by Kat T. Masen
“How do you feel watching these moments?” Anthony asks, crossing his legs with his cue cards in hand.
“It’s not easy. It was a difficult time for both of us,” I answer honestly.
“And for you, Wesley?”
“The writing was on the wall.”
It’s never leaked out about Wesley’s night in Amsterdam. As much as it hurt me at the time, I understood how damaging it could be for him and his career. So, I never breathed a word of it, allowing people to conjure up their own theories as to why we started to fall apart.
“You and Logan Carrington had quite an affair,” Anthony says with a wicked smile. “We’ve got some unseen footage of the two of you.”
They show the party at Scarlett’s house with the two of us leaving in the limousine together. Then they show some paparazzi shots of us in the Indian restaurant with Ash, us in London leaving the pub, and then they show footage from afar of us arguing on the street of London when I’d just found out about Louisa. The network has never asked my permission to show this footage, but I don’t care, it’s all out in the open anyway.
“And Logan’s here?”
I nod. “Backstage.”
The producers asked if Logan could sit in, but I flat out refused and said no. I don’t want him dragged into this any further, we’ve moved on and that’s that.
The media already follows us around like crazy wherever we go. We keep a low profile, but they come up with ridiculous stories and publish them time and time again for attention.
“Wesley, you had a difficult time this season and ended up in rehab. Are you out now?”
“Yes, clean and sober.”
“There’s also been some other controversy following you. Can we bring out Farrah?”
Farrah walks onstage dressed in gold skimpy number with matching heels. Her hair is platinum blonde, styled in heavy curls which rest at her waistline.
She sits on the other side of Wesley, away from me.
“Welcome Farrah,” Anthony greets her. “On several occasions this season you were filmed talking about their relationship. It’s clear that you had an issue with Emerson which could be taken as jealousy.”
“You’re wrong, Anthony. I wasn’t jealous of her. What’s there to be jealous about?”
Bitch. That’s a low blow.
The words are desperate to leave my tongue, but I cross my legs and look away from her while trying to ignore her childish comment.
“You were also seen out with Wesley quite a bit. Was something going on there?”
“Yes,” she admits as the audience gasps. “We had something on the side.”
Wesley shakes his head, disapprovingly. “One time doesn’t count as something on the side. I was drunk and high. Clearly, my judgment was clouded.”
The two of them get into a heated exchange which Anthony diffuses. I don’t know what to say, still trying to control my emotions. I know he cheated on me, it was impossible for Wesley to go without sex for such a long time. But honestly, I thought he had better taste than Farrah Beaumont.
“What do you think of this?” Anthony directs the question at me.
“Wesley and I had an agreement. He was free to do whatever he pleased. If you lay with dogs, you’re going to catch fleas.”
“You fucking bitch,” Farrah swears, raising her voice. “Did you know your fiancé knocked me up? Huh? Yeah, right in your bed.”
“Jesus Christ, Farrah.” Wesley bows his head between his knees.
“I lost that baby. So, call me whatever you want. At the end of the day I carried his child not you.”
Wesley raises his head and begs me to look at him, apologizing through a single stare. No matter what happened, it’s all irrelevant. It’s utterly pointless dwelling on the past when my future is waiting backstage.
Anthony asks more questions which result in Farrah storming off. When the segment is done, he thanks us both as we leave and walk backstage.
Wesley pulls my arm back, asking me to stop. “I’m sorry, Em.”
“I forgive you, okay. Just take care of yourself.” I pat his arm then walk away to where Logan is standing in the back room. As soon as he sees me, the worry on his face subsides and is replaced with a smile.
“You did well.”
“Barely made it.”
He brings me in for an embrace, the scent of his cologne making it all better.
“I know that was hard for you to watch.”
He smiles into my hair. “It’s fine… I know how to take it out on you.”
I laugh at his naughty answer but stop midway to breathe out the sick feeling in my stomach. He pulls me back, searching my eyes until a smile plays on his lips.
“Go. Now.”
I don’t say a word, running past the backstage crew and straight for the bathroom where my stomach unravels and empties into the basin just in time. I take a deep breath, peeling myself away from the basin and splashing my face with cold water.
Morning sickness—the bane of my existence.
Why do they even call it that when it happens all day long?
Checking my reflection in the mirror one more time, my skin seems to have evened out in color again. If I’m lucky, I might make it home without having to use the sick bags that Logan keeps in the glovebox.
Walking out of the restroom, Logan’s just outside the door, pacing with his usual worried expression. “Are you okay?”
“Take blueberry Danish off the list of things that I could eat but now repulse me.”
Logan takes my hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.
“We’re running out of food for you to eat. I hope this doesn’t last much longer,” he pauses, a small smile playing on his lips. “What trimester is the horny stage where you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”
“The same trimester where you will need to feed me grapes while fanning me with banana leaves.”
Logan laughs, pulling me into an embrace. “You’re impossible.”
“Pregnant, Logan,” I remind him happily. “I think that’s the word you’re looking for.”
