by Kat T. Masen
I’ve isolated myself from everyone. I’m glad everyone else’s lives are so busy that it’s convenient for me. Mom’s wrapped up her book and has gone into stress mode as she always does when it sits in the hands of her editor. Her coping mechanism is baking, which is great if you’re in the same house. Instead, she sends me pictures of the yumminess which only depresses me even further.
Ash and Logan are back to training in England preparing for the semi-finals in a few weeks. I know not to bother either of them. When in game mode, nothing else matters.
I do, however, find friendship with Alessandra. We talk regularly about life, work, and the downfall of living with Ash. He was and still is, a slob.
I’ve spent the day shooting an interview for our new workout clothing line when Cliff calls asking Wesley and me to film in the apartment tonight. They have done some edits but need more footage of us discussing our wedding. I dread filming this, it’s a topic I want to stay clear of considering I have no intention of ever marrying him.
A couple of hours later our makeup artist, Reba, hovers over me with her brush, touching up just under my eyes. Our regular camera crew, Karl and Josie, stand in position as we sit on the white sofa.
“I can’t wait to make you my wife.” Wes grins, tracing the tip of my ring which still sits on my finger burning my skin.
“I guess we should start planning the wedding?” I manage to say with a smile, but I’m mentally aware my body language needs to be relaxed and not tense.
“I’m thinking Paris. Winter. Just like when I proposed.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.” Wesley tilts his head and moves his body in, placing his lips on mine. He knows it’s the only way to touch me, and so I allow it. Kissing him back as if I want him, as if he’s good and pure, never breaking my heart.
Every time we filmed over the past few weeks, he touched me as much as possible. I know very well he wants more and he isn’t shy in telling me so.
I just can’t do it. It’s almost feels like I’d be letting my inner woman down.
There had been one occasion where I almost caved—he looked handsome that night and said the right words. What stopped me was the way his eye wandered mid-conversation to another woman walking past in a tight red dress.
I may not have had any sexual activity since the night in the lake, but that’s game over, loser.
“I’m so lucky to have you. Don’t you think it’s fate? Us being on this show and falling in love?” He waits for my response, and because this conversation is scripted and not reality, I try to remember my lines as best as I can.
“I do think it’s fate. And one day our kids will watch this show and see how we fell in love.” I bite my tongue immediately after, tasting the nasty metallic tang of blood in my mouth.
Before the conversation can continue, my cell dances across the coffee table. Karl motions for me to pick it up, continuing to roll the camera.
“Hey, sis!” Ash’s loud cheer barrels through the speaker, and I couldn’t be happier to see his face even if we are being filmed. Cliff always prefers video calls rather than regular calls. Apparently, the audience responds well to them.
“Good news?”
“We won the game today!”
“Congratulations,” I beam with joy. “Dad must be so happy.”
“He’s here with us. Actually, he and Coach are downstairs talking about something.”
It’s not uncommon for the cameras to film private conversations. If Ash consents to this conversation being on the show, Cliff may use this footage. Most of the time, unless the topic is interesting, it ends up on the cutting-room floor.
“And Logan? He must be just as pumped as you.”
Ash laughs, chasing down a blue Powerade before responding, “So pumped that he’s on the balcony surrounded by his girl posse. Did I tell you Alessandra wants to move out? I think she’s over the random girls dropping by.”
I keep my smile fixed, trying to ignore the ache in my stomach. The feeling is odd and unsettling. It’s the same feeling I got when Mom and Dad took Ash to Disneyland one year, and I was forced to stay with my grandparents because I had projectile-vomited all over the hotel room.
The matter of fact is, we had a fling. It wasn’t even a fling. It was a moment of insanity. That moment of insanity should not translate into any sort of jealously—full stop.
“Tell him I said congrats, and give my love to Dad.”
“Will do.” He appears distracted, talking to someone in the background. “Oh, and Alessandra and I have some news.”
“You’re pregnant?” I blurt out.
“No,” he answers panicking, I can almost see him breaking into a sweat. “We’re thinking about having a proper wedding, something low key. Once this season dies down.”
“That’ll be nice.”
Wes takes the cell from my hands, saying hello to Ash. They talk for a couple minutes about the game even though Wes has no interest in sports unless it involves a ring, mud and two girls in bikinis.
“Great. We’ll be there,” Wes finishes, handing the cell back to me.
Dad and their coach enter the room forcing Ash to say goodbye. As soon as the call ends, Wes starts to talk to me about Ash’s wedding despite my mind being elsewhere.
“You didn’t tell me Ash got married?”
“Yeah, it was the reason I flew back home. Remember, that weekend?”
He barely holds a smile, annoyed I’ve even brought it up especially in front of the cameras. Karl knows this is a sore topic—spending almost every day with the both of us—but zooms the camera in to catch our conversation at a more intimate level.
“Oh, yeah… I totally forgot,” he lies. Brushing it off like it means nothing, he lifts his legs and rests his feet on the coffee table. “Who else was there?”
“Just my family.”
“Your family?”
