Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton
Eleven
Britney
I’m stuck in a moving vehicle with three people who hate my guts. Torture is the word I’d use to describe the hours I’ve been sitting, as they converse between themselves and ignore me entirely. My only friends have been the drink at my side and the notebook in my lap, which I’ve been doodling in to pass the time. They’re the only things of substance that fill the pages. I’ve been in Florida for two weeks and my progress on the article is virtually zero. Scrap that. It is zero.
The only insight I’ve gained into Becket so far: Black Coffee. I’m screwed.
When I’ve not been avoiding him, we’ve spent our time bickering. When we’ve not been bickering, I’ve shadowed his every move. What I’ve learned: he wakes up, eats, plays football, sees his physios, and repeat. Every. Single. Day. The most exciting part about him, I’m beginning to learn, is the lack of filter on his mouth. But the more time I spend with him and his team, the more I learn it’s just standard jock talk. He’s a bit of a hot head, they all are. If I didn’t know any better, I’d agree with what Leigh said the day we were standing in Fiona’s office—he’s as boring as they come.
But he’s not.
I know he’s not because the plane ride taught me otherwise. I know there’s more to him than the two words black coffee, the fight club was a prime example of the fact there’s more to Becket than meets the eye. He was in his prime at the masquerade ball, wearing a mask, because he has one in place all the time, shielding himself from the world. I just have to figure out a way to get him to trust me again, to let me in and show me who he really is.
“Where exactly are we going?” I ask.
They completely ignore me. My throat goes dry as I watch Lola drape herself over Becket, peppering him with kisses, giggling in that annoying way girls do sometimes. Someone put a bag over her head already. I’m jealous, there I said it. But what else did I expect? He dropped the bombshell of them being together at the ball and nothing’s changed since. Apart from that kiss. The kiss that made my heart pound. The same kiss that’s kept me awake each night since, tossing and turning, hot and bothered, trying to ignore the ache between my legs, as I imagine Becket’s mouth there, torturing me with his tongue in the best kind of way. I might be a virgin, but I’m no prude. I know what sex is, what it entails, and I know what I want.
Him.
But he’s not mine to want, which is made even clearer as I watch Lola suck on his earlobe. Seriously?
I clear my throat and repeat louder, “Where are we going?”
Becket’s eyes meet mine briefly. “Miami.” He turns his attention back to Brad and Lola.
“Why are we going to Miami?”
Brad looks at me and with a shrug, replies, “One of the perks of it being off season. We get to go to the festival.”
I look at him, totally confused.
“Oh, come on”—he scoffs—“you have to know about the Miami festival. It’s like one of the biggest events of the year. People all over the world come for it.”
“Never heard of it,” I grumble, and go back to gazing out of the tinted window of the limo. I wouldn’t know because I haven’t had time to do these kinds of things. The furthest my social life stretches is after-work drinks with Jess. The rest of the time I graft. Graft as hard as I can to try and put my own past behind me. Only when I manage to get rid of the shackles of my mom’s debts will I be able to actually start living my own life. For now, I’m chasing one payment after another, always looking over my shoulder in case the people she got tied in with turn up unexpectedly. I can’t wait to really feel like I can breathe again without a weight on my chest.
“You’ll like it,” chips in Becket breaking me from my thoughts. “Lots of costumes, masks, drinking. It’s one big party.”
I blink and nod, not sure how to reply. I expected some kind of jibe, the sort Becket would make, but there’s none. Bored, Lola returns to giggling as Becket whispers something in her ear. That’s the extent of our communication during the five-hour journey to Miami from Jacksonville. More than once, I think to myself, who does a trip to Miami then back in a day? I already know the answer. NFL players who can do whatever they want, whenever they want.
I’m the first to jump out when we arrive, excited to stretch my legs. Sitting for five hours solid isn’t fun. The midday sun beats down relentlessly, and I already wish I’d thought ahead and brought sunblock or at least worn something that covers my pale skin more than the small red camisole and black shorts I’m wearing. I thought I was being smart and beating the heat. What I won’t be beating is sunburn. I’ll be lucky if I don’t finish the day the same color as my top.
I freeze when Becket throws an arm around my shoulders, tugging me into his side. He leans in and says close to my ear, “Ready to have some fun?”
Our skin contact causes me to shudder and when he pulls away there’s that stupid smirk on his face again. I divert my attention to Brad, who’s rolling his eyes. Lola looks like she wants to shove me in the limo and send me back to Jacksonville. She wouldn’t have to force me, I’d happily go.
“What do we do at this festival then?” I ask.
