Chapter 6

Six

“The key to moving on is denial.

That, and eating cake.”~ Emerson Chase

Ifell asleep on Tayla’s couch, only to wake up soon after to the sound of a horn honking out the front of the house. My vision is blurred and worsens as I rub my eyes, exhausted and drained from all the worry and stress.

Hiding out in her room seemed logical, but with my stomach growling and my mouth parched, I know I’ll have to make my way to the kitchen again eventually. And most importantly, I have to tell Mom I’m heading home early. I need a distraction. Something to occupy my mind and push away the pain even if only for a few moments.

“Can I borrow your computer?” I ask, mindful she has ‘Property of Tayla Chase’ stickered all over her electronics.

“Sure,” she replies, moving off the bed and to me. She leans over and types in the password quickly like I’m spying.

I thank her kindly with a trace of sarcasm, then proceed to log into my account and check my unread emails. Nina’s sent another long email. Apparently, she’s in full damage control mode and the network execs are beyond pissed. Wesley’s being flown back to the States for an emergency meeting. They request I be there to discuss the future of the show also. It seems unnatural to sit in a boardroom and discuss how to fix our relationship. The thought of being in the same room with Wes makes my skin crawl. To think he could do that and expect me to carry on like nothing’s happened makes me question my sanity.

Yet, once again, without any warning, my heart sinks as the love I feel for this man cannot easily be erased. With a quiet sniff, I hold back the tears, tired of crying over something I have no control over.

The damage is done—he’s broken us.

Exiting out of the email, I run the mouse along the other highlighted items. I go by an alias name of Jane Smith. The plainest name one can think of. Using my real name’s not an option with all the hackers who stalk the Internet.

There’s a lot of junk including emails from retailers with their latest offerings, a grant to inherit money from dying widows in Africa if I click and provide my credit card details.

My eyes immediately stop scrolling when I notice a new email from John Smith.

Jane,

Avoidance can only get you so far.

John

I check my contact list to remind myself who John Smith is then it clicks—Logan.

Jane, John, and Joe—the three Smiths.

We did this so we could communicate with each other and keep our lives private, but we’ve been using text messages more recently. Ash sends me links to stupid videos of animals doing crazy things, and occasionally he sends an article worth reading. Logan rarely emails me anything unless we’re in a group email.

My fingers rest on the keyboard, not sure how to respond.

Tayla’s busying herself watching some hair tutorial on YouTube while I stare at the screen. Slowly, at less than a snail’s pace, my fingers begin to move on their own accord.

John,

Same with cockiness. Don’t you have another notch to grove into your ever-growing belt?

Jane

I contemplate shutting down my email, but something makes me keep it open. It’s almost as if I’m waiting to see how he can possibly respond to that. I swivel around on my chair and see Tayla smiling at something on her screen. “What’s so funny?”

She looks up, unaware I’ve been watching her. “Oh, just a comment this guy left.”

“Oh…” I acknowledge with a grin. “A guy?”

She nods, still smiling. “Yeah, we’re not dating. He has a girlfriend…” she pauses, her eyes going up like she’s in deep thought and then she continues, “… I think. He leaves comments here and there and they’re just funny.”

“Young love… I remember those days. Except, we didn’t have phones so it was all about passing a note.”

“A note? That’s so old school.”

“You’re telling me. It would have been so much fun messaging a boy rather than passing a note down the classroom hoping that the gossip queen, Rosie Peach, won’t sneak a look at it.”

The sound of a faint ding catches my attention. Turning around to face the screen, I see another email from John Smith. Anxiously, I open it, not realizing I’m holding my breath.

Jane,

I think I might retire the belt for a while. A wise woman once told me I was just like the rest of them. I’m out to prove her wrong.

John

My eyes dart over the email, and for some reason, I can’t hold back my smile. My words have sunk in. I try to think of a witty response, only I come up with nothing but lame replies, so I log out of my email and turn around.

“Should we talk about what happened in the hall?” I raise the topic wanting to clear the air and ease the guilt plaguing me.

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. You screwed Logan. Ash… Mom and Dad will kill you.”

“I... I didn’t screw him,” I stammer.

“Potato, potahto.”

Is this a potato, potahto situation, though?

My crazy brain is justifying what happened as a slip of a finger. Maybe it accidentally made its way around the groove and just got lost. Okay, your brain is stupid and on some sort of crack. Accidental ‘slips’ don’t result in such an intense orgasm.

