by Kat T. Masen
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 destroying property.
“Don’t you fucking dare think for a second you have that freedom,” he threatens, cornering me underneath his stance.
I’ve never seen Wesley react this way. Angry yes, but this is something else and it frightens me.
He’s never been violent toward me, and I’ve always felt safe around him, but right now, I just want him away from me, terrified he’ll do more than threaten me with his words.
There’s a commotion in the hall. The familiar voices of Kyle and Kelly move toward 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 automatic doors open and the photographers begin snapping. I tell her to stop midway to the car and pose for pictures. Sometimes, it’s best we do this rather than they get unauthorized shots that can easily be misconstrued as something else.
The men walk outside and toward us. I don’t know why I call Wesley over, maybe because I begin to panic that Logan and me being anywhere together is raising red flags. I pull his arm to 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 we don’t answer.
The four of us tell them we’re done, entering the limo waiting 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 sits just outside of the small town they lived in—a quaint cottage built by Poppy’s great-great-grandfather. Aside from her parents who reside in the house, her teenage brother also lives there.
Poppy’s mom, Delia, is the loveliest lady I’ve ever met. A spitting image of Poppy but with orange curly hair that appears wild and unruly.
She offers us a cup of tea and some scones while we all settle in the cozy living room.
Cliff’s 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 isn’t the type of person to get riled up over something like this. She’s breezy and enjoys 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, “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 network and got approval to show footage. I think it’ll be good if they win given Ashley and Logan make an appearance 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 my family are not to be filmed. It surprised me that neither Ash nor Logan has mentioned their appearance 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 takes about an hour and then we proceed to head into town. The town itself consists of four stores—bakery, grocer, post office, and gift shop. Poppy has a story to tell about each one, some funny and some nostalgic.
By the time we head back to the cottage, it’s game time.
I’ve been nervous all day, praying that last night doesn’t affect Logan’s game.
Ninety minutes of angst about to start.
Logan scores the first goal but is soon trumped by the opposing team scoring their first goal. An hour later and it’s still a tie with my head glued to the television.
“This is game is so boring.” Wes yawns beside me.
“Will you shut up? You’ve said that three times already,” 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 television 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 is a decider game and now they won’t make it to the quarter-finals.
Even Cliff’s 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 is and I can’t exactly say he killed it because he has 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 make 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 and it’s a perfect opportunity for me to study them and remember how soft they feel against my skin.
The sports journalist holds the mic up to him. “How did 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 celebrating this win means I get fucked harder than I’ve 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 find out why Cliff wanted to speak 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,” Cliff berates.
“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.”
“No
thing 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 makes everything worse. Perhaps I’m a monster. Two wrongs certainly don’t make a right, but the thought of giving up Logan is something which hurts me more. And that alone terrifies 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’s late and most of us are exhausted from a long day of filming.
Kyle and Kelly call it a night. Harley wants to go out and Wesley decides to join him. They ask me to go, but I kindly refuse hoping Logan will 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’m no longer thinking with my head. “No point keeping it a secret since our lives are open for public consumption. Wesley and I aren’t together anymore.”
Harley appears uncomfortable but attempts to maintain composure. He’s 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 want to go for a drink and maybe pick up a British bird. That’s what Pop told me to call them.”
It’s his attempt to break the ice. I make the effort to smile at his gesture, unlike Wesley who continues to stand guarded, ice-cold.
“Maybe I should do the same, huh? Score some British bird that wants to be around me. American women are so over-the-top.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” I fire back, angry at his insensitive comment. “You go have your fun and I’ll have mine.”
That comment leaves him speechless, bearing down on his teeth with a clenched jaw. I walk away and head to my room, longing for peace and quiet. As I walk in the room is dead silent—the kind of silence I long for. Shifting to the bed, I lay flat on the mattress, my stomach against the fancy sheets and close my eyes.
When did my life become this drama-filled soap opera?
Like most couples, Wesley and I used to have a pretty normal relationship. A few fights, only a handful of massive blow-ups, but for the most part we got along.
Now, it’s a giant mess. If the cameras filmed our actual real lives and not the ones we pretend to portray, the fans would go nuts. This is reality. Caught in this messy love triangle with two men who rival each other for different reasons.
Boredom finds me soon after, so I post some pictures online, reply to the thousands of comments that follow instantly. Pictures from our Victoria Secret show to our tour of London. It’s been a busy couple of days with no end in sight.
Finally, I scroll through my phone and find an old picture of me, Ash, and Logan that Mom sent me recently. It was taken when we were eleven at a school carnival where the three of us were in charge of the cotton-candy stand. Mom snapped Ash with cotton candy all over his head from when Logan and me dared him to put his head inside the machine.
I type a comment beneath the photo, telling everyone how proud I am of these boys winning tonight’s game. I hold onto my smile, remembering this time with happiness. These two boys are my life, and every part of me is terrified my relationship with Logan will break us if things don’t work out.
I shut down my Instagram and call Mom. She texted me yesterday to say she would be flying in for a day to watch the game. As much as she would have loved to stay longer, she had a pressing deadline and Tayla back home.
“Hey, kid!” There’s a considerable commotion in the background. I can barely hear her over the sound of Queen blaring through the speakers.
“Where are you, Mom?”
“I can’t hear you. Hold on… okay?”
Waiting for the connection to become clearer, there’s a muffled sound then her voice feeds over the speaker again. “Okay, I’m back... phew.”