“You know Mom, Dad, sister, brother…” I spell it out in plain English, not understanding the stupid question or where he’s going with it.
“That’s it?”
“And Logan. But he doesn’t count. He’s like a brother to me. Reiterate... family.”
“Then you’re lying,” he states, arms crossed.
I turn to face him. “I’m not lying. You asked who was there and I’ve told you.”
“He spends an awful lot of time with your family.”
I want to stab Wesley Rich straight in the eye.
He knows I don’t like to talk about my family in front of the camera.
It’s a part of my life I try to keep private, despite Ash and Mom being known. Logan has always been a topic Wes avoids. They have never actually met. The only reason Wes did met Ash was when Ash flew over for a couple of days last year without Logan.
“Yeah, he does. He’s part of my family. That’s what family does, they stick together. Not get married to some billionaire and run off leaving their kids to fend for themselves in boarding school.” I get off the sofa, grab my cell and move past the cameras, demanding Karl and Josie stop filming.
“Emerson,” Karl shouts across the room. “I need more footage.”
I wave my hand in the air, ignoring his plea, and head straight to my bedroom. Shutting the door behind me with a loud bang I know it will only be a matter of time before someone will find me and try to talk me back into living room.
But I’m pissed off.
At Wesley for disrespecting my wishes.
And as much as I hate to admit it, at Logan for being such a sleaze.
The anger rages and I don’t know why I feel compelled to tell Logan my thoughts given we haven’t spoken for weeks.
Me: Filled up your belt, yet? I hear you’ve been busy.
The second I hit send, I want to retract the message. Why the fuck is there no recall button? Did Apple not understand that during heated moments, one can so easily mouth-off based on unstable emotions?
Logan: Nice to see you online. Yo
ur hair looks good in purple. But then again, I watched last week’s episode, and I would compare my full belt to your engagement. When’s the lucky day?
I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. What does that mean? Comparing his belt to my engagement?
This isn’t a contest.
And if it was, what the fuck would be the prize at the end? Who became the most miserable because they lived a life they didn’t want? Yeah, I’d win that in a heartbeat.
Me: You’re still the same, Carrington. An asshole.
Frustrated at myself for feeling this way, I look up and see George walk out of my closet. He has a guilty face. The same face he wears when he’s been chewing on something pricey. My feet move forward to the closet where I see my vintage Chanel purse Mom gave me a few years back—nibbled at the sides.
“George,” I cry, falling to the floor and picking up the remnants of the bag. He’s really gotten into the beading, tearing it apart with his canine teeth.
I storm out of the closet, searching for him around the room. He’s sitting in the corner, already in timeout with his head down and eyes conveniently avoiding me.
“Are you kidding me? George Puggington! How dare you eat my vintage Chanel? Go for Wes’ shit, not mine!”
He knows he’s in trouble, and with my day already going bad I fall onto the bed accidentally knocking my cell beside me. I hold it up in front of face as I lie on my back reading the text from Logan.
Logan: A beautiful asshole, right?
His cockiness makes me smile, and without overthinking, I type the first thing that comes to mind.
Me: You do know how weird that sounds, right? I’m literally visualizing assholes and I think I’m a little scared. Women aren’t programmed like men. You’re all about the tits and ass.
Ass being assholes.
I know that will challenge him but I only stated the truth. We don’t care about cocks as much as men are obsessed with the female anatomy and big juicy asses they can slap. Boo-tay.
Logan: And what is Emerson Chase all about?
I read his question carefully and it gets me thinking about what I want. Do I even know what I want? No, because I no longer think about myself. It doesn’t matter anyway, at least, for this season of that damn show. Signing on the dotted line means I signed away the rights to my freedom. With that morbid thought, I do what I do best, act like a smartass to avoid reality.
Me: I’m all about hot soccer players who appear in Sports Illustrated and OMG the abs... like literally can you even DEAL with such hotness???
In the confinement of my room, I laugh to myself when I read the text back. Logan’s a womanizer and women are drawn to him. He knows they know that, and I should have known as well. Damn, I do, stupid brain just forgot for a few minutes.
Logan: I don’t think a man like that exists. Maybe you need to bat for the same side. Now THAT would make for some great reality TV.
Smartass. I can hear voices coming close to my bedroom, so I type fast before they find me in here grinning like a fool over a stupid conversation.
Me: You wear a kitty dress once and it’s all about the pussy with you. MAN. ALL MAN. I need a man not a woman. Take your lesbian fantasy elsewhere. That boat has no chance of docking at my wharf.
My name is being called and Josie walks in with her camera faced down and headphones resting on her neck. She’s much older than me—a hopeless romantic who only ever sees the good in people despite what they have done. God love her.
“You okay, Emerson?”
“Sorry. Just having one of those days.”
“Listen, we can cut that footage and re-shoot? I won’t tell Cliff.”
“I appreciate that.” I smile. “Can you give me a minute and I’ll be out?”
She nods, closing the door behind her.
I quickly read Logan’s message before heading to the bathroom to fix my hair.
