Chapter 14

Fourteen

“A man can always tell when

another lion is sleeping in his den.”

~ Emerson Chase

Ihaven’t heard from Logan in weeks. Through conversations with Mom, I know they have a round of important games and their focus is on training. Without raising too much suspicion, I ask a few questions hoping to get some insight as to what else is going on.

“So, how’re things with Ash and Alessandra?”

“Sandy, darling,” Mom corrects me in a posh British accent. “They’re okay, I guess. She’s been looking for wedding venues. There are a couple of places on the east coast, but I’m not sure the boys can come back to the States for a while.”

“Oh?” I hide my disappointment. “I thought there was a chance they may play for the US team?”

“I don’t know if that’s going to happen. Coach Bennett is reluctant to let them go, and they’re under a lot of pressure to win their season. Daddy flew over on Monday, so I guess we’ll wait and see.”

“Ash doesn’t seem to care much about the wedding,” I ramble on, pointing out the obvious. “He couldn’t care less about anything besides soccer.”

“That’s your brother for you,” she says plainly. “Wesley seems to be keen to walk down the aisle. I saw last night’s episode, I didn’t realize how sentimental he is.”

I’m quick to shut her down, but still hold back what happened. “Oh, yeah. That episode about his grandmother? Load of shit, Mom, he didn’t even know her.”

“But he appeared so genuine?” I can hear the shock in her voice. “Emmy, what’s going on? Between you and him?”

“We’re just busy, Mom. The wedding’s not on our minds.”

The guilt eats away at me, so I give her only that small piece of information. Last night’s episode featured our preliminary discussions about the wedding. Just a short conversation about Wesley’s family and his relationship with his grandmother. Cliff wanted Wesley to have more of an appeal to our female viewers and his idea worked, many reaching out to Wesley after it aired about their family struggles with Alzheimer’s. It painted Wesley in a different light—the sweet man with a heart of fucking gold.

The more successful the show’s become, the more it becomes scripted. I never signed up for a soap opera, honestly thinking our lives would be documented in a positive way to help others in our generation.

“Take your time, kid, there’s nothing wrong with staying engaged. I’m just glad to watch you get married, rather than hear about it over a cup of coffee.” Her voice becomes muffled, and in the background I hear my sister’s voice.

“Hey, Emmy.”

“Hey, Tay-Tay,” I cheer, happy to hear her voice.

“Ugh, don’t call me that. Puh-lease.”

“Sorry,” I mumble. “What’s happening?”

“Not much. Just school.” Her tone remains uninterested and bored. “What about you? Anything interesting going on besides Wesley posting a photo of you in a bikini? By the way, nice hair. Totally love the purple.”

“It’s back to brown now.” Knowing Mom’s close by, I pray she doesn’t say anything about Logan. “So, any chance of getting you to fly over for the summer? I’d love to spend some time with you once our filming schedule finishes.”

“I’d love to, but me and the girls have planned a trip to Miami… if Dad lets me.”

I laugh, rudely. “Yeah, good luck with that. Pigs will fly before Dad lets you hang out in Miami. He doesn’t even let you go to the city.”

“Thanks for bursting my bubble,” she complains. “I got to go, I’ll give the phone back to Mom.”

There’s a shuffle and more noise until Mom says she’s back.

“Miami, huh?” I bring it up while scrolling through my phone looking for what Wesley posted.

“Maybe you can take her? Or maybe Ash and Logan?”

“Let the man-whores loose in man-whore city…” I keep my tone controlled, not wanting the spur of jealousy to be known.

“You’re right. I love Ashley, but in a way, I’m glad Alessandra has tamed him. As for Logan…” there’s a pause, and I wait with bated breath for her to continue, “… he’s going to break someone’s heart one day. I truly feel sorry for the woman.”

I swallow the giant lump in my throat. “Why do you say that, Mom?”

“Because Logan’s always struggled with stability. His behavior has been erratic and unpredictable. I love him like my own, but Reese leaving him did more harm than good.”

“But Aunty Reese is your best friend. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why? Because she had her own battles. I just wished she would have worked them out and been there for him. At the end of the day, she’s his mother, not me,” she admits.

I don’t know how we steered onto this topic. As much as I want more insight into the past, Mom is on point with Logan’s behavior. He is like that, I know that. Everything we do together is erratic and irresponsible. But it’s what I need, I’m sick of being the responsible one.

