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The car service drives us to the pub where Emmy and her crew are hanging out tonight. I dread seeing Wesley, knowing I have to restrain myself from punching him in the fucking face.
Then there’s that part of me that wants to play dirty.
A challenge if you will, to make her squirm while under his watch.
The pub’s located in the West End—small, quaint, with the usual drunken crowd that frequent these types of joints on a Friday night. When Ash and I moved here a few years ago, we hit all the pubs each weekend until it no longer became fun and the women were all the same.
Outside the pub, there’s a hoard of paparazzi standing by with cameras in hand. A few attempt to take photographs through the glass, but appear disappointed when they look at their cameras.
Two of them spot us and ask for a picture, and whether we’re ready for the game tomorrow. Ash talks their ears off, and I start to pull him along desperate to get inside.
Two bodyguards stand out front—tall, built like fucking tanks who watch anyone who enters.
“Oi…” the bearded one holds Ash back, “… what business you want in there?”
Ash bravely removes the man’s hand from his chest. “My fucking sister, Emerson.”
He lets us go while his facial expression remaining impassive.
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 Wesl
ey.
“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.”
