I didn’t know how to react to such a volatile message. I could have called him. Set the record straight. But I told him to trust me although we left things in the air back in London. Several times I found myself on the verge of dialing his number but quickly retracted, knowing that any communication between us would not end well. I needed time to think about us, away from him because he had a way of confusing my state of mind with his charm and irresistible body.
Sitting on the large wicker chair, I tuck my legs beneath me with George snuggled into my side. The day is slightly overcast with the rare chance of rain in the late afternoon.
The wind picks up a little, yet still warm and refreshing as we continue to sit in silence.
The temptation is too great. With my cell resting on my lap, I grab it and Google Logan Carrington and Louisa Hemmings.
Several images appear of the two of them; mainly at dinners and charity events. Remembering Ash’s comments, I study the photos looking for traces of happiness. Something in Logan’s face that indicates she was or still is the love of his life. Dammit—where was Poppy when you needed her?
I hit dial, and ring her number wanting her to do another one of her face readings.
“Em?” She sounds surprised to hear from me. “Is everything okay? What’s with Wes’s baby mama comment? Everyone’s going nuts. I was just filming with Farrah when she read it and the cameras caught Farrah’s very colorful opinion of his post.”
“I didn’t realize he would do that. I’m too tired to think about it. Let people think what they want. The truth will come out in nine months when no baby is on that vagina log ride.”
Poppy’s infectious laugh barrels through the speaker.
“Your brother, honestly.” She sighs.
“Are you okay? You sound a bit off.”
“Who me? I just have . . . a nasty bug. Must have picked it up from traveling.”
“Oh, I’m sorry . . .” I could tell that she is distracted.
“Listen, Em. Can I call you back? I just need to grab some painkillers or something.”
I tell her to call me back whenever she felt up to it. Quickly hanging up the call, I dial Ash’s number next.
“What?” he answers agitated.
“Nice greeting. What crawled up your ass and died?”
“Nothing.” He stalls, then continues. “What’s been happening?”
“Same old. And you?”
“Training, you know, same stuff. So, are you knocked up?”
“What do you think, moron? So . . . how did training go today . . . for you and, um, Logan?”
“Since when did you care so much?” Ash snickers. “Logan bailed. He had something to do that was more important. The cunt pissed me off anyway.”
I scowl at Ash’s choice of words, but wondered why Logan would ditch training.
“That’s odd of him.”
“Fuck yeah. I bet he’s off screwing Louisa since she turned up at our apartment last night.”
My stomach flips, followed by a rapid burning sensation that stops my regular breathing. I couldn’t believe this. He ran back to her and here I am, feeling so fucking sorry for myself because he screw
ed me over. What happened in London was purely to get me into bed. All those words . . . nothing.
Everything we did—nothing.
“Anyway, just wanted to see how you were.”
“You okay Emmy?”