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“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.”
