The Revenge Games Duet

by Kat T. Masen

  Once inside we find they’re sitting on stools in the corner—four of them to be exact. I recognize Harley, Poppy, and Kelly from the show. Emerson’s sitting with them and there’s no Wesley attached to her hip, for once.

  Ash makes his way through the tight crowd, and I follow until we’re standing behind them. The first thing I notice is the gray turtleneck skin-tight dress she’s wearing that sits short and rides up as she crosses her legs. With the same knee-high boots she wore earlier, she’s looking incredibly sexy. Her hair’s messy and to the side with giant silver hooped earrings to accessorize her plain-colored dress. She looks fucking amazing. I quickly realize the redhead with the English accent is introducing herself while I’ve been staring at Emerson.

  “Name’s Poppy.” She overly grins. “You must be Logan ‘cause you sure don’t look like Em’s twin brother.”

  I smile confidently. “That’s this guy over here. I’m definitely not her twin brother.”

  Ash takes over the introductions, throwing in some jokes and making everyone laugh because that’s what he always does. We order a pint, and it isn’t long before Wesley, Farrah Beaumont, and another guy turn up.

  As soon as Wesley sees me his demeanor changes, barely saying hello he settles himself next to Emerson where he purposely places his arm around her as if he fucking owns her. I force myself not to stare by trying to avoid any eye contact with either of them, or hell will break loose and my fists will be out and his blood all over the floor.

  “Big game tomorrow, boys?” Harley, one of her co-stars mentions.

  “Sure is. Playing to get into the quarter-finals.”

  “What do you do to prep for a big game?” the other girl, Kelly, asks.

  “We trained earlier today and should be in bed sleeping right now.”

  They all laugh, everyone but Emerson and Wesley.

  “Is it true you can’t have sex before a game?” Farrah teases, rubbing her hand along my suit jacket and trying to entice me with her fake tits and equally phony pout.

  In the corner of my eye I notice Emmy’s adopted a sullen look. Staring directly at the both of us, she’s watching every move. If I didn’t know better I’d swear she looks jealous.

  Could it be?

  Emerson Chase jealous because another woman has touched my fucking arm and asked me about my sex life.

  “Ask Ash,” I respond, smirking. “He’s the married one. I’m single, so unless someone offers to jump in my bed tonight I wouldn’t be able to tell you.” I continue to keep my gaze fixed on my glass that sits in front of me, though I am desperate to see Emmy’s reaction. Unlike her—falsely tied to Wesley for the purpose of the show—I am as single as you can get. I could fuck anyone I please and no one will say a goddamn thing.

  Wesley raises his glass to his lips, keeping his persistent stare fixed on mine. “Just make sure the woman you take isn’t spoken for,” he warns with menace. “Or man… never actually seen you with a woman.”

  “Oh…” I mouth with confidence, “… the best type of pussy is the one that belongs to someone else.”

  Ash rests his hand on my shoulder, his laughter barreling through the conversation. “I don’t think it’s a big deal but Logan won’t. Any chance of losing and he’ll minimize that. He likes his testosterone wild and pumped.”

  Great. When did we switch to talking about my testosterone?

  Yeah, it’s fucking pumped all right and desperate to ravage the girl sitting across from me, the one with the jealous stare.

  We’re interrupted by a group of girls who recognize all of us and scream so loudly demanding a picture. We all huddle together and pose for her selfie which encourages other patrons to come forward and request the same photograph. After what feels like forever, the bodyguard steps in and tells everyone to back off.

  “I’m over this,” Wesley snaps, drinking his beer and checking his watch. “Let’s get out of here. I’m bored. Wanna hit up a club, babe?”

  Babe.

  I wonder what broken glass might feel like against his pretty-boy face?

  “I’m tired, and jetlagged. You go.”

  “I’m in,” Farrah pipes up. “C’mon Wes, let’s get out of here.”

