Kicking Reality

She shrugs half-heartedly. “He’s my husband. In my family, we don’t call our husbands that.”

Averting my eyes and lowering my gaze, I try not to let my feelings show. Was I that much of a bitch towards Wes? Here is a woman that committed to a man she met and married him the same night. And here she was telling me in a way that she would stick by his side no matter what. Wes and I had been together for three years and the engagement has me questioning everything. The doubt was driving me insane.

His lack of responding to me was driving me insane.

I pull out my cell again and tap on the message I sent him. It showed me it was read but still no response. Fucking asshole!

“Can I ask you something?” I ask, controlling my voice and pushing aside my irritation. “Since you’re my sister-in-law and all.”

The endearment keeps her smile around. “Sure.”

“How did you know you wanted to marry him? What pushed you past your doubts? I mean, surely, you would have had doubts?”

“No doubts,” she answers confidently. “He made me smile, laugh, and feel alive. I had never felt all those three things in one moment. When he asked me to marry him, I agreed because if he could make me feel that way for the rest of my life, then what a life to live.”

My gaze shifts towards my brother, angrily slamming the ball and cussing at his poor shot. Logan stood behind him, heckling and calling him soft. I wondered if Alessandra felt that way now, witnessing the darker side to my brother. I just couldn’t see it. Someone that made you smile, laugh, and feel alive.

I wanted to ask her specifically what makes her feel alive. It could be interpreted in so many ways. Had I felt alive? Surely, I must have. Yet as I tried to think of moments when I felt alive, I could only think of when Wes proposed. Our relationship had been so calculated from the moment we met and maybe that’s what allowed the doubt to creep in. We were both programmed to feel or act a certain way. By now, it’s become second nature.

“Are we going to kick his ass or are you going to stand there acting all girly?” Logan hisses from across the table, watching me intensely with his eyes fixed on mine.

“Who you calling a girl?” I slam my palm onto the table on purpose, holding back the pain that ricochets up my arm.

“The person standing across the table wearing a dress with pussies all over it.”

Lowering my head, I look down at the pattern of my dress. It’s navy with scattered kitten faces. The halter neck combined with flared skirt make it very vintage. The designer was known for thinking outside the box—something I admired about her.

“Kittens. And I’ll have you know that an upcoming designer gave me this dress as a present. I happen to love it,” I answer defensively.

“Shit, Emmy.” Ash laughs. “Maybe you need to switch teams. Team pussy.”

Logan raises his hand to his mouth, trapping his laughter. “If you can’t beat ’em, eat ’em.”

Ash erupts into laughter, smacking his hand against the table. Logan is no better; his snide remark and arrogant laugh only irritate me more. Just like always, they would gang up on me, teasing me relentlessly about anything and everything. Some things never change and for once in my life, I kinda missed this. Letting the hair down and just being me—pussy dress and all.

I brush it off like it didn’t bother me, walking across to the other side of the pool table. Grabbing the spare cue, my eyes dart back and forth analyzing the game. I had zero chance. The orange ball was too far left and I wasn’t that good of a player to rebound off the side and into the pocket. The blue one is an inch away from the black which was positioned so close to the pocket that I would end the game for the both of us.

Fuck. I didn’t like to lose either, especially to my brother.

Leaning down, my body angles along with the cue, my eyes focused on the orange ball. I have a small chance of making it and just when I am about to push forward, I feel Logan’s body lean on the back of mine. Resting his hand on top of my own, the warmth engulfs my skin as he applies pressure and directs my aim to the blue ball.

“Aim for the blue ball,” he whispers in my ear. “Towards the left, nice and slow.”

The muscles in my stomach move up and down, barrelling through me into fits of laughter. I accidently press back into him, connecting with his crotch. My laughs are impossible to contain, my body almost falling limp onto the table.

“Do you know how funny that sounded?” I let out between breaths. “Aim for the blue balls nice and soft?”

I slow my breathing, still unable to hide my grin from his lame request. I think I’ve calmed down enough until Logan brings my body back up and against his. His grip is tight and the heat of his skin is wrapped all over mine in this uncomfortable position.

“I said aim for the blue ball. But hey, nice to know where your mind is at.”

The smartass applies pressure on my hand, pulling back slightly then forward as we watch the white ball roll slowly towards the blue ball avoiding any movement from the black.

I want to jump from excitement, but am well aware that his crotch is hard against my ass and he was far from soft. Oh my god . . . what the hell is happening? It’s the beer . . . mixed with the martini. I must be imagining things. Logan is gross. Has been since we were little. He is the same boy that thought dumping slugs in my socks would be fun. He had slugs all over his hands and now you’re letting him touch yours?

“That’s cheating!” Ash hurls, clutching onto his cue with a tight grip.

“What does Coach always say? There’s no I in team Ash,” Logan notes in dark amusement.