by Kat T. Masen
“He does treat me like shit. I just suck it up,” I tell her, firmly. “The difference is, that I want to play. I wouldn’t know how to exist without my name on the dotted line.”
“Well, lucky you.” Her sarcasm becomes bitter. “Why can’t we all live like Logan Carrington?”
I remind her to keep her voice down, the mere mention of my name could alert people to our presence. The last thing we need is to be caught out.
“This is who I’ve become. I’m not like you and Ash, I don’t have a passion that is my reason for living. I wake up every morning thinking what have I gotten myself into? The fame and money got to me.”
“It did,” I admit.
“I was like the popular kid in school except with a ton of money. Somehow I got caught up in being bigger than the rest of them.”
“You are.”
“Will you stop agreeing with me?” she complains, disappointed the glasses are empty when she checks each one.
“You want the cold, hard truth?”
“Maybe... I don’t know.”
“You have changed. You’re not the same, and the fame did get to your head. But it’s gotten to me, too, and to Ash. We’re no longer kids from Green Meadows. People depend on us.” I maintain my focus on her, trying to make some sense with what I’m attempting to get at. “If this isn’t the life for you then move on. Tell the network you’re done and shift out of your apartment. Why you’re still with him is beyond me.”
My last comment only riles me up further. My blood is pumping furiously as I’m reminded that after tonight we’ll go our separate ways and her direction is toward someone else’s dick. Maybe it’s an unfair assumption, but it still fucking pisses me off that she goes home to him despite what excuse she lays on me.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We’re supposed to be having fun.”
“Yeah,” I drag, leaning back on my chair.
“I’m sorry, Logan.” She straightens her posture. “How about you get up and sing now?”
“About that...” I attempt to think of a valid excuse. “How about we mark this as an IOU?”
“That never works,” she huffs. “You used to do that in Monopoly until you were so broke you had nothing left, and still forced us to play because you thought you could make a comeback.”
I smile, purposely playing with my mustache to annoy her. “Would a man with a mustache make false promises?”
She laughs, tossing her hair to the side and leaning forward. “A man with a mustache is a sign of false promises, but I’ll believe you... on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“We ditch this place and find something else fun to do.”
I smile. “Deal.”
***
On the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Highland Avenue, we cross the lights and follow the stars embedded in the pavement. I’ve visited this place a few times but don’t see the big deal. The street’s full of tourists who are snapping away as they capture this once-in-a-lifetime moment. They’re rowdy and loud for being so late at night. Aside from taking pictures, a few homeless people walk up and down the pavement talking to themselves, and a few begging for money. I reach out of my wallet and pull out a few bills, handing it to an older lady with a shopping cart and a half-knitted hat.
“You know she’ll probably spent that on a bottle of Jack?” Emmy tells me.
“Well, so be it. If it makes her happy then let her live for one night.”
In front of the Chinese Theatre, we both notice a few paparazzi lingering near the street post. Emmy pulls my arm, looking left and right before crossing the street and dragging me with her. When our feet hit the footpath, she turns to me with fire in her eyes and asks, “What name suits a man with a mustache?”
“Huh?”
“Burt,” she says confusing me even further.
Her hand is buried in mine—the touch of her skin electrifying me though I try to ignore the way it’s igniting my whole body.
She leads me to where the paparazzi stand and begins talking to them. “Hi. You look like you can take a great photo.” She smiles innocently. “My husband Burt and I would love a photo just there in front of the Theatre. Would you mind taking one for us?”
He shrugs, barely speaking a word as he takes the cell from Emmy’s hand. What the fuck is she doing? Has she seriously asked the paparazzi to snap a photo of us? Why the hell does she always want to play with fire?
We both walk to the spot she mentioned.
A few smiles and it’s over—no biggie.
“Turn around, Burt,” she whispers.
I spin around without thinking. The palms of her hands grace my cheeks, pulling them down until our lips are touching. I should be shocked. But instead, I move my tongue against hers as if I’ve waited a whole lifetime to kiss her. Even with the mustache in the way, the sensations which barrel through me are foreign. I’ve kissed many women in my lifetime, but none that make me question my entire life as much as this moment.
It could be seconds, yet it feels longer. Her tongue pressuring mine in a forceful wrestle that leaves my cock stirring inside my pants.
Fuck. We shouldn’t be doing this.
I pull back, holding her arms at bay. “Emmy, we can’t do this. Look around…” I motion my eyes to the paparazzi who begin walking toward us, phone in hand and looking equally annoyed for taking up his precious time.
She takes it from him, giving thanks before opening her mouth. “Just live a little, Burt. I bet all you do is play soccer then go home and watch porn, then wake up and play more soccer.”
Confused by her mention of porn, I furrow my brows and purse my lips waiting on a further explanation which never eventuates.
“Yeah, I live and breathe soccer. I do watch porn on occasion but the real thing is much better.”
“And, I bet you don’t have time for relationships?” She stands tall, straightening her posture as if she has a hidden agenda.
I don’t want to mention Louisa. It’s still a wound that’s fresh and open, and not up for discussion by anyone. “What’s your point, Chase?” I ask, annoyed.
