Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton

 

 

Twelve

 

Becket

 

Where the hell is she?

I’m beginning to sweat, sitting in my living area waiting for Lola to arrive. I’m lucky to have experienced her wrath, multiple times, and my nerves are one hundred percent justified. My favorite time was shortly after the video of the two of us together leaked, and her older brothers turned up on my doorstep ready to jump my ass. Luck was on my side and they had more sense than to assault an NFL player; it was most likely to avoid a multimillion-dollar lawsuit over wanting to hear my side to the story.

I frown when the doorbell rings. Lola usually just lets herself in, which means she knows. She knows the conversation we’re about to have isn’t going to be enjoyable for either of us. When I open the door, she stalks straight past, head held high, without saying a word.

She’s pissed, and rightly so.

I follow her into the kitchen part of my open-plan kitchen/living area. Nothing has changed since the first time she stormed in here … apart from me. That was the beginning of our journey and unfortunately, this will be the end. I’ve only ever liked her as a friend, and she wants more. She always has. She cares too much and all I’ll ever do is hurt her.

“Water?” I ask, breaking the silence. My eyes take in her usually pristine appearance. Today she’s dressed down in loungewear, her hair scraped back, not an ounce of makeup to be seen. She would never let me see her like this. She’s given up, predicted our breakup.

We’re not even together.

Shaking her head, she folds her arms across her chest. “Can we just get this over and done with?”

I rub a hand on the back of my neck and awkwardly say, “Why does it feel like we’re breaking up?”

She shrugs and looks anywhere but directly at me. “I guess in a way we are.”

“You know what I’m going to say?”

“I’m not an idiot.” Finally, she looks up at me. Her eyes glisten, making me feel like even more of a dick. “Do you know how I feel?”

I nod. She must read something on my face, because hers drops in defeat. She knows I’m not going to change my mind. After our little bedtime buddies stint, we agreed to stay friends and since then I’ve never led her on, but I should have known better. We should have had a clean break. This is my fault.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you more,” I say sadly, wishing I could. Lola’s a dream and she will make some guy happy one day. There’s one guy in particular I know who would be really happy to have her, if only he had the balls to make a move.

“I knew what I was getting into when I said yes to being friends, even though I wanted more. I never thought we’d stay friends for this long,” she admits.

“We work well together …” Christ this really does feel like a breakup. If only Abby had been as heartbroken over parting ways.

“Too well, and for me that’s the problem.” She takes a deep breath, about to say more, but then stops.

“Were you going to say something?” I ask, trying to catch her eye.

She mutters, “Fuck it,” under her breath then almost pleading, says, “Is there no way we could ever give us a try?”

Part of me wants to make her happy and say yes, but it would be for the wrong reasons. In the end, I would wind up breaking her heart. I’m not the asshole everyone thinks I am, and the mask I’ve been wearing for years has come loose, thanks to the firecracker who’s been constantly at my side these past few weeks. “I’m sorry, you’re not the one I want.” My eyes widen when I realize what I’ve said.

Any warmth in her expression disappears and her face turns hard. “It’s her…”

“That came out wrong,” I backtrack, but it’s too late. Lola isn’t stupid.

“I know exactly who you’re talking about.”

“Lola, I’m sorry.” I take a step towards her, reaching out to grab her hand so I can pull her in for a hug or something that will hopefully pacify her. I’m an idiot. She’s feisty as fuck when she wants to be and there’s no way, she’s going to let this go.

“Sorry for what? Wanting the same woman who set us up? Who filmed us having sex and then aired it on national television? Almost ruined both of our lives?”

I rub a hand along the stubble on my jaw, trying to relieve some of the tension. This couldn’t have gone any worse. So much for parting ways on good terms. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“There’s nothing to say, Becket. You seem to have a thing for women who aren’t all in. Why is that do you think?”

She knows I keep people at a safe distance on purpose. I never allowed her to get close enough to figure out why, but she’s always been suspicious. “Leave it, Lola,” I say sternly.

She shakes her head. “No. I’m tired of being your lapdog, it’s time you heard some hard truths. Britney … that girl you’re pining after—even if you don’t realize you are—will screw you over again, whether you want to believe it or not. Just like Abby did. You know, the one you thought was the love of your life. She wasn’t by the way. I know you just loved that she didn’t pry, but that’s because she didn’t give a shit. She was already in love with someone else, right?

“You go for women who are unattainable, so you don’t have to worry about the future with them; so you don’t have to fully commit and let them in. Let me in. Let me be that person you tell all your secrets to. I care, and I promise I won’t go selling your stories to the media, unlike some.”

She’s unrecognizable to the woman who stormed in here and chewed my ass eighteen months ago. That’s why this can never happen. I’m doing this to her. I’m no good for her.