“Change of subject.... did I tell you George is in heat?”

Mom laughs through the receiver. “He’s male. Can male dogs be in heat?”

“I didn’t think so, but he’s dry-humping everything in sight. In fact…” I look toward the window where I see him on the balcony dry-humping the outdoor furniture, “… he’s going for it right now. He has a thing for the outdoors.”

“I think I need to pay my grandson a visit.”

“Yes,” I cheer loudly. “Are you planning to fly over?”

“One of my fellow author friends has a ranch in the Hills and is planning a book launch in a few weeks. I’d love to support her plus, I don’t want to cramp your apartment. Let me confirm the dates and we’ll make something happen. I know you’re a busy woman building your empire and all, but hopefully, you’ll have time for your mommy.”

“I always have time for you.” I smile.

“Okay, kiddo. I gotta go. Meeting in the city with my publisher,” she tells me in a rushed tone. “Do you think my red dress with the gold buttons makes me look like an aging whore?”

“You lost me at gold buttons, Mom.”

We hang up with enough time to spare for me to get changed. I can hear Wesley shouting my name impatiently while waiting outside until he gives up and tells me he’ll wait for me in the car. We have a lunch with fellow castmates at an upmarket restaurant near Laguna Beach. The drive alone will be long, and Cliff wants the cameras in Wes’ car switched on to capture our conversations.

A part of me needs the distraction—my mind unsettled after the conversation with Mom.

Rushing around, I finally decide on what to wear and dash out to the car. Moments later we’re on our way.

“So, who’s at the lunch today?” Wes asks, switching lanes without using his indicator.

“Kyle and Kelly,” I say. “Harley and Poppy. Oh... and Farrah.”

Farrah is known as the Hollywood train wreck. Her father owns some oil company making them billionaires. She’s a spoiled brat born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She’s politically incorrect and goes out of her way to stir trouble—one of her favorite pastimes. Farrah is also a walking billboard for plastic surgery having done her lips, cheeks, breasts, and her latest being butt implants.

“Great, Farrah. I read on Twitter the other day that Daddy bought her a bigger set of tits,” Wes comments with a sarcastic laugh.

“Really? Well, I guess we’ll see them today. Maybe this is a coming-out party... for the double FFs or whatever cups she’s sporting now.”

Wesley takes the exit, driving toward Orange County as we both laugh at Farrah’s ridiculous behavior.

“We shouldn’t laugh. In all seriousness, Daddy’s a game player. He’ll probably buy this network and boot us off the show because we’ve made fun of her.”

“Yeah, or he can offer to buy you a pair like last time.”

I cringe, remembering the episode which was filmed at her parents’ mansion where Daddy Dearest offered to buy me a pair of tits. The episode caused outrage on social media, but the ratings were high, and no one cared since high ratings equaled a bigger money pot. Most people took my side by blasting Farrah for supporting her dad’s behavior. Others claimed I needed it, my tits being the center of attention for weeks until something else took over.

We continue to talk about Farrah, knowing Cliff encourages our bitchy rants to cause controversy. Aside from Farrah, the rest of us get along great. Kyle and Kelly entered the show as a couple. High-school sweethearts from a small town in Minnesota. When auditioning, the network thought the television show would break them which equaled drama. During our second season, they broke up for one week. No one slept with anyone else, but then Cliff wasn’t happy with the boring outcome so he edited the scenes to make it look like they separated for the entire season, and slept with all of Hollywood. Neither of them minded knowing it was scripted and part of the whole acting gig.

Harley’s the bad boy of the group. His real name is Troy Madden, born into a military family and moved from state to state growing up. He’s nicknamed Harley because he has only one love in his life his Harley Davidson—Rosita.

Despite Harley being painted as the bad boy, constantly in trouble with the law, he’s actually a big softy. He has your back and you know you’re safe around him. Though the boys look up to him as a protector, it’s Poppy who formed a unique friendship with him. The crazy British girl that came to the States to study fashion.

“We’re here,” Wesley announces, parking his car and handing the keys to the valet.

Stella’s overlooks the Pacific Ocean and Laguna Beach. Owned by Stella Grace—heir to the Grace Hotel Chains— it’s a known hot spot for the elite and celebrities. The restaurant is decorated in all white, with small splashes of azure blue on paintings hanging on the walls. Each table has been carefully arranged with large vases of freshly cut lilies sitting in the middle of each table with shining cutlery and fancy glasses.

