Kicking Reality

by Kat T. Masen

  “I’m sorry,” he responds playfully. “So, the deal was if I win the game tomorrow, I get to do whatever I want to you?”

  My chest begins to rise and fall, overcome by laughter. “When did I say that?”

  “It was right before you came . . . something along the lines of you can do anything you want to me.”

  “I don’t recall that.”

  “To be fair,” he says with concern. “You weren’t held to ransom. I could have easily stopped.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass.” I grin, messing his hair with my hands to annoy him. Why did he have to be so beautiful, grinning back at me like a fool?

  “I’d like to be a pain in your ass. You seemed to enjoy it.”

  I pull the sheet to cover my body, despite the hot flashes from our current choice of topic. I shouldn’t be embarrassed to talk about it, and maybe after that small stint, I could be open to more.

  My hands move around the bed, searching for my shirt. I place it on along with my panties that magically disappeared. Despite my reluctance to leave, I knew he needed sleep.

  “I have to go. I don’t want Ash waking up and finding me here. He can’t know about us,” I remind him.

  “I know, Emmy.” He sighs in agreement. “Go to the living room. I probably won’t see you till the day after. If it goes our way tomorrow, we’re out all night celebrating with the club. If it doesn’t go our way . . . then we’re screwed.”

  “I wish I could come to the game but we have a filming schedule and I can’t get out of it.”

  “With Wesley . . .”

  It’s a statement, not a question.

  “Don’t do this, Logan.” I get out of bed standing beside him. “Focus on your game and not on what either of us can’t control.”

  “We can’t control?” His eyes bore into me, a mixed look of confusion and denial. Sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard, he rests his hands on his lap waiting for me to respond.

  “Our emotions, Logan.”

  There’s silence, something that didn’t surprise me. Neither of us expected the situation to end up here—in bed discussing ‘emotions.’

  “Emmy . . .” He trails off, running his fingers through his messy sex hair. “I can’t discuss this now.”

  I sigh, but keep my posture straight and confident not wanting to show him how much he affected me.

  “Of course, you can’t,” I tell him with a smile “Go to sleep, Logan. There’s always another time.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night,” I whisper, closing the door behind me and allowing my heart to feel the pain.

  This wanting more terrified me.

  Not because I was incapable of falling in love.

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

  “Family means everything to me. Those joined by blood, marriage, and those that were 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—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 that consumed 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 refused to shut down.

  So many questions that needed answering.

  There were many things that stood against us, and it was difficult for me to hold back the resentment towards everyone that would have a ‘say’ in our relationship. It wasn’t just me and Logan. There was Wesley, Ash, Mom and Dad. Oh . . . and the whole world.

  And that’s to say that Logan’s head was in the same place as mine. I knew him well. Understood how driven he could be yet when it came to matters of the heart, he thought with his dick only.

  And I had no idea if I was more than a notch on his belt. After all, he did screw that nurse. How many other women had he been with while we were having our stringless fun?

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

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

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

  Is this about Wesley and Farrah at that club?

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

  ???

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

  The jerk can piss off with her duck face. I can’t sleep.

  Why didn’t you come to London with the parentals?

  She typed ridiculously quick.

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

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

  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 that makes me laugh 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 had 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 had a shift at the hospital then planned to catch the end of the game when she was done. She cooked me breakfast, gave me some clothes to wear, and suggested I stay in case the stalker was watching me. As much as I would have loved to stay, we had a schedule to adhere to so I called Cliff and explained what happened last night. He seemed genuinely concerned, organizing a car service and bodyguard to pick me up.

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

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

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

  “No, it can’t wait, Emerson.”

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

  “That a man was stalking you?”

  I purse my lips, eyes wide 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 taken 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 grip. Why on earth would he think that? Everything Logan and I had done
was in private—there was no way for Wes to find out. But the guilt and question accelerated the beating of my heart till I am certain it would 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 that people in the rooms may hear us. “Leave him and my brother alone. As for you and me, we’re over, Wes. If I wanted 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 damaging property.

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

  I had never seen Wesley react this way. Angry yes, but this was something else and it frightened me. He’d never been violent towards me and I’d always felt safe around him, but right now, I just wanted him away from me, terrified he would do more than threaten me with his words.

  There’s a commotion in the hall. The familiar voices of Kyle and Kelly move towards 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 automated doors open and the photographers begin snapping. I tell her to stop midway to the car and pose for pictures. Sometimes, it’s best that we did this rather than they get unauthorized shots that could be construed as something else.

  The men walk outside and towards us. I don’t know why I call Wesley over, maybe because I began to panic that Logan and me being anywhere together was raising red flags.

  I pull his arm towards 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 that we don’t answer.

  The four of us tell them we’re done, entering the limo that waits 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 sat just outside of the small town they lived in—a quaint cottage that was built by Poppy’s great-great grandfather. Aside from her parents that resided in the house, her teenage brother also lived there.

  Poppy’s mom, Delia, is the loveliest lady I had ever met. A spitting image of Poppy but with orange curly hair that appeared wild and unruly. She offered us a cup of tea and some scones while we all settled in the cosy living room.

  Cliff is 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 wasn’t the type of person to get riled up over something like this. She was breezy and just enjoyed 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. “He was 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 networks and got approval to show footage. I think it’ll be good if they win given Ashley and Logan make an appearance in 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 that my family were not to be filmed. It surprised me that neither Ash nor Logan had mentioned this 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 took about an hour and then we proceeded to head into town. The town itself consisted of four stores: a bakery, grocer, post office, and gift shop. Poppy had a story to tell with each one, some funny and some nostalgic.

  By the time we headed back to the cottage, it was game time. I had been nervous all day, praying that last night didn’t affect Logan’s game. Ninety minutes of angst. Logan scored the first goal but was soon trumped by the opposing team scoring their first goal. An hour later, it was still a tie and my head was glued to the TV.

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

  “Will you shut up? You’ve said that three times,” 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 TV 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 was a decider game and now they wouldn’t make it to the quarter-finals.

  Even Cliff is 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 was and I couldn’t exactly say that he killed it because he had 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 made 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; a perfect opportunity for me to study them and remember how soft they felt against my skin.

  The sports journalist holds the mic up to him. “How does 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 that celebrating this win means I get fucked harder than I had 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 see why Cliff wanted to spe
ak 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.”

  “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 made everything worse. Perhaps I am a monster. Two wrongs certainly did not make a right, but the thought of giving up Logan is something that hurt me more.

  And that alone terrified 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 was late and most of us were exhausted from a long day of filming.

  Kyle and Kelly called it a night. Harley wanted to go out and Wesley decided to join him. They asked me to go, but I kindly refused hoping that Logan would 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 am no longer thinking with my head. “No point keeping it a secret since our lives are open for the public. Wesley and I aren’t together anymore.”

  Harley appears uncomfortable, but attempts to maintain composed. He is 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 wanted to go for a drink and maybe pick up a British bird. That’s what Pop told me to call them.”