  Wesley removes his arm from Emerson, who appears annoyed and frustrated. It’s clear by her demeanor that the thought of him clubbing with Farrah Beaumont is not something she agrees with and that reaction alone leaves me bitter. When he leaves, I’m quick to direct my passive aggression toward her. “How sad, your fiancé left you alone.”

  She smiles, but it’s not a smile that’s sweet and endearing. “Don’t you have some nurse to fuck?” she bites back with wild eyes.

  Bitch.

  Why the fuck is she be angry about that?

  I can’t understand women and the way they think. Their minds are like puzzles which are impossible to figure out.

  “Maybe. She was boring the first time so not sure why I’d go back for seconds.”

  She’s unable to look at me, shaking her head and staring at the table with her glass in front of her.

  Ash talks over us, yet I don’t pay attention as I watch her type on her cell. Within seconds, my pocket vibrates.

  Emerson: You’re a fucking asshole. Go ahead, fuck nurses and see if I care. I shouldn’t, right? Since I fuck my fiancé every night.

  I can’t even look at her. The heat rising underneath my jacket is red hot as the anger and hurt consume me. Is she for fucking real? I can’t even deal with what she’s admitting if it’s true. Again, what fucking moron comes up with the brilliant idea to sleep with other people?

  Me: You’re a fucking bitch. The nurse gave good head. I think I will go back for seconds.

  I watch her mouth open in shock. She’s distracted for a moment as a bartender serves her a wine which she proceeds to down in one go, demanding another almost immediately. He lingers to talk to her, flirting with his young smile. I quickly type and hit send, catching her eye and she half looks down at the screen.

  Me: Why don’t you go fuck the bartender too?

  “Bro, we need to head back. We seriously need rest,” Ash yells over the noise.

  As much as I want to stay and argue with Emerson, it’s an hour drive home and it’s already close to 9:00 p.m. We always go to bed well before midnight for a training session which starts at 4:00 a.m. If our A-game isn’t on, we could potentially lose a crucial game.

  “You gonna be okay, Em?” Ash asks, throwing some bills on the table.

  She slides them back to him, ignoring me while slipping her cell into her purse. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. And take your money... let the producers pick up the tab. Or, I can continue flirting with the bartender. Maybe even take him home.”

  What a fucking low blow.

  We both stand when a man, short, maybe five-foot-six blocks our way. He’s easily in his late forties, balding and wearing a brown jacket with some weird logo on it.

  “Emerson Chase,” he beams.

  But something’s not right. His forehead is dripping in sweat, and I don’t like the way he licks his lips when he called her name.

  She smiles politely, saying, “Hello.”

  “I love you. I mean… I honestly love you,” he pants.

  I look over at Ash, wondering if this guy’s for real.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Again, her smile is fixed as she doesn’t indulge his behavior.

  “I have you on my wallpaper.” He extends his hand, the wallpaper on his cell an image of her in a bikini drenched in water. Then, he continues to flick through his photos and every single one is of her.

  What a fucking nutcase!

  “I’m in love with you. I’ve been waiting for so long. Will you come back to my apartment for dinner?” He steps forward.

  Without even thinking I place my hand on his chest restraining him from going any further. “I don’t think so. Leave her alone,” I grit.

  The man seems shocked that Emerson’s not stopping me.

>   Ash quickly interjects, “You need to go now. And I don’t want you near my sister ever again.”

  “But you don’t understand…” he laughs nervously, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, “… I’m in love with her. I’ve been following her since she landed. I even followed her to your apartment. We’re soulmates. We’re meant to be together.”

  Emerson begins to look panicked. I grab her hand, pulling her to me. My grip is tight, but I refuse to let her go and be with some maniac.

  “Let’s go,” I whisper into her ear. “You’re not staying here.”

  “But my friends?”

  “Let’s go, Emmy. I ain’t leaving you here with this lunatic,” Ash yells at her, the same time the man tries to push past Ash with a sense of desperation. He tries to swing a punch, but Ash’s reflexes have always been on point, blocking him and urging him to the floor.

