The Revenge Games Duet

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 that 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 that 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, that 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.