“I really don’t want to delve into the semantics but it was a mistake. Can we move on? I’ve had a shitty twenty-four hours.”

Raising her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, she’s quick to remind me, “Sure. But you brought it up you know?”

“I know,” I say lightly, desperate to switch topics and blaming myself for bringing it up in the first place. “Do you want to go for swim?”

“Yeah, why not.” Tayla hops off the bed, disappearing into her wardrobe. I tell her I’ll be back, sneaking out of her room and bolting to mine like a fugitive on the run.

* * *

“We rarely get to do the girl thing anymore.”

Mom is dressed in a white caftan and oversized sun hat, she’s applying lotion as Tayla lays beside her drenched in oil. Mom hands the bottle to her, motioning for Tayla to put some on or out will come the story of Uncle Larry and his mystery mole that developed into skin cancer.

“We should do a girls’ trip. No men or boys. No phones,” Mom suggests, getting comfortable on the large cabana lounge.

“You lost me at no phones,” Tayla mumbles with closed eyes.

“I’m in. But it’ll have to be between filming...” I trail off, almost revealing my doubts about the show even continuing. I’m grateful Logan hasn’t said anything. At least, if he had, I know Mom would have been quick to mention it.

The sun is out in full glory with the hot rays piercing my pale skin. I grab some lotion and rub it all over my body before closing my eyes underneath my sunglasses. Lasting only a few minutes, the heat becomes unbearable so I dive into the pool for a quick splash. The water’s freezing against my hot skin, and with my entire body wet I climb onto the sizeable pink flamingo which is floating on the surface and lay across it, attempting to relax my mind and body.

I drift in and out of thoughts as Tayla cranks up the latest Bruno Mars album. It doesn’t seem to bother Mom with her porno book in hand and iced tea in the other. I contemplate getting out of the pool, but the serenity and company ease my apprehension. I feel confident that perhaps in an hour or so, I can find the strength to talk to Mom and tell her what Wes has done. I tell myself another five more minutes until the five minutes passes and I make another excuse. On my fourth five-minute pep talk, the sudden sound of a splash followed by cold water hitting my heated skin, startles me to the point I almost fall off the flamingo in shock.

Fuck. Ash and Logan.

If I ignore them, maybe I can float away.

I also hate the fact that Logan’s right—avoidance can only get you so far.

Alessandra is courteous, she’s taking slow steps into the pool, careful not to lose the skimpy gold bikini which barely covers her body parts. Tayla follows behind her, admiring her bikini and asking where it’s from. They seem to bond instantly over fashion, and somewhere deep inside I curb the teeny, tiny jealousy which begins to form because Tayla never asks me what I’m wearing. Unless, of course, it’s to tell me my outfit is ‘so last year.’

With Ash, Alessandra, and Tayla swimming in the pool, Logan stands on the edge watching us with a sly expression. His black swimming shorts sit mid-thigh enhancing his toned legs. Surprisingly, he wears a tan despite living in a country which rarely sees sun. The self-absorbed bastard probably hits the tanning salon. His eyes dart back and forth until they’re locked on mine, and reminiscent of when we were kids he winks before diving into the pool heading straight to me.

I don’t have enough time to do anything, and within a second, I fall into the cold water. I’m barely able to catch my breath, swallowing a mouthful.

Asshole!

The water accidentally travels up my nose, and when I make it up for air I ignore the pain that shoots to my temple and unleash my thoughts with a mouthful of profanities.

“You jerk! What kind of asshole planet are you from to do that?”

“You looked hot,” he points out, complacent, and keeping his jaw firm. “Plus, I want to lay on your pink flamingo.”

Ash snorts, pathetically, trying to hide his laughter.

I let out a huff, swimming away from them, annoyed at their childish behavior.

The step of the pool is finally beneath my feet, and I turn around to sit down while catching my breath and controlling my erratic heartbeat.

Despite Mom being poolside, Ash is busy making Alessandra giggle. From where I sit, it looks inappropriate with his hands beneath the water doing something I’d rather not know.

Logan’s leaning on my flamingo with his arms crossed and shades on. My eyes wander along the water dripping from his burly arms to the way his hands rest on the floatie.

The same hands which are connected to the fingers that entered me.

Fingers that made me weak in the knees.

Jesus, I need to stop staring.

It’s like arm and hand porn at its finest.

And only a few minutes ago, you were hating on him so bad.

