing Wes again is outweighed by the guilt of what I had 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 had 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 were two notifications on my screen. One from Farrah tagging me and Wesley in a picture. I forgot she had taken it. Wes has his arm around me and I’m smiling. The caption read: 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 could see his shoulders relax, the breath of air that he is holding in releasing slowly.

  The second is a text from Ash.

  Mom 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 had nothing going on. That, and my heart was 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 jealously over a man who meant 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 peaked, on a night when I wanted to lay here and do nothing. I didn’t understand why Logan had to be such a prick. Demanding me to come play then running off with someone else. Mom was right, he would destroy any woman who fell in love with him.

  Not that I was 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 sinister gesture, he bellows over me, “I’m no longer taking no for answer.”

  Tugging my tank down, he exposes my breasts, reacting with wild eyes.

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

  And so, I did what I needed to do to remind myself that Logan wasn’t mine.

  “Fine, Wes. . . . Have your way.”

  “It takes a moment of terror

  to realize everything that is missing from your life.”

  ~ Logan Carrington

  I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

  I did everything I could to forget about her. Nonstop personal training from the crack of dawn then team training out at the main fields. When training was over, I would exert myself at t
he gym. Then when the night came around, the exhaustion killed 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 by head and stretching my muscles.

  “You just 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 knew how hard I fucked his sister and that’s why I can’t sleep at night. If he knew that the image of her laying beneath me is so engrained in my memory that nothing else mattered 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 warmups.

  We were a strong team, and this close to winning our quarter-finals. Where our team let us down, Coach was quick to point the finger. Coach is an angry man, dedicated but unforgiving when it came to mistakes. He repeatedly warned the both of us to pick up our game and not allow our personal lives affect it whatsoever. Ash proved himself; Alessandra wasn’t a distraction. She was a nothing. Although she lived with us, she rarely was home and on occasions when they both were there—they did separate things.

  We finished on time and instead of hitting the gym, I stumbled back home and laid in bed. Even when I tried to relax, I thought 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.