“We’ve always had fun together even when we hated each other, right?”
I nod, waiting for her to continue.
“So, let’s have fun, Burt. No strings attached, I promise. I don’t need strings... trust me. I just don’t want to think about anything but the moment I’m living in, and if you happen to be there... well, then hip hip, hooray.”
“You want to have fun without strings?” I repeat. “Is that what you’re saying?”
This time, she smiles. “Yep.”
In a lifetime full of propositions, I’ve never expected Emerson Chase to propose something like this. She’s hurting, drunk on revenge, and out to make Wesley’s life equally painful. I know that I’m not stupid. I’m the pawn in her game and when she’s done playing, I’ll be on the sideline watching her live her life with someone else.
I need her. Regardless of her conditions.
Keep the emotions away, take what you want, and reap the benefits from the scorned.
“On one condition,” I tell her, plotting it out so I get what I want. “You stop calling me Burt… and this mustache needs to go.”
“Deal. But it stays on until we’re back at your hotel.”
“Hotel...” I repeat, caught off guard.
Running her hands along the front buttons of my shirt, she looks up at me with fire in her eyes. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough, and maybe I underestimate your ability to read between the lines, Carrington…” She pauses, lowering her voice. “Sex. Fucking. That’s what I’m talking about. Are you in?”
She wants me as much as I want her.
There are no more questions, no more rules, no more anything.
I’m in—all in.
Chapter Thirteen
“A fuck buddy. The best idea ever,
or a recipe for disaster?”
~ Emerson C
hase
“About last night, Em...” Wesley corners me in the kitchen on my hunt for Advil. It’s 7:15 a.m. and I’m running on two hours sleep.
When my alarm went off fifteen minutes ago, I’d completely forgotten about a photoshoot which was scheduled this morning at Venice Beach. I pride myself on being punctual and reliable, not wanting to let down the photoshoot crew. The old me would have been up at 4:00 a.m. doing sprints on the beach to get myself looking the best as I can for the shoot.
The new me wants to crawl into a hole and die.
“I’m sorry, Em. I was drinking and shouldn’t have been so forceful. I know you’re angry, I mean fuck, you didn’t get home till after four,” he says in desperation, pacing up and down the kitchen, stopping only to shove a bagel in his mouth.
I’m listening attentively allowing him to speak, but my head is pounding like a bitch and I’m ready to call quits on life and climb back into bed.
“I was angry,” I tell him in a hoarse voice. “Not just at you.”
“Your brother?”
I nod, keeping my words to a minimum. Talking hurts my brain.
He continues to speak but I’m only half listening.
Last night was... I don’t know.
I was bold, brave, something I hadn’t been in a long time. I took that bold me and pretty much offered to be Logan’s fuck buddy.
What was I thinking? Like he needs a fuck buddy.
I know enough that he pretty much fucks whoever and whenever he likes. There’s no shortage of fucking. Probably what happens when you’re crowned the hottest athlete? I hate to admit I’ve sold myself short, desperate for anything to make me wild and careless.
After we both admitted that spending a night together would be harmless fun, we jumped into a cab where we made out for the entire ride to the hotel. The cab driver warned us several times that he charged extra to be a mobile sex vehicle. It was enough to break the ice, laughing for one moment and kissing heavily the next.
Kissing Logan is something else. I’m not the biggest fan of kissing. I mean, it’s nice and everything, but I guess after years of being in a relationship you avoid the warmup and head straight for the main show. Yet, something about him is different. It’s intense. Several times I found myself pulling back because he’d almost dry-humped me into an orgasm. This coming from the guy who had zero appeal to me a few weeks ago, and now, I want him naked underneath me while I ride him like a cowgirl hitching a ride to town.
Stop thinking about riding him. You know he’s well endowed. It practically poked your eye out in the cab.
“He’s a guy, Em. Men are programmed differently than women.”
I focus on Wesley, unsure of what we’re talking about. Taking a punt, I comment, “Yeah, I know. But vows are vows regardless of how long you’ve known the person.”
“You’re right.”
“You’re agreeing with me?” I answer in shock, wishing I didn’t stretch my eyebrows because the pain is unbearable.
“Yeah, marriage is sacred. People fuck up. Don’t punish them for a lifetime because mistakes are just that… mistakes.”
I can see he’s still trying to justify his behavior in Amsterdam. If I had more energy, I would debate this topic and leave a very negative vibe in the room. But George walked in moments earlier, sniffing at his bowl and he’s staring at me with pitiful eyes because I haven’t put out his kibble. I know what he’s thinking, There they go again, fighting over the same thing. Why is Daddy such a douchebag?
Opening the bottom cupboard, I take out the bag and pour a small amount into his bowl. Even then, George sniffs the bowl and holds back his need to snack on the dry food. George is a peculiar dog, he only eats food when everyone leaves the room, and even then, he waits a few minutes not wanting to be caught.
“He’s your brother. That’s family, Em. Just don’t let it get to you.”
