The Revenge Games Duet

He appears harmless, a flirtatious smile and what’s even better is he’s keeping his hands to himself.

I’ve only had a few cocktails and won’t take him to bed. Screw the fucking tabloids! I’ll dance with this man and that’s that.

So fucking what.

The DJ mixes some awesome tunes, a remix of Lady Gaga’s Telephone. I sway my body to the rhythm of the music until harmless man places his hands on my hips. I ignore his touch and use my vibrating purse as an excuse to ask him to move his hand away.

I place my finger on my ear, trying to listen to the call. “Hello?”

“Emerson…” My name is said in a cold and heartless tone, but the noise makes it difficult to hear anything else. “Walk. Away. Now.”

“Huh?” I pull the cell away from my ear and see the caller ID—Logan.

Jesus, even from England he has the worst timing. What the hell is his problem? Doesn’t he understand I don’t want anything to do with him after the Louisa love-of-his-life-over-breakfast incident?

The whole purpose of going out tonight is to have fun with Tayla who’s conveniently disappeared. I tell handsome man I need to go find my sister, walking away from him and out of the marquee until I’m on the lawn where it meets the sand. I can see her with the group of friends she’s made, waving back as they all sit in a circle near the shoreline. A few of them chase each other on the sand, laughing and carefree like typical teenagers.

I continue to watch them, inhaling the salty air and remembering the last time I felt like this. The night back at home, the night I found out about Wesley. The night my entire world flipped upside down and changed forever.

“When I tell you to pick up your fucking phone, do it.”

My body remains rooted, frozen by the voice who spoke only moments ago. I close my eyes, blaming the cocktails for my imagination running wild.

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

I open my eyes instantly, keeping silent as my chest begins to tighten, and in reverse my stomach weakens by the possibility that this is real. In a deadly slow pace, I turn around and see Logan standing right beside me. How is this even possible? He was in England yesterday.

My tongue is twisted, unable to speak coherently as he continues to stand beside me. His eyes glare at my chest, stunned to see me dressed in a short, white dress with a plunging-low neckline. My breasts remain secured by a ton of Hollywood tape, careful not to parade the twins in public. My self-confidence is amiss, but I don’t let it show or allow it to steer us from the situation.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice,” he says like a stranger, callous and much like the old Logan I used to know. “I flew all the way here and not even a ‘nice to see you’?”

I don’t have any words for him, not after what Ash had just told me and his obsessive behavior of late.

My head moves swiftly. “Is there a reason you’re here? Don’t you have a new girlfriend back home who needs attention?” I cross my arms, folding them beneath my breasts then realize that a nip slip is imminent. Slowly, I move my arms down so they’re by my side. “And how did you even know I was here?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He keeps his voice firm, and his stare cold. “I don’t like other men touching you.”

“What other men?”

“The man on the dancefloor,” he grits.

“Oh, please,” I retort, insulted he thinks I would have taken it further because that’s what he’s insinuating. “It was nothing but harmless dancing.”

“Nothing…” he bellows with his lips tight, “… is harmless when it comes to you.”

I’m not sure what to say. The man you love is standing beside you as jealous as hell and all you can think about is how good he looks in the pair of jeans and the white tee he’s wearing. His face is unshaven but so handsome and rugged, only making it harder for me to concentrate.

“You make it sound like I’m trouble. And I take offense to that,” I tell him, getting on my high horse and switching the blame. “God, Logan. You fucking make all these promises in London then I find out your almost-fiancée wants you back. The so-called love of your life.” I air-quote with resentment.

“Are you still sleeping with Rich?”

“What?” I say in shock. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you… no? Jesus, why can’t you just believe me? I’ve never, ever given you a reason not to trust me. Unlike you and Linda what’s-her-face.”

“Louisa.”

“Yeah,” I reply, hurt. “Thanks for reminding me.”