“All right, how about I make us some lunch? Daddy will be back soon, and you need to get to the airport, Emmy,” Mom reminds me, standing up from the cabana and dusting the back of her caftan while adjusting her sunglasses.

“You’re leaving already?” Logan questions, eyes hidden beneath his shades.

“I changed my flight. I have to attend to some stuff back home. Avoidance only gets you so far,” I cite, purposely avoiding eye contact with him.

I know he understands, knowing no one else will.

Mom’s shocked I’m leaving early, but doesn’t pry as to why specifically or what needs to be taken care of, assuming the network needs me for filming. Which is not unusual, she’s used to me having to leave at the drop of a hat. If the network calls, I answer.

“C’mon, Emmy,” Ash complains shortly after. “We never get to hang out anymore.”

Bowing my head, I apologize and climb out of the water, walking to the pool house. With Mom making her way to the kitchen, I welcome the quiet with the intention of showering and changing into something less revealing for lunch.

Outside—where they all remain—the laughter continues. The noise is muffled as I close the door behind me and enter the bathroom looking for a spare towel. The pool house is small. It’s made up of a sitting area with a corner white lounge facing a flat screen television, and off to the right is a bedroom with a queen-sized bed. Everything is decorated in white and teal with matching artwork on the walls.

A gush of wind graces my skin, followed by Logan calling my name. I exit the bathroom to find him standing in the entrance with the door shut behind him. I throw him my towel and grab another, hoping he uses it to cover his half-naked body.

I’m done avoiding the topic. Wanting to clear the air between us, so I open my mouth quickly. “Listen, thanks for not saying anything to Ash or Mom. I’m not ready to talk to them about what’s happened with Wes.”

Leaning down, he dries his legs with the large towel before throwing it over his shoulder.

Why does his body need to look so good wet?

“You need to tell them. Especially your mom. Abbi will be upset if she knows you’ve hidden that from her. You never hide anything from her.”

He’s right. Mom does need to know. I just don’t want to tell her I’ve failed... again. Also, add the burden after she’s already feeling like a bad mom because of what Ash did.

I was always that kid who felt people would judge my mistakes on how I was raised. It saddens me to think people can be quick to point blame on Mom and Dad—terrible parents who raised a woman who was cheated on by her fiancé. Of course, they had nothing to do with Wes being a dickhead, but society has a way of placing blame to those who are innocent.

“I know…” I pause, treading carefully on the giant elephant gracing the room. “About what happened, Logan… I don’t know what came over me, and we need to take this to the grave. Yes, I tell Mom everything, but not this.”

Bowing his head, his mouth widens with a grin as he lets out a loose chuckle, clutching his stomach with his hand.

Oh, why does he have to go and do that—make me look at his damn abs.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, avoiding the rush of excitement which comes from looking at the most simplest body part— his stomach.

“That you didn’t know what came over you.”

I can feel the heat rising beneath my skin, the embarrassment of him witnessing a very intimate moment I’ve only shared with a handful of men. I have two choices— spin through the door like the Tasmanian Devil or take the mickey out of the situation.

“I’m usually not so quick.” The moment it left my mouth I smack my forehead as Logan laughs. “I mean… God, this is embarrassing.”

“I get it,” he blurts out mid-laugh. “You’re usually not an early shooter.”

“I’m not exactly shooting anything, I think. That’s a guy thing.”

“Women can shoot.”

“What exactly are they shooting?” Curious, I cross my arms beneath my breasts, waiting on his response.

With his eyebrow raised, he rubs his chin, delighted at the choice of topic. “You want the medical explanation?”

“You know what?” I shake my head unable to hide my grin. “Never mind. I’m sure if the questions persist I’ll find my answer on Google along with a hundred disturbing sexual facts I didn’t know existed.”

“I’m happy to explain. Perhaps, educate you if needed.” The corner of his mouth curves upward, wickedly teasing and coaxing me to say yes. Yet, I realize from years of experience, Logan Carrington knows how to manipulate me. Whether it be for the good or bad.

“I’m set.” I laugh. “So, we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

I contemplate hugging it out, but with my bikini on and his bare chest, I decide against it.

Saying goodbye, I leave him standing alone in the pool house with the intention of going home and forgetting our moment in the lake. I’m not sure if it was the shooting talk or our pact to forget what happened, but either way, the guilt’s no longer there.

Our secret will remain our secret.