We’re ushered to a table outside where Kyle, Kelly, Harley, and Poppy are sitting. Saying hello and hugging each of them, we take a seat admiring the stunning view and perfect day while we wait for Farrah.

The waiter serves us some expensive wine, and we drink while having a light conversation until we’re brutally interrupted by Farrah. Each of us has our own camera crew— Farrah’s crew probably the worst of the bunch. I can’t stand them. Two sleazy men—Rick and Marty—both of whom I can only assume have fucked by her which is why they do everything she says.

“O.M.G. you guys, it’s been like forever!” She air-kisses us all, taking a seat at the end of table in her tight white dress that barely contains her confined double FFs. Her hair extensions touch the table, and she’s quick to push them back, keeping the blonde tresses away as she drinks her wine demanding another glass. Another thing about Farrah she enjoys her wine and is rarely seen without a glass in hand.

Our food is served and we begin talking about our plans for the summer. Majority of the conversation is non-scripted with the cameras recording the whole lunch.

Poppy’s the first person to bring up our engagement. “How are the wedding plans going?” she asks in her English accent. “I’m so chuffed it’s going to be a winter wedding.”

Both Wes and I knew this would come up because Josie told us we have to talk about it. I also had a very heated conversation with my publicist, Nina, over when I can start talking about our relationship breakdown.

“Coming along nicely,” I say with a smile. “We’re scouting venues, and I’d love for you to come dress shopping with me.”

Farrah laughs behind her fork, adding a sly comment, “You’d probably come out wearing some washed-up old rag.”

“Funny, Farrah.” I place my fork down giving Cliff what he wants whenever he places the two of us in a room. “That’s what most men think when they’ve been with you.”

Everyone at the table snickers, all but Farrah. She’s trying to control her rage, drinking her third glass of wine and still demanding a refill. The waiter might as well leave the bottle in front of her.

“It’s interesting you mention the wedding…. I’ve heard you guys are on the rocks?” She poses the question with much pleasure.

Wes places his arm around me, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my engagement ring. With the cameras all pointed at us, I nestle my head against his shoulder and allow him to defend our relationship. “You believe everything you read, Farrah? Em and I are walking down that aisle. She’s my woman.”

I want to roll my eyes at such a barbaric reference, but don’t want Farrah to read anything into it. This conversation could quickly escalate into one of our well-known fights that results in us being physically held back by security.

Things haven’t always been difficult between us. In season one, we got along and became friends. Despite her wealth, we had a lot in common and bonded over that. It was season two when everything fell apart. She made some bitchy comments about me to Kelly and Poppy during a girls’ night out, and once I saw the footage I knew I had to protect my back. She had a knife and was ready to stab me with it.

The crew yell cut, so everyone can take a break and regroup. The makeup artists go straight for our faces, touching up the foundation and lipstick from the warm sea air.

Wesley announces his need to take a piss, disappearing into the restroom.

Poppy gives me a reassuring smile from across the table, stopping the waiter to ask what the meaty-looking thing on her plate is. When she hears the word ‘heart,’ her face pales as she quickly pushes the plate aside.

I follow everyone’s lead and pull out my phone. I log into my Twitter page, posting some tweets to keep the fans engaged. Within seconds, the notifications blow up my screen and I take a few moments to answer some questions. The fans love the interaction, but on the flipside so do the trolls.

There are a dozen unread emails, mainly from our suppliers regarding the fitness line. I make a mental note to log in from home after lunch and get some work done. The demands are huge and while I have a great team, I enjoy being hands on.

I scroll through the other unread items when a text appears at the top of my screen.

Logan: How you been, Chase?

The message from Logan comes out of nowhere. Two weeks and he doesn’t talk to me after fucking me twice in the hotel room. Part of me is angry, another part forces the Zen to spread because I have no right to be angry.

We aren’t in a relationship.

I quickly respond knowing I have only minutes before we started filming again.

Me: Hello stranger.

The bubble bounces, and there’s a quick response.

Logan: That’s all I get? C’mon, play with me.

I scan the table, everyone’s still busy minding their own business. Wesley hasn’t returned and with him gone, I type extremely fast conscious of being caught.