“This is why we can’t stay friends, Lola. We’re in completely different places and we want different things.”

“All I want is you.”

I go to pull her in for one last hug goodbye, but she steps away, refusing my gesture. She walks to the front door to let herself out, turning back with one last thing to say, “She’s screwed you over before and she will do it again. You can’t trust her Michael. If you do … then you’re a fool.”

 

***

 

Britney

 

My stomach fills with dread when my phone chimes on the dresser, alerting me to a new message from Jess. I don’t want to know what she has to say, so I chose to ignore it.

It chimes again and again.

Resigning myself to the fact I’m not going to be able to avoid her forever, I place my laptop to the side and clamber off the bed. I grab the phone from the dresser, then walk back over to the bed, getting myself settled before opening the message thread, preparing myself for her ‘feedback’.

 

Jess: What the fuck have you just sent me?

Jess: Answer

Jess: Me

Jess: Brit

 

I struggle to swallow. I knew she wouldn’t buy into it, I don’t even know why I tried. I’m screwed. I quickly begin typing back before she can bombard me with any more messages:

 

I sent you the article about Becket.

 

Maybe if I feign ignorance, she might be a little kinder.

 

Jess: That wasn’t an article. Why would anyone want to read about the fact he drinks black coffee?

 

So much for being kind.

 

Me: Some people like to read those sorts of things.

Jess: The only thing you’ve done is map out his schedule for all his crazy stalker fans. Unless that’s your plan, to lead them to him so they can see him off for you?

Me: It wasn’t that bad.

Jess: No, it wasn’t bad, it was shit. If I put that forward, you won’t be the only one getting fired. Now, get your ass off that bed before you become permanently engrained in it. Find Becket and find some information worthy of an article!

 

A strangled cry fills the room and I drop my phone.

What the hell was that?

My phone chimes and I pick it back up with a shaky hand. My eyes dart around attempting to figure out what it could have been. A minute passes and there’s nothing, so I read the message, trying to distract my brain.

 

Jess: Why aren’t you replying?

 

Another strangled cry.

Fuckety fuck fuck fuck! I dart off the bed, looking around frantically. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. I walk to the hotel phone on unsteady feet, pick it up and press the button that automatically directs calls to reception.

“You’re through to reception, how may I help?” comes a male voice down the line.

“I—I think there’s something in my room …”

The guy on the other end of the line pauses before replying, “Something in your room, ma’am?”

“Yes,” I say more assertively this time. “It sounds like someone is being murdered.”

“I’ll be up right away.”

My hand trembles as I place the phone back down on the cradle. Another cry fills the room at the same moment I pick my cellphone up off the bed.

Fuck this.

I run out of my room, not caring that the door locks behind me. It means whatever’s inside is locked in, while I’m out. I don’t have to wait long before the guy from reception appears. It’s all I can do to stop myself from jumping into his arms with relief. He smiles awkwardly at what is no doubt my crazed expression.

I hold my breath when he enters the room, terrified for what he’s about to find.

A couple of minutes later he walks back out looking bemused, with a tabby cat purring in his arms. “Is this your cat, ma’am?”

“If it were my cat, do you think I’d have rung reception?” I try to keep the snappiness out of my voice, but I’m not sure what he expected my answer to be. I rang him less than ten minutes ago, clearly fearing for my life, thinking someone was dying.

“Strange. The only time we’ve ever had a cat in the hotel was when we had mice.” He chuckles at the way my eyebrows shoot up. “That was twenty years ago. Don’t worry there aren’t any mice in your room, I checked. Twice.”

I sigh with relief and thank him before he walks off down the corridor, carrying the now purring and content cat with him.

Raising my phone to my ear when it vibrates with an incoming call from Jess, I answer, “Hey …”

“Why have you stopped replying to me? Someone better be dying.”

“I thought someone was,” I reply.

“Wait? What?”

“There was a cat in my room, making that God awful noise they do sometimes. I thought someone was being murdered.”

“Ew, that means there are mice.”

I frown at her comment. “There isn’t. Reception checked.”

“Weird.”

“Very,” I agree.

“Back to more important matters. You shouldn’t be worrying about a cat in your room, because you shouldn’t be in your room. Get your ass out and get following Becket. You’re a better writer than this, Brit. Don’t make me look like an idiot for putting you on the job.”

She’s baiting me, I know she is, and it gets the desired response. It gets me back up, lighting a fire inside me, a need to prove to everyone I got this job due to talent, not because of my association with Becket’s media scandal.

“I’ll have it for you soon,” I reply, before hanging up, ready to make plans with the thorn in my side.

 

***

 

Being blindfolded was not what I had in mind when Becket and I agreed to meet. He said that it was a secret. He met me outside the hotel, waving a piece of material in my face. I shook my head and told him not a chance in hell, to which he turned around and stalked off towards his car, refusing to take me anywhere unless I followed the rules.

