It was never my intention to finger her fucking pussy in the lake. I was angry. At her for being such a bitch and turning into one of those Hollywood divas. At Ash for marrying the first girl to suck his dick that night, and most importantly myself—for letting Louisa go.
I wasn’t thinking. Something about Emmy did that do me. She always had since we were kids, riled me up until I burst into flames and did something stupid just to prove a point. But we weren’t kids anymore. We were adults.
I had touched her to shut her up. To get back at Ash for being a hypocrite and making me choose between him and Louisa. I wasn’t myself that night; the anger had been bottled up for a while and coincidently quadrupled when the tabloids announced Manchester’s top player, Jared Carr, dating Louisa Hemmings.
My Louisa Hemmings.
Past. Fucking. Tense.
Louisa wanted a life with me: marriage, babies, the big fucking castle outside London where she would make us drive past every weekend. It was a relationship I never expected to last that long—a whole two years. Majority of that time was spent hiding it from the media and with her traveling globally for work, most of it was through text messages and video chatting.
She was switched on; a career in marketing with her own firm set up in London. She thrived on schedules, routine, and planning. Everything had to be planned. Ash hated her, voicing his opinion on more than one occasion.
“Does she plan when you fuck too?” he asked once when we were out drinking with the boys. “Monday: you get blown, Tuesday: she likes a tittie fuck, and Friday night, you take her in the ass?”
He knew I hated discussing my personal life and that ‘joke’ took it over the line; my fist almost smacking him in the face if it weren’t for Jerry—a teammate—holding me back.
We didn’t talk for weeks; I crashed at Louisa’s apartment until Coach pulled us in for a meeting. He warned the both of us that our three straight losses were not unfortunate, rather lack of teamwork. We had to choose what was more important: soccer or women.
I thought long and hard about what Louisa meant to me and if it was worth the fight. That was until Ash gave me another ultimatum: him or her.
Ash had been my best friend since I could remember—my brother. She was in my life for two years. I loved her but it wasn’t enough to give up everything I had worked so hard for, and so, I ended our relationship thinking it wouldn’t be so hard. I would find someone else.
It was harder than I thought. I missed the sex and her companionship. Despite her need to plan everything, I felt lost without someone nagging me and getting me off my ass when I felt like doing nothing. I never let it affect my game, training harder during the day and partying well into the nights on the weekends.
I wasn’t prepared the night I ran into Louisa at that party. Her body wrapped around another man. She tried to be polite, apologizing for bringing this stranger to a mutual friend’s apartment. The manipulative bitch knew she got under my skin, and to pay her back, I fucked her assistant against the brand-new Porsche that Daddy bought her.
It was the same night that Ash changed everything between us.
“Bro, I gotta tell you something but you can’t flip okay?”
Ashley Chase had said this to me only once in the entire time I knew him, the time he accidently rode my BMX into the lake and couldn’t retrieve it because it had sunk to the bottom. The important thing was that he survived.
“I know you’ll be angry but hear me out. That woman last night, with the long dark brown hair . . . I . . . I married her.”
There were no words left to say. He married her, he was forced to go back home to tell Chris and Abbi, and I tagged along to reap joy in the fact that he would be crucified.
Then Emmy . . .
Emerson Chase was never someone I considered jumping into bed with. I had my moments where I found myself infatuated with her but then I would get distracted by someone else. I enjoyed tormenting her—an easy target. Yet this trip back home was different. She changed. Even before she told me what happened, I could see she was troubled.
Pushing her buttons was easy but she always gave it back. She hated losing. Claimed she wasn’t competitive but I had never met a more competitive, and stubborn, woman.
And sexy, hot . . .
I can’t rid my mind of the image of her buried into me while we floated in the water. The way her body moved and so quickly peaked from the simple touch of my finger gliding in and out of her tight pussy. I wanted to stick my cock in her. Give her a taste of what a real man is all about. But I didn’t—our ties were too great and there was too much at stake.
I blame it all on her. She dared me, like she had always done. I wanted an escape just as much as she did but I thought she would have pushed me away. Tell me how disgusting I am and how dare I touch her. Yet she didn’t. She couldn’t stop staring at me, even when we were standing in the kitchen. Eyes trailing my body like a hungry beast.
It started something bad.
I just didn’t know exactly what that was yet. I knew it would be awkward but only if we allowed it to be and knowing the type of person Emmy was, plus the fact she had no interest in me whatsoever, I was happy to brush it off like nothing happened between us. Take the memory of her and store it for times when I needed to jerk off and had no one sucking my cock.
Until I watched her show—for the first time.
We had just flown back into London and I was eager to get into training again. It pissed me off that Ash busied himself fucking Alessandra every night and so with a few minutes to spare, I did what I promised myself I wouldn’t do: I streamed the last episode of Generation Next—the proposal episode.
I couldn’t fault the episode. As far as my eyes were concerned, this shit looked real. Not two people acting in love. It was almost too perfect and I had known Emmy for as long as I had known Ash, and not one boyfriend or guy, had ever made her smile that way.