Wesley was never ‘pro’ family. His mom is a well-known gold-digger who married some billionaire and moved from Bel-Air to the South of France. Her priorities are men and money. Although Wes hates talking about her, I can tell he doesn’t approve of her lifestyle and wishes he had a mother less involved in herself. I’ve met her twice during our relationship, and each time I wondered how a woman could be so possessed by wealth. She’s never shy in parading the fact that her son is a well-known star. Her only disappointment is Wes’ sister—Clara. She lives in Utah on some ranch with her husband and two sons. A stay-at-home mom who couldn’t care less about money.
Ash is something else, though. Sure, I was livid he could so easily disregard his marriage for a night of sex, but what I didn’t expect was for him to be at the hotel, alone, later. Thinking back…
Logan pushes my body against the mirror that lined the elevator. Sliding his hand up my leg, he settled it on the back of my thigh. His kisses were fast, desperate, and left me breathless. He did this thing where he moaned every time I ground on him. I fucking loved it, purposely doing it on repeat so I could hear his frustration come out each time.
The elevator pinged and I pushed him away with force to the other side of the elevator, bowing my head as the doors opened to Ash’s voice. “There you guys are. I was beginning to worry.” He paused, and it gave me a chance to look up. “What’s going on? Wait, did you guys get into a fight again? I swear I can’t fucking take you two anywhere. Just move on, will you?”
“Actually...” I cleared my throat, “… there was this crazed homeless guy around the corner and he started chasing us, so we ran, hence why we’re out of breath.”
“Yeah,” Logan follows. “I think he had a knife.”
“A knife?” Ash stared at the both of us like we were crazy.
We nodded.
“It doesn’t explain the wig and mustache.”
“Funny story…” I laughed, trying to ease the nerves, “… our cab driver took a wrong turn and we didn’t want to head home so we went to this bar, and there happened to be a costume shop. We thought why not have some fun, you know?”
We stepped out of the elevator, Ash standing with his arms folded and brow raised. “Why didn’t you call me?” Ash proceeded to whine. “I would have been all for dressing up like an aging porn star.”
Logan chuckled, ripping his mustache off with a pained face and removing his wig. His hair was a wild mess, and I found myself gawking at it like a fool.
“Maybe next time.”
Ash foiled our plan to get naked and join the friends-with-benefits club. It wasn’t such a bad thing. Logan and I were crazy together. It’s like he brings out this other person in me who seems to lay dormant and wants to throw all caution to the wind not realizing the amount of trouble we can and probably will get into.
I’m distracted by my phone. The vibration causing it to sound against the marble top.
Logan: We need to talk. Meet me at my hotel in an hour. My plane leaves at noon.
Why does everyone want to talk this morning? I read the text and quickly erase it, not wanting Wes to see. I pop two Advil in my mouth and accompany it with a tall glass of water.
“I have to go.”
“Where?” Wes questions raising his eyebrow.
“I have that fitness shoot this morning, and have to pick up a couple of things.”
“Right... what things do you have to pick up?”
“Feminine products.”
He instantly backs off, turned off by the prospect of shopping for tampons. The lie pays off as he leaves the room allowing me to finally get some peace and quiet.
Inside the confinement of my room, I quickly respond.
Me: I’ll be there in thirty minutes.
I sort out my bag and pack my things. The shoot is at 11:00 a.m. and if the traffic isn’t too awful, I will have enough time to see Logan then quickly dash to the shoot for hair and makeup. I’m already dressed in my yoga pants and tank, adding a cap to cover my face from the sun.
Wesley is sprawled on the sofa, wearing only a pair of shorts as he
aimlessly channel-surfs. He usually visits the gym early but lately, he’s been hanging around doing nothing. Even though we aren’t together, I’ve noticed his behavior and how he has lost the motivation he once had. A part of me feels guilty, knowing my constant cold shoulder makes it impossible for either of us to be happy. Then I remember how it all started, and I’m back to sporting the shoulder.
“I’m going. I’ll be back after lunch when Karl and Josie arrive.”
“What?” His mood shifts, tone agitated. “We’re fucking filming again today?”
I’m surprised at his outburst. “You wanted to continue filming, Wesley. Poppy’s coming over, so make sure the apartment is clean.”
“We’re both contracted to film…” he softens his voice, “… it’s no fun anymore with you being so—”
“So what?” I cut him off.
“So distant.”
“Maybe I have been distant…” I say in haste, “… but it’s not without reason. Like I said, I’ll be back.”
I walk off making a conscious effort not to slam the door. I’m tired, irritable, and want this day over with. If it wasn’t for meeting Logan, I would have brought George with me. Instead, I’ve left him with a cranky father and an unappetizing bowl of kibble.
So with my cap down and shades on, I wait in the elevator with two teenage girls who have just been in the pool. They’re wearing almost matching bikinis which barely hide their assets.
“Oh my God, Livvy, did you know Logan Carrington’s staying at this hotel? Maddie said she saw him in the lobby yesterday.”
“Are you kidding?” She places her hand on her heart, chewing gum at a fast pace. “O.M.G. that means he’s probably with Ashley Chase. I swear I would blow him in a heartbeat.”
I’m secretly dying in the corner. The elevator is ridiculously slow and hearing about your brother being blown is enough to hurl.
“They are so hot,” she squeals. “We should go find them.”