THE END
Bonus Scenes from the Men of Kicking Reality
ASHLEY CHASE
“Babe, just one more minute,” I beg her through strained vocals, “… not even… like twenty fucking seconds.”
She’s doing that thing with her mouth, wrapping her tongue around me while she literally has me by the balls. Holding them delicately in her hand, she tugs on them with enough force to make me crumble in pleasure which sends signals to every fucking part of my body that shit’s gonna get real.
I love watching her—sexy with her hair a wild mess in the palm of my hands. Her eyes divert to the coffee table again, distracting me slightly. I rein her in to focus on me, selfish I know, using my hands to put her focus back on my dick. The most important thing in the room right now.
The warm feeling disappears as she withdraws, disconnecting the heat that comes from her twister tongue.
“Ashley, you really should see what’s on your phone in case it’s important,” she suggests, catching her breath and licking her lips.
My girl is sexy on her knees. Well fuck, she’s sexy every which way I look at her.
Bending down, I cup her chin in my hand and stare into her eyes. She’s always grinning, cute dimples that distract any rational thoughts I have because I can’t turn her mischievous face away.
My dick won’t let up, begging to be finished off despite the constant interruptions.
“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath, leaning forward to grab my cell with frustration.
There’s several missed calls, messages, and emails that have come through in the space of ten minutes. I don’t know what to look at first, but go for Logan’s messages since he only messages me a million times if it’s important.
Logan: I’m sorry. Talk to me first before you read anything.
What is this fucker going on about? I’m about to ignore him since I’m still m
assively pissed he bailed somewhere without telling me a single thing. His actions of late have been out of character and I suspect it has something to do with Louisa turning up at our apartment dressed in this skimpy black dress with no bra on. Even for her, it was wild and nothing like her usual uptight attire.
I log into my social media account to see the thousands upon thousands of tags until I follow a link to a media article posted an hour ago.
Drowning at LA Party
Tayla Chase (sister of Generation Next star Emerson Chase and Royal Kings defender Ashley Chase) almost drowns at a party in LA. The sixteen-year-old had been seen drinking with older sister Emerson, before hanging out on the beach with an unknown crowd.
The drunken teen was found at the scene unconscious and revived by Logan Carrington.
Another unidentified girl had been saved by Wesley Rich.
Earlier, witnesses saw Emerson Chase in a heated kiss with childhood friend Logan Carrington. The two were seen arguing until Wesley Rich found them outside the home of LA’s hottest DJ—Mikey Gee.
According to a reliable source, the love triangle erupted in an explosive fist fight between Logan and Wesley because Emerson Chase is rumored to be pregnant. Neither party has commented on the pregnancy. However, the baby is said to belong to Wesley Chase.
A large lump has formed inside my throat constricting my ability to yell or even breathe. What the fuck did I just read? My eyes scan the article again with my stomach churning and leaving me feeling ill that something happened to my little sister.
“Ashley?” Poppy calls my name, worried. “What’s wrong? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I don’t answer, ringing Dad’s cell which goes straight to voicemail. I try Mom, the same thing. If anyone will pick up her cell it’s Tayla.
“Ash,” she greets with a shaky voice.
“Tayla,” I almost scream down the phone. “What the hell happened?”
“I’m okay.” I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “I went to help someone who was drowning and got caught myself.”
“Why the fuck were you drinking? Did Emerson let you fucking drink?”
“I wasn’t drinking, Ash. Emerson wouldn’t let me drink.”
“But the tabloids—”
“C’mon, don’t believe what you read.” She chuckles softly but it’s followed by a raspy cough. “You should know that.”
I grit my teeth, barely able to control the rage. “Really? Because I’m reading shit about Logan and Emerson.”
Silence falls over the phone.
“Ash, it’s not my place to comment. Talk to them.” She reassures me she’s okay but is tired and needs to sleep. We hang up, and in a confused state I sit back on the sofa with my dick still hanging out though flaccid from the shock.
“Is this true?” I ask the question to myself even though Poppy is beside me caressing my hair.
“Speak to them, Ashley. Though Emerson’s not pregnant with anyone’s baby. That is complete rubbish.”
“Just fucking tell me.” I close my eyes, rubbing my face with the palms of my sweaty hands. “Is my best friend fucking my sister?”
“I think it’s more than that.”
“You knew about this and didn’t tell me?”
“Hey!” she hollers, pulling away and folding her arms. “It’s not my business. And it’s not exactly like we’re honest with everyone either. You’re technically still married to Alessandra. Your family has no clue you’ve separated.”
She has a point. A valid one at that.
My marriage to Alessandra had disaster written all over it. She may have been beautiful and smart, but she wasn’t the woman I envisioned spending my life with. In fact, I never envision settling down at all—until Poppy.
“But it’s my best friend and my sister.”
She nods, eyes wide goading some sort of reaction from me.
“My best friend and my sister,” I repeat.
She nods again, remaining quiet.