“What on Earth are you doing, Mother?”
“We’re out at this pub celebrating the win. I forgot how much I love pub crawling.”
“When did you ever pub crawl?”
“When I was a loose cannon and didn’t have three kids busting my chops.”
“I’ve never busted your chops.” My smile turns into laughter while my body begins relaxing on the bed. “Are you with Ash and Logan?”
“Yeah, I think they’re around here somewhere. I lost sight of things after the second pint,” she follows with a hiccup.
“And Dad?”
“I think he’s being tattooed by a Scotsman.”
“Mom, shut up. Dad? The two of you shouldn’t be allowed out.”
“Come, join us! We’re in the city.”
I look at the time, it’s only half-past ten, and even though I’m exhausted I want a chance to see Logan. Tell him how happy and proud I am of him.
Yeah right, your damn kitty is itching to get some.
“You know what, Mom? I’ll be there soon.”
I jot down the pub address she’s currently at and hang up immediately. I’m still in the same outfit as today but decide to change. I put on a black jumpsuit with long sleeves and a plunging neckline, pairing it with some high-waisted jeans and my knee-high boots. I ditch the coat and throw on a scarf to keep the cool air away.
I leave the room and spontaneously decide to knock on Poppy’s door.
“Hey Em, you’re dressed all fancy for bed.”
Poppy’s wearing her pink pajamas with unicorns patterned all over. On her feet are fluffy white slippers that looked like rabbits.
“Pop,” I say with a smile. “Wanna go on a pub crawl?”
“A pub crawl?” Her face lights up. “Sure! I was about to order room service and watch Titanic.”
“Okay, that’s depressing.”
“Let me get changed.”
Poppy emerges wearing a black knitted top, tartan skirt, and bright red leggings. “Okay, I’m ready! How do I look?”
“Like Poppy.” I laugh.
“Let’s go, we just need to make one stop first.”
***
We meet Mom and Dad a while later at a pub called Randy’s. The place is full of Royal Kings fans dressed in their jerseys. Poppy made us stop at the concierge and had him hunt down a place which was still open that sold jerseys. We found the place not too far from the hotel and pulled them on over what we’re wearing.
The atmosphere is buzzing. Drunken patrons all singing loud and proud, buying each other rounds of drinks. There’s a mix of young, old, and any other person you can think of. I spot Mom at the back, where she has her arm around a toothless man singing to The Proclaimers.
“Emmy,” she beams, stumbling over to greet me.
There are many things in life you witness, but watching your parents drunk is always a hoot. Dad’s at the next table over, doing rounds of shots with a bunch of young guys. It’s equally disturbing that the drink is called a Juicy Pussy.
“Hey, Mom.” I lean in and give her a hug. She reeks of beer and smoke. “Have you been smoking?”
“Oh, lighten up, kid. Who made you, Mom?” She chuckles loudly with the toothless man.
I take satisfaction in knowing tomorrow she’ll be sporting the worst hangover and regretting her actions. Serves her right for partying so hard at forty-nine.
I introduce Poppy to Mom. They seem to hit it off straight away and bond over another pint.
“Where’s Logan and Ash?” I ask, scanning the pub.
“They just left with the team for the next pub over.”
We lasted five minutes in the pub until Dad announced, “It’s time to pub crawl... again.”
Everyone cheers and we follow him out to the next pub, walking along the street
like a drunken march.
The next pub is called Hudson’s Corner. A bigger joint and even more crowded than the last.
“Emmy,” Dad calls over the crowd.
I slide my way through, holding Poppy’s hand so we don’t separate. “Dad, ease up on the shots. You’re not twenty-one anymore. Plus, it can’t be good for your meds.”
He laughs, kissing my cheek. “You see this, Alan? This here is my daughter, Emmy. Ash’s twin.”
“Twins?” Alan acts surprised. “Blimey! You’re gonna break some hearts.”
“She already has.” The voice comes from behind me, and without turning around my smile is stuck. I twist my body and Logan’s standing behind me dressed in a checked navy and white shirt, tucked into his navy slacks with tan-colored shoes on his feet. His large watch is hanging off his wrist and hair is styled perfectly to the side.
He looks delicious. Like an Armani sunglasses model from a magazine. Perfect in every way.
“Poppy, you remember Logan?”
“Yes,” she beams with a crooked smile. “Congratulations, you smashed it today.” She jumps up and hugs him, much to his shock.
When she lets go, he waits, searching our surroundings.
I lean in and hug him careful not to close my eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I can’t wait to be inside you,” he whispers in my ear.
I pull back, careful not to raise suspicion and trying my best to control the heat that throbs between my legs. I’m wearing a black lacy thong, and it’s doing nothing to curb the ache as the thin piece of string rubs against my clit making it ten times worse. “So anyway, where’s Ash?”
The cocky bastard keeps his expression fixed, his luscious lips grinning with delight. He turns around for a moment, then spins back with his eyes directed at mine. Ash is standing in the middle of a crowd, jug in hand with bloodshot eyes, singing the team’s anthem.
“Oh God, he’s gone,” I mutter.
“Your brother is a toot,” Poppy says cheerily.
“Yeah. Where’s Alessandra?”
Logan shrugs then leans in. “People are watching us. I’ll meet you later.”
Many people in the room spotted Poppy and me wanting selfies, so Logan walks away and begins chatting with some of his teammates, leaving us alone with the small group of fans who join us.