  The bodyguards rush over to where we’re standing, pinning him to the floor and yelling for backup.

  The paparazzi have caught wind of the situation, snapping heavily and disregarding the instructions from the pub owner to get the fuck out of the venue.

  Ash grabs her arm, forcing me to let go as we make our way out of the pub and onto the street. It’s no better outside, our sight blinded by the sea of flashes trying to catch every move. With a sense of urgency we hop into the car, instructing the driver to take off at full speed.

  Ash sits in the back with Emerson, attempting to calm her down. “Have you seen that guy before?”

  She shakes her head, dazed. “No. But I don’t come here, and he said he’s from here. Back home, about a year ago, I had to file a restraining order against a man who tried to break in.”

  “You never told me that,” Ash scolds her. “Did Mom and Dad know?”

  “Yeah, they did. I didn’t want to stress you out,” she says softly.

  We drive out of the city and onto a quieter road. My adrenaline is still pumping from the heated exchange, thinking what may have happened if we’d left her. I never realized how famous she is. I mean, I know the show’s popular and that she has millions of fans, I just didn’t expect it to be at this level of crazy. Every time we’ve been together, people usually leave her alone.

  I’m starting to see what she was trying to explain to me.

  “Why don’t you have bodyguards all the time?” I question her, keeping my tone controlled.

  “It depends on what we’re doing or where we’re going. We do a lot of the time, but mostly we can fend for ourselves.”

  “You’re a woman,” I seethe. “How do you expect to fend for yourself from a man that’s been stalking you for God only knows how long?”

  “I don’t always need a man to protect me,” she begins then stalls. “I’m doing fine on my own.”

  My eyes move to the rearview mirror where I can see Ash’s expression of confusion. It’s not long before he asks the question that Emerson has been dreading since the moment she found out about the dickhead screwing those hookers.

  “But you’re not on your own. You have Wesley. Though, I’ll tell you again, Emmy… the guy’s a dick.”

  “Ash…” she says, then goes on more confidently, “… we’re not together. Something happened not long ago and I broke it off with him.”

  “But on TV—”

  “It’s all fake. We’re contracted to finish filming and we have another six weeks to go. Don’t always believe what you see.”

  That last comment’s obviously directed at me. For that’s what I’d done, assumed everything I saw was the truth. And even when she admitted they weren’t together, it shouldn’t have mattered because we both agreed to see other people.

  I didn’t want anyone touching her, looking at her, or damn well stalking her.

  Fuck. Stop these thoughts.

  She’s here, and safe.

  That’s all that matters.

  ***

  “You’re staying here tonight until we sort out some round-the-clock bodyguard tomorrow. Trust me, the couch is comfy. I’ve been banished to sleeping on the couch several times,” Ash reassures her with a smile.

  Alessandra brings out the extra bedding and a set of PJs for Emerson to change into. She says thank you then disappears to the bathroom. Ash calls it a night pulling Alessandra into their room and shutting the door behind them.

  I sit on the sofa and bury my face in my hands. Tonight’s been too much. The panic like I’ve never felt in my entire life, and the anger toward a stranger because he wanted something that’s mine.

  Wait! Fuck. You didn’t just use the word mine.

  I need to sort out this mess with her if I have any hope of playing tomorrow. My mind’s beyond fucked. I haven’t even practiced the field moves in my head, something I always do before a big game.

  The creak of the bathroom door followed by the click of the switch alerts me she’s finished. Shifting my head sideways, her legs are beside me and it’s a sight that does nothing to tame my hunger for her.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Then talk, Logan.”

  “Not here,” I tell her, standing up and walking to my bedroom.

  I switch the light on and wait for her to enter, closing the door behind her. Her eyes wander across the room, from my perfectly made bed to the soccer medals displayed on my shelf. She walks over to the shelf in the pink shirt Alessandra lent her and thick, white socks. With her back to me, I take the opportunity to scan her body, desperate to throw her on my bed and make her mine.