“I don’t understand... how long? When? The questions pour out as my mind is unable to comprehend such an absurd thing.
They hate each other.
This must be a joke.
“Ashley.” Poppy calms her voice while unfolding her arms and placing her hands flat on her lap. “This is a good thing.”
“No, it’s not,” I say adamantly, pulling my pants up and walking away from the sofa, pacing back and forth. “Logan is a bastard. He treats women like yesterday’s trash. He takes what he wants and that’s it. God, I can’t even... and to top it off Emmy hates him. She’s always hated him. This won’t last, or work. They’ll just screw each other over then I’m left in the middle. Nothing will ever be the same after this.”
“Let them be. You never know, Ashley, this could be the real deal for them.”
“The real deal?” I laugh, ridiculing her. “This will never work. Jesus! I can’t fucking believe this. All the lies.... how did I not fucking see this coming? And Logan bailing on our most important training session and risking our game so he could fly over and fuck my sister! What’s with that?”
“Calm down,” she begs of me. “You’ve gone mad. Can you hear yourself? They’re a good fit, the two of them. Let them sort out their relationship without you being a factor.”
“You don’t get it, it’s always been the three of us. And if they do work out then what? What about me? I’ll be left behind.”
Poppy walks over to where I’m standing, stretching on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around my neck.
“You’ve got me, you silly twat.”
I can’t hide the smile that appears unwillingly. “Your British name-calling is very distracting. So are your tits.”
“Well, they feel neglected because your pecker’s getting all the action.”
I bury my head in her neck, thankful I have her.
I never expected this eccentric, gorgeous woman to come into my life and just complete me. She is a mirror of me, understands me better than I understand myself sometimes. A scary thought since we’ve only been in each other’s life for a week.
She was everything I needed that night when Alessandra left.
Some could say it was rebound, but I wasn’t rebounding from Alessandra. I didn’t love her like she needed to be loved. I wasn’t husband material and our living together proved that. I felt relief when Alessandra wanted out—she brought the giant elephant into the room that night and finally set it free.
“I fucking love you, woman.” I laugh, slapping her ass causing her to squeal in delight.
“Oh, bollocks, I give good head.”
“Yes,” I agree with a smirk. “Fucking good head.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
“As crazy as you.”
She lets out a sigh and stares into my eyes. I love the way her eyes twinkle when she smiles, switching between green and blue depending which way you look at her.
“I don’t care what happens between us. I have fun when I’m with you. I don’t want that to stop.”
“Why does it have to?”
“You know...” she trails off. “Feelings and stuff get in the way.”
I cup her chin again, bringing her face into mine until my lips are planted on her sexy mouth.
“So, let it.”
With an infectious grin, she kisses me back deeply which switches me into aroused mode. Pulling back, her stare is full of lust and follows with her falling to her knees again.
We celebrate the moment with what Poppy does best—an excellent blow job.
When she’s finished and I’m sitting on cloud nine, she reluctantly leaves the apartment to fly back home, but not before asking me for the millionth time if I’m okay.
I tell her I am in the end, simply to shut her up.
But I’m not.
How can I be?
Alone, in the dark, my head begins to conjure up things. Things that won’t go down well if Logan shows his face anywhere near me. He lied, h
e betrayed my trust, and he stole my sister ready to use her like he does every woman who enters his life.
He shouldn’t have messed with me.
I know every dirty little secret of his, everything but this.
And now I need answers.
I pick up my cell and dial his number—voicemail.
My rage intensifies with every missed call until finally, an hour later, his name appears on my screen.
I clutch at my cell with the tightest of grip, watching the color drain from my hand until it’s almost all white. I do my best to control my ill feelings toward him, but the second I answer and the call connects, I lash out at the one man I’ve trusted my life with.
Logan fucking Carrington—my ex-brother.
LOGAN CARRINGTON
“Should George be eating that cracker?” I yell into the bedroom while watching George with one eye as he devours a cracker in the corner of the kitchen. I know he doesn’t like to be watched it’s another quirky habit of his that baffles me.
Inside the bedroom, Emmy’s sitting on our bed reading.
“Can you not scream that in front of George? It’s diet doggy crackers. Ever since you hit the scene, George has put on a few pounds.”
“A few?” I laugh. “The dog can’t fit through the doggy door. Last night, I had to save him from an embarrassing failure as he tried to pass through it.”
“You’re not helping his ego right now,” she complains, pouting her lips looking all cute and shit.
I grab the remote from the nightstand and climb into bed. I love the sheets are warm and that inside the bed is this sexy woman who belongs to me—my fiancée.
She’s engrossed in reading, wearing her new glasses which she complains make her look like a grandma. I think she looks like a hot librarian—a virgin at that—one who’s never had her clothes ripped off by any man.
“Are you still reading Abbi’s manuscript?”
Emmy nods, barely acknowledging me.
“And?”
She places it down, annoyed at my interruption. “It’s so good. I haven’t put it down since I began two hours ago. Except for now, because you’re needy and crave attention.”