Me: Play with you? I got no toys to share. How exactly do you want me to play with you?

“Let’s roll, everyone,” Cliff calls from the end of the table.

Wesley’s back, settling himself in as I tuck my phone into my purse. We dive back into conversations about a potential trip to England to watch the Victoria Secret show that Farrah has front-row tickets for. The thought of traveling to England excites me even though I’ve been there only once with my parents, and have only poor memories of rain and grumpy hotel staff.

But Logan lives in England.

Poppy claps her hands excitedly, suggesting we visit her hometown while we’re there. Obviously, Cliff planted this idea in Poppy and Farrah’s heads making it look like a spur-of-the-moment decision. It’s the first I’ve heard of it, but the more we speak, the more excited I become.

In season one we did a trip to New York City. It wasn’t so special given that I’d been there many times before. Our second season had us vacationing in Maui, where we had the time of our lives.

England will be fantastic. Except for one thing—I’m going to be there with Wesley not Logan.

Farrah talks about all the things she has planned for us, and when the cameras focus on her and Poppy discussing the tube, I half pull out my phone and check the text from Logan.

Logan: Wherever you are, there must be somewhere you can go and privately video playing with yourself. I dare you.

I quickly re-read the text, not realizing I’m holding my breath and the cameras are rotating between us. I shove my phone into my purse again, distracting myself in conversation before excusing myself to use the restroom.

“Emerson, can’t you wait?” Cliff asks, agitated.

“No, Cliff,” I answer in annoyance. “Excuse me.”

I remove the napkin from my lap, disappearing to the back of the restaurant where I trap myself in the corner cubicle while pulling out my phone with desperation.

Me: Why must you dare me? You know I never back down.

I’ve never done anything like this. The thrill of the unknown pushes me to act spontaneously. I slide my panties off shoving them in my purse as I raise my leg and rest it on the lid of the toilet seat. Lifting my dress above my thighs, I position my phone underneath my dress, hitting the record button. Playfully rubbing myself, I close my eyes and allow the excitement to make me come in less than a minute. In no way does it compare to the times Logan made me come, but still, it rocked my body until I stop recording with my hands shaking.

Catching my breath, I hit send with the caption…

Me: You wanted to play. Here you go. Have fun.

The video takes a while to send, so I remove my panties from my bag, place them on and straighten my dress. I exit the cubicle and pop my phone on the expensive vanity to wash my hands. Gazing into the mirror, my cheeks are flushed and emit a glow. Grabbing a washcloth, I quickly dampen it and try to cool myself down before anyone notices.

The vibration of my phone is loud, echoing through the small restroom.

Logan: Shit. Now I feel like I owe you something in return. Have fun.

A video comes through and shows it is fifteen seconds long. I’m about to watch it when the door swings open, making me jump. In her tall heels, which hammer on the marble floor, Farrah is dripping in gold strung around her neck. She positions herself next to me, pulling a compact out of her purse. She dabs her nose without any effort to disguise her fake smile.

“You’re not fooling anyone by pretending you’re together. I know Wesley hasn’t been on his best behavior.”

Her catty comment doesn’t warrant a response, so I’m surprised when I open my mouth. “You and your games… worry about your own life instead of ours,” I point out, throwing the towel into the basket.

She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, gliding her red lipstick on then pouts her lips while admiring herself in the mirror.

“I’m the real star of this show. Everyone knows that. Let’s see if you make it to the next season,” she threatens.

“If by star you mean whore... then yes. Title’s all yours, Farrah.” I move past her, closing the door behind me and stopping just down the hall. I mute the sound on my phone, clicking play on the video. Fifteen seconds of Logan pulling his cock until he explodes all over his palm.

Fuck.

He got me.

I quickly respond, wanting to delete any trace of our naughty afternoon.

Me: We’re even. Well played, Carrington. Hopefully, I’ll get to see the LIVE version when you’re in “town.”

I hit delete and hide my phone in the base of my purse hoping he doesn’t respond. If Wes knew what went on he’d be livid. Despite our arrangement, he tries every day to make a move on me. I’ve just been lucky with being able to palm him off or make excuses.

Back outside, I sit down and get comfortable as dessert is served. It looks scrumptious—some flan dish with a syrup substance lying on top. As I push my spoon into the bowl, Farrah returns and acts as if nothing happened between us. “So, girls, London? Shopping… British men... are we in?”

