And I hated that.
Yesterday had me weak. Coach drilled me for sloppy defending and even I knew something was off. I needed a release and it began with an innocent text that ended up with her rubbing her clit and coming for me.
I came three fucking times watching that video. My dick was red, raw, and stinging like a muthafucker with how hard I rubbed it out. I had never seen such a beautiful sight: wet, bare, and perfectly pink.
I wanted to call her and hear her voice, but I held back, reminding myself that we were having fun. Playing this dangerous game of not wanting to be caught and standing on the ledge playing with fucking fire.
But all of it, everything, began to eat away at me.
I couldn’t curb my jealously when I saw an image of her on Instagram with Wesley, posted by Farrah Beaumont referring to their lunch date and how happily in love they were. I recall the moment vividly: punching the lamp beside me and seeing it smash to the ground in a million pieces. I didn’t expect to experience that type of jealousy yet I did and there was no cure but to forget she even existed.
Ash was pumped that I agreed to go out on a double date. The nurse he set me up with was a friend of Alessandra’s, a woman named Georgia. She was pretty, long legs and firm ass. Small tits but it didn’t matter. I fucked her once with my red-raw dick and ended up having to pull out when the rubber got uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have done it—I just needed someone else to make me forget about her.
I had never been so preoccupied during sex. My mind wasn’t in it, thinking about Emmy the entire time. I was tired of it. I wanted my life back without her in it.
Georgia became clingy, demanding a second round and wanting to stay the night. I told her I didn’t do sleepovers so she left the apartment in a blind fit of rage, calling me every name under the sun. I didn’t care, longing for solitude.
Without Ash or Alessandra here, I had too much time to think about all the things I shouldn’t be thinking about.
Then I caved.
Season one—episode one.
I binge-watched the whole first season of Generation Next and finally saw the so-called ‘moment’ Wesley Rich fell in love with Emerson Chase. I hated watching him gain her love. I hated even more witnessing their first kiss and subtle walk to the bedroom. The way her smile changed after that—happy and content. I hated that he made her feel that way.
I hated that he still controlled her.
I hated everything about them.
Yet the masochistic side of me continued watching until my eyes grew heavy and sleep was imminent. I started a bad habit and one that I didn’t know how to break.
We ramped up training due to the big game this Saturday against Manchester. I was pumped and ready to go. They’d had a straight win—no losses this season—and I wanted to break their luck and show them we’re gonna take this game to the next level.
Ash left training early to run some errands. I didn’t ask, annoyed that ‘errands’ would be more important than the fucking game. With Chris watching us on, I knew he would control his son—I didn’t have to be the responsible one today.
Every limb, bone, part of my body—was in deep pain. I could barely walk to the elevator and pressing the button was a struggle itself. I don’t ever remember training so hard and mentally killing myself on the field. I was drenched in dirt and sweat; opting to shower at home peacefully rather than in the locker room with the boys.
As I open the apartment door, I planned on taking a shower having only an hour to spare before heading back out to the studio to join a panel to discuss this week’s highlights.
The smell of Alessandra’s strong coffee graces the apartment, along with a familiar laugh.
“Look who’s here.” Ash is sitting on the coffee table—facing the sofa—and I don’t notice anyone until Emerson sits up and gazes at me.
My chest hardens; muscles stiffening harder than I thought possible, shocked to see her sitting inside my apartment. The first thing I notice is that her hair has changed again: a silvery tone with light brown roots. She’s dressed in a pale pink knitted jumper with dark blue jeans and knee-high boots.
Why did she have to look like that? Casually sexy. The worst type of sexy. The sexy that reminds you why you were drawn to her. Her smart mouth and alluring eyes that made you want to fall to your knees and worship her like no other man had.
Fuck—grow some balls. You’re still angry at her.
The back of her hair is a mess from lying down, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“Hey.” She waves, watching me cautiously with her deep blue stare.
I force a smile, scared to give any other reaction from my state of shock. Alessandra has joined us, handing Emerson a cup of coffee.
“You’re here?”
“She’s filming for the next three days,” Ash tells me animatedly. “We should go out to the pub or something.”