Becket looks at me, intrigued. “You’ve really never been to a festival before?”
“Nope.” I add an extra pop to the P at the end, hoping he doesn’t push the matter further. When he raises an eyebrow questioningly, I sigh and, being careful not to give too much away, expand. “I’ve never had the time.”
He carries on staring, but I look away and hear him let out a huff of air. The atmosphere is so tense you could cut it with a knife.
Brad steps forward and clarifies exactly what the festival entails, “We drink and we party!”
I raise my hands in the air, and hoot, “Whooo party time!”
Not missing the sarcasm in my voice, the group walks off without me and I’m left trailing behind without anyone to talk to. Clearly this day is going to be fun for everyone apart from me.
***
Rather than diving straight into the festival, carnival, whatever you want to call it, we settle for a small bar to begin. I’m still none the wiser to what we’re actually doing here, but on the walk over, decide if I’m here, I may as well try to enjoy myself.
“This place is cool,” I say, glancing around at the open-air bar attached to one of the many high-rise hotels that sprawl along the Miami beachfront. Music blares from speakers somewhere. The crowd is young and loud, mostly in bikinis. It oozes cool. “I love being by the beach. You don’t get places like this in New York.” I cringe at how over-the-top my voice comes out but trying to make an effort with three people who have a serious dislike towards me, is grating on my nerves.
“That’s because New York sucks,” says Becket, his voice sharp and bitter.
It’s been a while since he voiced his irrational hatred of the place. I remember the first night we met on the plane, he couldn’t wait to get away, claiming it was down to his breakup with his long-term girlfriend Abby, but it seemed like so much more than that.
Changing the subject, he asks, “Want a drink?”
“Please,” I respond politely, determined to be on my best behavior. “A cocktail—a strong one.” I catch Lola throwing me a death stare. “Make it two.”
“No scotch?”
And we’re back to the drink spiking references. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes and retort with a snappy remark. Sweetly, I reply, “It’s not something I drink often.”
“Same. Apparently, it makes me do crazy things.” He holds my gaze, waiting, but I refuse to start rehashing things in a public place.
Lola intervenes, “Let’s go get the drinks together.”
I’m almost thankful she’s here, until I watch them walk away and she entwines her hand with his tugging him along.
“Well, this is about as fun as I expected,” Brad says with a laugh, watching the pair of them disappear to the bar.
“Believe me, I’d rather be anywhere but here,” I mutter.
“You could have fooled me.” His brown eyes twinkle mischievously.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I saw the way you were looking at each other.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He has a girlfriend.”
“What? Lola?” He scoffs then throws his head back and laughs so loud people begin staring at us. “Please.”
“Am I missing something?”
“Just that she wishes she was his girlfriend. Becket hasn’t been tied down since Abby.”
“Then why were they together at the ball? And why didn’t she say otherwise?”
“A certain sex tape springs to mind. They’re messing with you, Britney.”
Before I get a chance to respond to the bombshell Brad just dropped, the pair return with our drinks on a tray. Becket hands over both of mine and I give him a tight smile, trying to cover up how I’m feeling about the conversation I’ve just had.
It must be more of a grimace than a smile because he asks, “You good?”
“Fine,” I reply, picking up the bright-blue one of my two drinks, downing half of it in one go. I then turn to Lola and say, “I didn’t get to properly introduce myself at the ball. I’m Britney.”
“I know exactly who you are,” she says, her voice so icy it could freeze the drink in my hand.
Becket interrupts what clearly has the potential to turn into a face-off between the two of us, and sternly says, “Lola, not now.”
Lola’s feisty though and chooses to ignore him, keeping her focus solely on me. “Who do you think you are coming here after what you did? Are you trying to ruin him again?”
“I never intended to do that,” I admit and my eyes dart to Becket, who frowns at the tidbit of information I’ve let slip. “If you have an issue with me being here, I’m not the person you should be taking it up with.”
“You never meant to ruin him? Exactly what did you think would happen when you aired a sex tape on prime-time television among the other things you did? Just admit it, you’re a deceitful bitch.” She snuggles into Becket’s side, who looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, and we’ve only been in Miami an hour. “Sucks to be you though, because it’s me who has the guy.”
I pick my drink back up from the table, taking another large swig before I say, “Bull.”
Her eyes widen and she sits up straight. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I know you’re not together.”
Brad begins fake choking on his drink, a signal for me to shut my mouth, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her walk all over me.
“Y—you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wrong Lola, I think to myself. The game is up, we both know it is.
