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“That’s cheating,” Ash hurls at us while clutching his cue with a tight grip.
“What does Coach always say? There’s no ‘I’ in team, Ash,” Logan notes, the amusement lighting up his eyes.
“Fuck you! It’s like we’re back in middle school. The two of you ganging up on me when I wanted to dress as a cowboy for Halloween, and you guys wanted to be Power Rangers.”
“Dude, we were ten. Cowboys are for sissies and the last time I checked, your dick wants pussy only.”
I shake my head, motioning for them to stop. “Please don’t talk about Ash’s organs in any type of sexual way.”
“Like you’re one to talk, Carrington. How many chicks came back to your hotel at the airport?” Ash asks with a menacing gaze while spilling Logan’s dirty little secret.
Something holds back my laughter, watching Logan pause with a haunted smile. What a sleaze. Perhaps I wasn’t imaging his ass probe just then. I just didn’t expect it from him. Logan once told me he wouldn’t make me his girlfriend if I were the last girl on earth covered in bacon and cotton candy—his two favorite things.
“A gentleman never tells,” Logan answers in a decidedly odd tone.
“Bullshit. You’re just saying that in front of the girls. You told me they both blew you while you poured tequila all over their mouths.”
Logan’s face changes, almost to anger for bringing it up.
How our conversation has changed since the days since when we were little. We could spend hours talking about The X-Files and aliens roaming the earth, and now we’re talking about Logan being some sex god that got off on demeaning women. What the fuck?
“All right, can we move on? You’re both jerks and I need another drink,” I say. Yelling out to Harry for another round on me, he nods, but this time I swap beers and martinis for shots of tequila.
“Like you’re one to talk, Emmy. Have you seen the porn out there of you?” Logan snickers, continuing on, “Didn’t realize you were that kinky.”
In between my shocked expression Ash’s face quickly tightens with his eyes wide and full of rage.
“Firstly, Photoshop is a magical program if you know how to use it. Secondly, I’m not stupid… I would never pose nude. I learned my lesson the time I sunbathed in Greece and had an accidental nip slip. But hey, I didn’t know you like to Google naked images of me?” I reverse my shock and stare at Logan, battling with his gaze as neither one of us backs down.
“Harry,” Ash shouts, breaking the awkward stand-off between Logan and me.
Harry slides the tray of shots over the countertop. Alessandra’s quick to bring them over to us.
Ash puts a shot glass to his mouth, allowing it to linger while eyeing Logan. “Don’t ever talk about my sister that way. You got it?”
Logan grabs a shot, tilting his head to the side with a smirk. “Emmy’s a reality star. The whole world knows her business. Right, Emmy?”
“Fuck you,” I fume, downing a shot until the burning sensation halts my breathing for a second. My chest begins to burn as it slowly makes it way down but then disappears as the tequila warms my entire body. “You see what the producers want you to see. I’m not the same girl you once knew and watching me on TV doesn’t make you know me.”
Ash raises his glass in the air. “Okay, fuck! Can we seriously just toast to something? I’m sick of this bullshit. Let’s be us for the night.”
I nod in agreement, lifting another glass and raising it in the air. “To us... back together again. Except, no more pranks.”
“No more wet willies,” Logan adds, with a disgusted look directed at Ash.
“No more swapping your chocolate for laxatives,” Ash says plainly.
“That was you?” I turn to face him in shock. “I blamed Logan for that this entire time!”
“Who else knew you snuck chocolate into your room and ate it before bed?”
“Oh my God, Ash! Why couldn’t you be a normal brother and like read my diary or some shit?”
He places his hand on Logan’s shoulder, still holding the shot in his fingers. “I did read your diary...” he pauses for dramatic effect then continue
s, “Dear Diary, today I saw Logan take his shirt off at the pool. He had such big muscles and looked sooo hot...”
My face began to heat up, remembering the one time I wrote about Logan. One. Fucking. Time! I was fifteen and hormonal.
