Kicking Reality

“I’m in. But it’ll have to be between filming . . .” I trail off, almost revealing my doubts of the show continuing. I was grateful that Logan hadn’t said anything. At least, if he did, Mom would be quick to mention it.

The sun is out in full glory; 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 is extremely cold against my hot skin, and with my entire body wet, I climb onto the large pink flamingo 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; her hooker 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 felt confident that perhaps in an hour, I could find the strength to talk to Mom and tell her what Wes had done.

I tell myself another five more minutes, until that five minutes passes and I make another excuse. On my fourth five-minute pep talk, the sudden sound of a splash followed by the cold water hitting my heated skin, startles me to the point that I almost fall off the flamingo in shock.

Fuck. Ash and Logan. If I ignore them, I could float away. I also hated the fact that Logan was right—avoidance could only get you so far.

Alessandra is courteous; taking slow steps into the pool, careful not to lose the skimpy gold bikini that barely covers her body. Tayla follows behind her, admiring her bikini and asking her where it’s from. They seem to bond instantly over fashion, and somewhere deep inside, I curb the teeny tiny jealousy that begins to form because Tayla never asks me what I am wearing. Unless, of course, it was to tell me my outfit was 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 that rarely sees sun. The self-absorbed bastard probably hits the tanning salon. His eyes dart back and forth until they’re locked onto mine, and reminiscent of when we were kids, he winks before diving into the pool heading straight towards me.

I don’t have enough time to do

anything, and within a second, I fall into the cold water barely able to catch my breath swallowing a mouthful of water. Asshole! The water accidently 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 fucking jerk! What kind of asshole planet are you from to fucking do that?!”

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

Ash snorts, pathetically trying to hide his laugh. I let out a huff, swimming away from them, annoyed at their childish behavior. The step of the pool is beneath my feet, and I turn around to sit down, catching my breath and controlling my erratic heartbeat.

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

Logan is leaning on my flamingo with his arms crossed and shades on. My eyes wander along the water dripping off his burly arms to the way his hands rested on the floatie. The same hands that are connected to the fingers that entered me. Fingers that made you weak in the knees. Jesus, I need to stop staring. It was like arm and hand porn at its finest, and only minutes ago, you were hating on him so bad.

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

I knew he understood, knowing no one else would. Mom was shocked that I was leaving early, but didn’t pry as to what specifically I needed to take care of, assuming the network needed me for filming.

“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 towards the pool house. With Mom making her way to the kitchen, I welcomed 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: made up of a sitting area with a corner white lounge facing a flat screen TV, and off to the right is a bedroom with a queen-sized bed. Everything is decorated in white and teal, matching the artwork on the wall.

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 was done avoiding the topic. Wanting to clear the air between us, 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 happened with Wes.”

Leaning down, he dries his legs with the large towel before throwing it over his shoulder. Why did his body need to look so good wet?

“You need to tell them. Especially your mom. Abbi would be upset if she knew you hid that from her. You never hide anything from her.”

He was right. Mom needed to know. I just didn’t want to tell her I failed . . . again. Also, add that burden after she was already feeling like a bad mom because of what Ash did. I was always that kid that felt people would judge my mistakes on how I was raised. It saddened me to think that people would be quick to point blame on Mom and Dad—terrible parents that raised a woman that got cheated on by her fiancé. Of course, they had nothing to do with Wes being a dickhead, but society had an unusual way of tying blame to those 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 did he have to go and do that . . . make me look at his abs.

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

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