“I thought I could do this, but I can’t,” she says, “I can’t watch you be around her, not after what she did.” She stands up, grabbing her bag, ready to leave. When Becket doesn’t move, she places her hands on her hips. “Are you coming?”
His eyes meet mine for a split second and my heart skips a beat. Pick me.
He shakes his head at her. “I’m staying. We have the article to work on.”
She throws her hands up in the air dramatically and in a much louder tone says, “Unbelievable! Don’t forget what she did to us, and don’t forget who stood by you through it. Me. I’m out of here.” Throwing her brown hair over one shoulder, she stomps away to who knows where.
I don’t care.
“I’ll go with her and check she’s ok …” says Brad, a little too eagerly. “Message me when it’s time to leave.”
“Look after her.” Becket nods, knowing she’s pissed and in need of someone to tame her mood.
And then there were two.
The day has taken a turn for the worse quicker than even I could have predicted. When I look to Becket, he’s taking in our surroundings, avoiding eye contact with me as best he can. I look down at the two cocktails I ordered, one of which is already almost gone. With the sour mood I’m in, I should have ordered three.
***
I’m a little unsteady on my feet. Not surprising as I’ve somehow made my way through four cocktails in a relatively short time. Not the smartest idea, but as the alcohol courses through my veins and the world feels lighter than it has in a long time, I don’t care. We’re almost at the carnival—festival—whatever it is—when I stumble on a perfectly even piece of sidewalk. Ok, I’m a lot unsteady on my feet. Becket places his hands on my shoulders to steady me and I look up into his emerald eyes. His hair looks almost golden as the sun dips in the sky and the orange glow makes the color of his tanned skin seem even deeper.
“You look really pretty today,” I say, then slap a hand against my forehead. Cool, Brit. This is one of the reasons I rarely drink.
Becket chuckles. “I put in the extra effort just for you.”
What the hell? Is he flirting with me?
I don’t get a chance to ask because we turn a corner and are hit with noise, color and the smells of all kinds of street food. My mouth drops open, the embarrassing outburst forgotten. Thousands of people dance around in front of us, waving their drinks about like they’re having the time of their life. Cigarette smoke fills the warm air, drifting over from a large gang of teenagers not too far away. I’ve never felt more alive than I do at this moment and my heart races with excitement.
Becket leans in close so I can hear when he says, “It’s party time, Brit.” He pulls a couple of hip flasks out from the backpack slung over his shoulder and waves them at me playfully.
If I have any more, he’ll be carrying me away before we get a chance to experience the festival. So, I politely say no, for now.
We spend the next hour walking around, absorbing the atmosphere, laughing, and joking together. It’s all so carefree and being together like this almost feels normal, it almost feels right. I have to tell myself more than once to get my head out of the gutter. The kiss at the fight club is plaguing my mind, making me misinterpret things, making me believe something is happening between us that isn’t.
“There’s a parade soon,” says Becket.
“What kind of parade?”
The way his eyes sparkle, tells me he’s as excited as I am. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
He navigates us expertly, making it clear this isn’t his first time. My mind drifts off and I wonder how many times he’s been here and whether it was with Lola or Abby. A stab of jealousy hits me, as images of them dancing and laughing together like we’ve been doing, flood my brain. They leave a bitter taste in my mouth, which I try to get rid of by grabbing one of the hip flasks out of his hand and then taking a large drink. I wince as the taste of Scotch fills my mouth and burns my throat on the way down. It had to be Scotch. Now my mind is full of other images I’d rather not be there.
There’s a lull in activity and people begin to gather for the parade. The crowd splits down the middle, creating enough space for it to pass through and then we all wait.
Seizing the moment, I say, “You owe me answers still.”
“You know the deal, Brit. When you tell me some of your secrets, I’ll tell you some of mine. But until then …” He looks away.
My blood begins to boil. The way he’s playing this, I’m never going to have an article and am very much at risk of being fired. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a mantra: Don’t leave things to chance. Plan every moment, pre-empt every twist, then you can’t be screwed over. When life walked all over me, I turned around and walked right back. But then I met him. I’m out of my depth. Any control I had is being served to him on a plate. I’ve lost all sense of why I’m here and what I’m meant to be doing.
Trying not to relinquish what little power I have left, I say, “I feel like we’re going backwards. Each time I think I’m beginning to understand a little of who you are, you change. I don’t get it.”
He looks at me, and an amused expression covers his ridiculously gorgeous face. “You don’t know a thing about me, Brit. The games I play aren’t just on the field.”