Logan: I’ve got this sudden urge to go sailing. I’m glad you need a man... and I’m sure you’ve got a line waiting to dock at your wharf.
You can tell me more this weekend when I’m in town.
He’ll be in town? I press dial, suddenly wanting to speak to him before I head outside. I don’t expect him to answer first ring.
“You’re coming to LA?” I ask without greeting him.
“I don’t even get a hello?” I can hear him teasing me with his smile. “Yes. For two days. We have a meeting with the US Soccer officials.”
“We, as in you and Ash?”
“No, we as in me and my female posse.” There’s a quick pause before his laughter filters through. “Yes, me and Ash. He’s leaving Alessandra behind. Thank God.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Not sure. They’ve booked us somewhere.”
I hear my name being called again. If I don’t hang up now, Wes could walk in and all hell will break loose. “Listen, I have to go. We’re in the middle of filming. I kinda stormed off set. Then George ate my bag. Long story…” I roll my eyes even though Logan can’t see me. “I guess I’ll see you next week.”
“Till then.”
We hang up, and without realizing it, I pull my cell toward my chest and smile. Jumping off the bed, I skip outside with a brighter attitude and make myself comfortable on the sofa. Wes picks up on my improved mood and begins the same conversation we started earlier.
“So, a winter wedding. In Paris?”
Resting my hand on his knee, I smile back with my heart in a much better place. “Sounds beautiful.”
Chapter Nine
“It all begins with something small.
A trigger—warning us
something dangerous lies ahead.”
~ Logan Carrington
Flying with Ash is never easy. He fidgets constantly. Annoys you by beginning a conversation when you’ve just placed your headphones on, then forces you to remove them only to have him ask if he can eat your fucking pretzels.
He goes on and on about Alessandra. Complaining about how she makes him throw his dirty clothes into the hamper rather than leave them on the floor, or how she scolds him for dumping wet towels on the bed. Honestly, that’s something I can’t fault Alessandra on—Ash is a fucking slob and no woman has ever been successful in changing him, no matter how much pussy they give up.
We’ve flown first class to the States with the US Soccer officials wanting to meet to discuss the team they’re putting together for the World Cup trials. Chris had a lengthy conversation with Coach and there was talk about Ash and I playing for the US team.
I couldn’t believe the news. World Cup—a fucking dream.
Representing our country means everything to me, so I’m incredibly keen to get onto US soil and possibly get picked.
That, and there’s one other thing—Emerson.
Weeks have gone past without any contact, and just like we said we would, we kept it our secret. It doesn’t erase the constant reminder of that night, though. Fuck! I can’t even think about it now sitting next to Ash. Removing my headphones, I excuse myself to use the restroom, leaving Ash to watch some movie with subtitles because the fucker thought it would be porn.
It’s a short walk to the main restroom, passing the other passengers who sleep comfortably in their sleepers or are busy typing away on their laptops. The hostess greets me, offering me a beverage. I tell her I’ll take a beer when I’m back at my chair.
Inside the tiny cubicle, I take a piss then wash my hands thoroughly. Goddamn germs are everywhere, and I hate sharing such a small space. The quiet, confined area gets me thinking about Emmy again and the way we left things.
It was never my intention to finger her fucking pussy in the lake. I was angry at her for being such a bitch and turning into one of those Hollywood divas, at Ash for marrying the first girl to suck his dick, and most importantly myself for letting Louisa go.
I wasn’t thinking. Something about Emmy does that to me. She always has done since we were kids. She riles me up until I burst into fl
ames, and do something stupid just to prove a point. But we aren’t kids anymore. We’re adults.
I touched her to shut her up. To get back at Ash for being a hypocrite and making me choose between him and Louisa. I wasn’t myself that night—the anger had been bottled up for a while and coincidently quadrupled when the tabloids announced Manchester’s top player, Jared Carr, dating Louisa Hemmings.
My Louisa Hemmings.
Past. Fucking. Tense.
Louisa wanted a life with me—marriage, babies, the big fucking castle outside London where she’d make me drive past every weekend. It was a relationship I never expected to last that long, but instead, it lasted a whole two years. The majority of that time was spent hiding it from the media and with her traveling globally for work. Most of our relationship was through text messages and video chatting.
She was switched on—a career in marketing with her own firm set up in London. She thrived on schedules, routine, and planning. Everything had to be planned.
Ash hated her, voicing his opinion on more than one occasion. “Does she plan when you fuck too?” he asked once when we were out drinking with the boys. “Monday… you get blown, Tuesday… she likes a tittie fuck and Friday night… you take her in the ass?” He knew I hated discussing my personal life and that ‘joke’ took it over the line. My fist almost smacking him in the face if it weren’t for Jerry, a teammate who held me back.
We didn’t talk for weeks. I crashed at Louisa’s apartment until Coach pulled us in for a meeting. He warned the both of us that our three straight losses were not unfortunate, rather a lack of teamwork. We had to choose what was more important—soccer or women.
I thought long and hard about what Louisa meant to me and if it was worth the fight. That was until Ash gave me another ultimatum—him or her.