Kelly smiles, not pleasing Kyle.

Poppy claps her hands, excited to visit home and spend time with her family. “Count me in.”

“I hope you meant for the shopping?” Wes asks seriously in front of everyone.

“What’s wrong with a little harmless flirting with a tall British man?” I tease, knocking his shoulder playfully.

In a decidedly odd tone, he says, “My woman doesn’t harmlessly flirt with anyone.”

“Oh, Wes, baby,” Poppy cries. “Stop being cheeky. She’s not an object.”

“Poppy,” Wes grits. “You know I love you, but stay out of this.”

One of the cameras zooms into Wes’ face, irritating him even more.

“Wesley Rich… get off your high horse and treat the woman with respect. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Yeah, Wesley Rich,” I say, not taking this argument seriously. “I have brains, too, you know. It’s not all about the looks.”

Everyone laughs, except Wesley. He sulks in his seat while we finish our conversation about London.

The cameras stop rolling and Cliff’s quick to interject, “Your itineraries will be emailed across tomorrow. We’ve known about this for months but only received the all-clear yesterday. A week from today… we’ll be leaving for five days.”

A few of us ask some questions, but no one really says anything else. We wrap up lunch by telling each other goodbye and making our own way home.

On the drive back, Wes is unusually quiet.

“Why did you take so long in the restroom?”

“You want a number?” I question, keeping the conversation light and my nerves at bay.

“Oh,” he mutters.

“I also ran into Farrah… she said some words, I said some words.”

“Right.”

His one-word responses make for an uninteresting conversation, so I lay my head against the window and watch the scenery until we reach home and park the car.

We go our separate ways as we walk inside. I head straight for the bathroom where I shower and change into something more comfortable. With no plans tonight, I decide to ditch work and lay on the couch, catch up on some television while responding to some fans. I posted a pic Josie sent me of all of us posing at the table captioning the picture—Filming lunch with the gang.

As soon as I posted the pic, comments flooded shortly after.

“What are you doing?” Wes plonks himself on the sofa beside me wearing his sweats and no shirt. He did it on purpose, and as much as it irritates me, I’m still reminded of how attractive Wesley is.

I raise my phone showing him the pic. He smiles then grabs the remote.

“I thought you were going out for drinks?” I ask him, half paying attention as I respond to a fan who comments on my dress.

“Nah. Thought I’d stay home.”

I keep my thoughts to myself, scrolling down until I see Logan commented on my post. Most people would think nothing of him commenting since it’s known we’re family friends and that Ash is his best friend. The smartass, of course, has to have a final say. Must have been a hot day in Cali. Your cheeks look flushed.

With Wes beside me, I keep my smile hidden and refrain from commenting. I scroll through the other comments until my phone rings and Momcomes up on the screen.

“Hey, Mom. You’re on speaker and Wes is here.”

“Oh, hi honey!” Mom greets with an upbeat tone.

Wes leans forward, speaking into the phone. “Hey, Abbi, long time no speak.”

“I know,” she agrees. “I’ll be there in three weeks. Did Emmy tell you?”

He looks at me, rolling his eyes. “No, she didn’t.”

“My fault, Mom. We just got back from lunch. But that’s great news,” I tell her. “We found out today we’re heading to London next week for the Victoria Secret show.”

“How fantastic,” she cheers. “Are you going to visit Ash and Logan’s place?”

I can see Wes’ demeanor change instantly, watching me with cautious eyes.

“Hadn’t thought about it. I might call Ash tonight and see if I can squeeze some time with him.”

“Oh, kid, call him later. They’re out on a double date. Alessandra set Logan up with a nurse from her work. Can you imagine that? I hate to admit, but I think those boys have a fetish for medical professionals.”

Logan’s on a date with a nurse?

My stomach hardens at the thought. I’m well aware Wesley’s still watching me, so I quickly come up with something to say to suppress my jealousy. “All right, Mom, I’ll give him a buzz tomorrow.”

“Night, kiddo… night, Wes.”

We say goodnight in unison before I hang up and throw my phone on the sofa beside me.

“What are we watching?” I ask, eyes fixed on the screen ignoring my head telling me that I have no right to be jealous. We agreed that whatever went on outside that hotel room doesn’t matter. Who we saw, what we did.

“Game of Thrones?”

“Sure, why not.”