  There’s that damn word again.

  She turns to face me, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. “I hope you have an explanation for why you’ve been a prick.”

  “Do you have one for being a bitch?” I retaliate.

  She shakes her head and follows with a sinister laugh. “Nice. I’m a bitch because I haven’t spoken to you? Two-way street, buddy. You weren’t exactly blowing up my phone with text messages.”

  “You’re marrying him,” I yell, then quickly lower my voice hoping Ash doesn’t hear. “And you’re still fucking him.”

  “I told you I’m not with him. How many times do I need to say it? Believe whatever the hell you want. I was angry in the pub,” she says, frustrated. “What does it matter anyway? We said no strings attached and as far as I’m concerned you fucking that nurse confirms it.”

  “You’re right,” I agree. “We said no strings attached, so none of that should have mattered.”

  With her eyes wide and brows furrowed, I can see she’s hurt about my last comment.

  “You know what?” I say softly. “You sleep here, I like the couch.”

  “No, it’s your bed and you have an important game tomorrow. I don’t want to be the reason you’re tired.”

  I remove my tie and place it on my chair, unbuttoning my shirt and laying it on top. Considering we’ve seen each other naked, I find it amusing she can’t look my way, purposely avoiding where I stand.

  “Look, I’ll let you get changed.” She turns around and faces the shelf, looking at the gold medal that takes pride of place in the middle. “Was this the first premiership you won?”

  “Yes.” I smile, remembering the moment fondly. “I actually cried.”

  “I can imagine. It’s such an achievement, and both of you have worked toward that your whole life. I don’t think I ever remember a day when you haven’t talked about soccer or even kick the ball around. It’s in your blood.”

  Dropping my pants, I hang them over the chair and remove my socks, leaving me only in my black boxer shorts. “You can turn around now.”

  She spins around and keeps her eyes fixed on my face. I can see the struggle because it mirrors mine exactly.

  “I don’t want to sleep in your bed. Logan, this game is important.”

  “I know my body and my limits, it’ll be fine.” I pull the cover back motioning for her to hop in. She does so with reluctance and when she’s settled in the middle, her gaze meets mine and lingers.


  Does she know how sexy she looks in my bed?

  How much I want to climb in beside her and hold her tight, to only let her go so I can watch her body unravel beneath my touch?

  “Goodnight, Emmy.”

  I walk to the door and switch off the light. As I begin closing the door I hear her call my name, making me stop in my tracks. “Sleep in your bed... with me.”

  Letting out a sigh, my body turns around of its own accord. “Emmy, you don’t know what you’re asking,” I whisper in the dark.

  “Yes, I do…” She pauses with a hitched breath. “I’m asking you to stay with me.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  “Maybe it is, Logan. I don’t know anymore. But for now it’s just this. Please stay with me.”

  I know if I climb in that bed—with her—I’m jeopardizing everything I’ve worked hard for, for the past year. And even with that thought weighing heavily on my mind, I close the door behind me and walk straight for my bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “How do you smile when your heart’s

  falling in love with the wrong man?”

  ~ Emerson Chase

  The bed moves as he climbs in resting his warm body against mine.

  “Logan,” I whisper, desperately trying to ignore his lips which have already found their way to my skin. “You really do need sleep.”

  “I need you more.”

  Four simple words that crush any hope I have of keeping our arrangement platonic.

  I came to London for the show despite Logan living here. What with his mood swings and lack of communication it was clear—we had fun and that fun was over.

  That night with Wes, on the couch, ended in disaster. It started off heated, and just before he slid himself in, I froze and remembered where he’d been and the trail of possible diseases that tagged along with him. It killed the moment and even frightened Wes. It wasn’t just the possibility that he was carrying something nasty, it was also the guilt of being with Logan.

  Wesley doesn’t deserve me as much as I don’t deserve him.