I sway on my feet, but it doesn’t stop me from staring back, refusing to blink or show any sign of weakness. My gut churns with the anxiety of the unknown. Whatever this game is we’re playing, it’s clear he’s writing the rules. I may have fooled him once, but there’s no doubt, he’s going to fool me time and time again.
Beginning to lose my temper, I open my mouth ready to snap back, when my words are drowned out by music as the parade begins. Carnaval de Paris sounds out and Wasamba Carnival Drummers charge forward, filling the early evening air with a beat that vibrates through the ground and travels through my body. It’s so loud I can barely hear myself think. The crowd goes wild as the parade moves steadily through the cramped space. I’m pushed around, back and forth as hot bodies dance and press in all around me, causing me to stagger when the world tilts. My vision distorts and everything becomes double, then hazy, bouncing back and forth between the two. Paint bombs and confetti fire through the air, filling the sky with vibrant blues, pinks and yellows. Brazilian dancers strut past, and the crowds mimic their moves. All while I’m pushed around, mesmerized by the neon feather headdresses and jeweled bikinis glittering in the dimming light.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but when I spin around, trying to find Becket, I can’t see him anywhere. Shit. I look around helplessly. Even in my drunken state I know this is bad. I haven’t got a clue where we are, and in case this all wasn’t trippy enough, the music changes tempo. Silence by Delirium reaches my ears. The crowd erupts in cheers and whistles, bouncing around frantically, pushing me forwards towards the huge parade floats passing by.
That’s when I see it.
On the other side of the parade, there’s a figure in a black, hooded jacket. My blood runs cold. It’s a brief moment, so brief I’m not quite sure it happens.
A huge float slowly moves past, obscuring my view, filled with cloaked figures, dancing mythically. Their gowns billow in the breeze and one swoops down towards me ghost-like. Piercing blue eyes find mine behind a white Venetian Volto mask, unblinking. They raise a white-gloved finger to the mask’s lips, mimicking shh. I stumble back, helplessly, closing my eyes as I fall to the ground, bracing myself for impact, but it never comes.
“Brit, what the hell?” shouts Becket over all the noise, taking my weight with his arms.
I allow him to engulf me, relishing his warmth and comfort for a few seconds, shaking like a leaf while he strokes my hair soothingly and rocks me back and forth.
With his lips buried in the nape of my neck, he murmurs, “It’s ok.”
When I feel like I’ve regained control of my breathing, I stand tall and look to where I thought I saw the figure in the black, hooded jacket. There’s nothing there. “Can we leave? Please.” I try to convey to him with my eyes, how much I don’t want to be here.
He nods, wraps an arm around my waist and expertly maneuvers us through the crowds. It takes a good ten minutes to get away from all the noise and bustle, and it’s a relief when we turn a corner onto an empty block, not a soul in sight. Unable to hold myself together any longer, I fold in half, resting my arms against my thighs, and gasp for air.
Becket crouches down in front of me, brushes my hair out of my face, then grasps my cheeks with his hands, urging me to look at him. “What happened back there?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure whether I should tell him. I could, but he’d most likely think I’d drunk too much, so I give him a garbled version of the truth, “I thought I saw something, but it was nothing … I guess the masks from the parade freaked me out.” I look at him sheepishly.
He chuckles lightly. “Are you sure that’s it?”
I nod and when he gives up on retrieving any more information from me, he lets go of my face and stands back up.
He passes over one of the hip flasks from earlier, the one that isn’t Scotch. “It might make you feel better.”
I smile meekly, taking it from him, embracing the burn of Vodka against my throat, allowing the pain to bring me back to reality.
Becket pulls out his cell, and reels off the address where we are to the limo driver. I hate being a party pooper and putting an end to his celebrations so early, but after what happened, there’s no way I can go back to the festival.
A few minutes pass and then the limo pulls up alongside the sidewalk where we’re standing. I scramble in with Becket close behind and allow exhaustion to take over, resting my head on his shoulder. Being affectionate with each other isn’t how we roll, but for today I don’t care, I’ll take whatever he gives me, no matter how wrong it is.
The steady sway of the vehicle as it passes through Miami almost lulls me to sleep. Before it does, I tilt my head up and say, “I didn’t know you had it in you to be so nice.”
Becket looks down at me, his face full of sadness. “Is that what you think, Brit, that I’m not a nice person?”
“You’ve never given me a reason to think otherwise,” I reply, sleepily. My eyes grow heavy, and I succumb to sleep before I get the chance to hear him say, “Fine. You want to see if there’s more to me. Just this once, we’ll play the game your way.”