He pauses the screen and turns to face me. “Em, I’m trying here. I fucking miss you,” he strains.

“I know,” I say quietly, turning to face him.

His stubble covers his square jaw, and with his eyes serious and begging for forgiveness, I find myself softening under his gaze.

Placing his hands on my cheek, I rest my face in his palm allowing myself to revisit the feelings of being in love with Wesley Rich. He’s warm, and only a small part of me wishes things were the same. The other part of me is raging with jealousy that Logan’s fucking some slut.

I allow him to kiss me—without the cameras present.

It’s soft, sweet, and nothing like the ravenous Wesley who would practically maul me each time we kiss. When I retract, he tugs on the string of my tank and pulls it down, exposing my shoulder. He kisses my skin, and when my eyes close all I see is Logan.

This isn’t fair.I feel guilty no matter which way I look at it.

Moving his hand against my stomach, he moves upward until he’s cupping my breasts, growling into my neck and applying pressure with his body weight. The passion builds, but the mere thought of screwing Wes again is outweighed by the guilt of what I’ve done.

“Stop,” I murmur, laying my hands on his chest and pushing him back.

“Emerson, please don’t. I need you,” he begs.

“I need more time.”

His expression changes, eyes wild and full of anger. “You can’t fucking do this,” he yells. “Walking around and teasing me, telling me now when I know you need to be fucked. It’s been over a month, Emerson. If you don’t need to be fucked then you’re fucking someone else.”

“I’m not fucking anyone else,” I lie so easily.

“Then prove it. Fuck me. That’s all I ask of you.”

“No, Wesley, give me time to forgive you.”

“You’ve had time,” he pushes, disrespecting my wishes.

“Two months is not enough time to get over the hurt of you fucking two hookers,” I argue back. “We were supposed to get married. You threw that out the window, for what?” With my heart racing, scared he will call me out on what Logan and I have done, we both remain as silent as possible, the vibration of my phone distracting me. I quickly pick it up wanting to diffuse the argument.

There are two notifications on my screen. One from Farrah tagging Wesley and me in a picture. I forgot she’d even taken it. Wes has his arm around me and I’m smiling. The caption reads—Even when the cameras stop rolling, these two can’t keep their hands off each other. #SoontobeMr&MrsRich

I don’t know why she would post something like that, but I show Wes the picture calming his curiosity. I can see his shoulders relax, the breath of air he’s holding in releasing slowly.

The second is a text from Ash.

Ash: Mom just told me you’re coming to London. I’ll call you tomorrow. Trying to find somewhere else to crash tonight because Logan took his date home and told me he’s fucking her till the sun is up. Night sis.

I don’t know why I showed the text to Wes, maybe because I wanted him to see that Logan and I have nothing going on. That, and my heart’s pumping so hard, emitting a burning sensation in my chest. Placing the phone down, I sit against the couch pretending my silence is driven by our argument and not by the hurt and jealousy over a man who means nothing to me.

“How long do you need?” Wes breaks the silence.

I answer with haste, “For what? To repair a broken heart?”

“I said I was fucking sorry!” He raises his voice again, running his hands through his hair.

My stress levels peak, on a night when I want to lay here and do nothing. I don’t understand why Logan has to be such a prick. Demanding me to come play then running off with someone else. Mom’s right, he will destroy any woman who falls in love with him.

Not that I’m in love with him.

“How many times do I need to tell you? You can’t erase the past so easily. And by the way…” I add, bringing up his stupid comment during lunch, “… your barbaric persona at lunch today was not well received.”

“Neither was your comment on fucking British men,” he shoots back.

“I never said I was going to fuck British men.” I shake my head, laughing at the way he twists my words and makes me out to be the bad guy.

“That’s right. You won’t. Nor will you fuck any other man.” He puts his arm around me, flipping me beneath him and pinning me on the sofa. He stares me down, keeping his body upright on both his arms. With a supremely threatening gesture, he bellows over me, “I’m no longer taking no for answer.” Tugging my top down, he exposes my breasts, reacting with wild eyes.

I battle with his touch, missing the parts of him that still feel the same. I fight the jealousy reminding me that at this moment, Logan’s buried in some other woman’s body. My emotions run deep, tugging me in each direction without an answer in sight.

And so, I do what I need to do to remind myself that Logan isn’t mine.

“Fine, Wes.... have your way.”