It was then that I realized I had no choice.

“Can we take it off yet?” I ask, the Florida humidity hitting me as I step out of the vehicle.

“No,” he replies sternly. 

I don’t have a clue where he is, but I don’t have to wonder for long. He slips his hand around mine and tugs me forwards. My feet follow, stumbling.

“Seriously, I’m going to injure myself if you don’t let me take this off,” I grumble.

“A couple more minutes. Promise.”

I huff and try to focus on carefully placing one foot in front of the other, so as not to risk breaking my neck. Finally, his steps slow, and then he comes to a standstill. The next thing I know, the blindfold is removed from my eyes. I wince at first. Having been in darkness for so long, the light is stark and my eyes struggle to adjust. I look around and find we’re in a large, virtually empty room, apart from the mats on the floor and chairs surrounding the perimeter.

“Where are we?”

Becket backs away eyes twinkling. “I’m not allowed to tell you. This was the only way they’d let me bring you in. Just watch and see.”

I swallow, nervous, but I shouldn’t be. Women of all ages, races, and sizes, begin filing in, smiling warmly in my direction.

“Is this your first time?” asks a woman with tight, red curls and a southern twang.

“Yes,” I reply honestly. Just in case I might be mistaken for being here for the same reason she is, I nod at Becket and confirm, “I’m with him.”

“Ah,” she replies. “Lucky you.”

As far as I was aware, the world had Becket slotted in the same asshole category I did. Not here apparently. The room goes silent when he clears his throat and starts to speak. I follow suit as the women gather around closely so they can hear.

“Ladies. Here we are again, you lucky things.”

The women hum their approval and I try not to roll my eyes as I watch them visibly swoon.

“You know the drill!” He pulls out his cell and walks to a set of speakers where he syncs them, and electro music fills the room.

The women all pair off and begin sparring against each other. I blink rapidly as I look around. A part of me expects Becket to come over and explain what is going on, but he avoids eye contact and bounces between the partners, correcting their form and showing them different stances. He observes and jumps in when needed, showing them how to make their moves more effective.

He’s teaching them self-defense.

I take one of the seats off to the side, not knowing what to do.

The redhead walks over with a friendly smile. “Would you like me to teach you some moves?”

With expert timing, Becket swoops in. “She’s the last person who needs help. She’s already kicked my ass once and that was enough.”

The redhead laughs and returns to her original partner.

I’m about to ask a question, but Becket holds his hand up stopping me in my tracks. “No questions here. Later, I promise. I have work to do.”

He walks away and I spend the next hour watching as he interacts with each of the women, making them feel at ease and answering any questions they have. It’s like I’m observing a completely different person. This is the Becket I met on the plane. The one who revealed his secrets and showed vulnerability. Not the dick who turns up nine times out of ten and puts a show on for the world.

I’m confused. He’s hiding who he really is, and I want to know why. This is the purpose of the article after all, to find out who he really is. When the room empties at the end of the session, I remain in my seat, waiting for him to come over. Instead, he mills about doing pointless tasks, putting off the inevitable.

When I’ve had enough, I say, “Becket …”

He stops what he’s doing and turns to look at me, emotions swirling in his eyes. I can’t pinpoint what they all are, but my heart aches, wanting to make whatever it is he’s feeling, whatever it is he’s been through, better.

“They’re survivors,” he confirms.

I don’t need to ask of what. I set my notebook down on the chair next to me, closed. The information he’s telling me is for me, only me. “How long have you been doing this?” I ask.

“Years.”

“Why?”

“They need help.”

“No, not why are you helping them—I get that. What’s your reason. There has to be something …”

He looks away. “I can’t tell you that.”

“I promise, I won’t say a word. You can trust me.”

His demeanor shifts and coldly he says, “Like fuck I can.”

“Why did you bring me here if you think you can’t trust me?”

“To show you I’m not an ass like you think. These women need protection. You can’t tell a soul you were here.”

“Like there’s anything to tell. I don’t even know where we are.”

“And that’s the way it will stay.” He steps forward, pulling the piece of material he used to blindfold me earlier out of his pocket.

I frown. “Is that really necessary?”

“You know the deal, Brit. I’ll tell you my secrets when you tell me yours. So, what will it be?”

I stare him in the eyes. Images flash through my mind of all the things I’ve been through, all the things he did. Things I haven’t told a soul. “Go ahead and put it on,” I sigh, resigned.

Today, no secrets will be revealed, from either of us. I’m not ready and neither is he. The fact we’re hesitating, proves how little trust there is. It’s not the right time.

When it comes to Becket and me, I wonder if we will ever be able to trust each other.