Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton
Three
Britney
The cab screeches to a halt right outside the bar that Becket reeled off to the driver. Quickly looking out the window, I can see Leigh in the distance, with a tall figure in a hooded black jacket. I can’t make them out as they have their back to me, but I don’t need to see them clearly to know they’re The Source. They should have been done by now. I watch as Becket pulls out a wad of cash at the same time Leigh starts to walk along the sidewalk. She needs a few more seconds for the transition to work, so I put up some resistance about splitting the cab fare.
When Becket refuses and Leigh gets closer, I back down and say, “Fine. First round is on me.”
We step out of the cab and Becket moves around to the trunk. At the exact moment, his attention is focused on popping it open and retrieving our luggage, Leigh sweeps past me, slipping a small sachet into my palm. The transition is seamless, and she carries on walking, no doubt in the direction of the private hire car she booked. Becket’s none the wiser to what has just happened, of what is going to happen to him. He also doesn’t notice when I order the drinks and slip a pill into one of his when the bartender is distracted serving someone else.
And now … we’re here.
I’ve been standing, staring in the mirror for a few minutes, wondering if I have it in me to follow through with what I’m about to do. My grip on the situation is loosening, and as it does, the potential for things to go wrong increases. I read somewhere once that you should never have regrets. Everything happens for a reason. Everything you do and feel should have a purpose. But I have regrets and one of them goes by the name of Michael Becket.
I’m pulled quickly from my thoughts, flinching when the door to the restroom flies open and slams against the wall so hard that I’m surprised the tiles don’t crack.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I exclaim, spinning around from the washbasin.
There he is, all six-foot four inches, with his sandy blond hair and striking green eyes, filling the doorway, swaying slightly on his feet. “You.”
He’s an asshole through and through. I knew this from the start. But there’s something about him, something more. He’s the NFL player everybody loves to hate. But tonight, on the plane ride from New York to Florida, something happened that changed how I thought about him. When we thought our lives were coming to an end, he let me in and showed me more. He showed me there’s more to The Great Becket than meets the eye and that I shouldn’t judge this book by its cover. It’s a shame that those secrets he divulged, the ones that made me feel differently about him, are what I have to use against him.
He stalks in, not bothering to lock the door behind him or check if there’s anyone else in the room. It’s so typically him. The few hours of knowing him have been a rollercoaster. I’ve jumped between disliking everything about him, to wanting to rip his clothes off and do things I’ve never wanted to do with anyone else.
Before my brain has time to catch up with what’s happening, he’s in front of me, grabbing at my waist and pulling me towards him. My head tells me to stop, walk away and leave this night behind before the chaos begins. I still have time to back out, but my body has other ideas and I’m putty in his hands. I ignore the part of my brain telling me to resist. Shut it off and kiss him back. If I’m going down, I may as well enjoy myself.
I’m probably the most inexperienced woman Becket’s ever been with, but when I’m flush against him and can feel his body responding to mine, I swallow down the nerves bubbling near the surface. It’s clear from his body’s reaction that he wants me as much as I want him.
I want to remind him that I’m a virgin.The secret I revealed, the only real part of me I let him see. Tonight has been full of slip ups, one after another. I’m left feeling confused and frustrated. It’s no wonder when Becket kisses like he does. Sparks fire through every part of my body each time he touches me.
My cell vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans, bringing me back down to earth, almost. Play the game—you didn’t come here to lose your V-card to some superstar NFL player. Stick to the plan.I repeat it all over and over, but it’s getting harder to hear my own thoughts. Scrap that, I’m not even trying to hear them, because I simply don’t want to.
His focus begins to waiver, but his hands continue roaming, even though their movement isn’t as fluid. They find their way to my ass, lifting me up onto the countertop. I respond the way I know he wants, wrapping my legs around his waist, encouraging him to continue and lose himself in the moment. The force behind his kisses lessens and I know it won’t be much longer. The sleepy stage should come next, and it should be progressive. That’s what Leigh told me. But when his kisses stop abruptly and he face plants my chest, I know something isn’t right.
“Damn it,” I say to myself because Becket is now out cold.
I’m stuck on the countertop of a washbasin, in a public restroom, with one of the biggest NFL players in the country pressed against my chest, with no idea how I’m going to move him. For some this might be a dream come true, all you need to do is look at him to understand why. He’s a ball-playing God who looks like he’s crafted from the Greek variety. For me, this is a logistical nightmare.
My cell vibrates again, reminding me I’m stuck when I should already be making my way out of the bar. Lifting one butt cheek, I manage to maneuver myself in such a way that I’m able to slip my cell from my pocket. Quickly looking at the screen, I see two messages from Leigh, who is waiting for me in a car close by. I don’t bother reading the messages she’s sent. Instead, I pull up her caller ID, hit the green call button and place it on loudspeaker.
It rings three times, before she answers, “Is it done?”
“We may have hit a slight snag,” I reply awkwardly.
“Why do you sound so weird?”
“Come into the bar. I’m in the restroom.”
With excellent timing Becket lets out a loud groan.
“Wait … was that Becket? Why can’t you just come out? Is it done?” she asks again.
I grind my teeth trying not to lose my patience. Pretty soon someone is going to come in and find me in here with Becket’s face glued to my chest. I’ll have to come up with a completely unbelievable explanation to what is going on.
“Just come quickly. We don’t have time for this,” I say.
She grumbles that she should have done this herself and then something to do with hating working with rookies. She then hangs up.
Waiting, I try my best to stay still, so we don’t end up tumbling to the floor. Creating a media shit storm is one thing, injuring him when his body is no doubt insured for millions is another.
A deep snore fills the silence of the room. His drool trickling down my chest in between my breasts and heading south nearly tips me over the edge. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Gross,” I mumble.
There’s a hesitant knock on the restroom door. I know it’s Leigh, but if she’s trying to act inconspicuous, she’s doing a crappy job. Why would anyone knock on the door of a public restroom?
It feels ridiculous, but I shout, “Come in.”
The door opens slowly, and I let out a sigh of relief as fiery red hair bobs through. I never thought I’d be so relieved to see her. We rarely see eye to eye, we’re not a good fit, but seeing her is a relief, nonetheless. “This is … different.” She smirks. “So which part of the plan was this?”
I roll my eyes at her sarcasm. “I did exactly what we planned. Maybe you should have done it yourself.”
She moves in closer, then leans down and her eyes roam over his lifeless form narrowing to slits. She bites at her lower lip and tilts her head to one side. “How much did you give him?” she asks.
“Everything you gave me. Like you said to.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “Something isn’t right.”
“No shit.” If I didn’t have Becket glued to me, I’d throw my hands over my head and yell.
“He’s supposed to be sleepy, not out cold …”
“I’m going to point out the obvious here: maybe you shouldn’t have trusted a random source to supply you with drugs,” I say through clenched teeth.
She rolls her eyes and waves me off. “Maybe he’s just reacted to it badly. Some people do.”
“Or it’s been tampered with. Are you even certain about what we’ve given him?”
“Shh!” she hisses, as if somebody hearing us is our biggest worry, not that we’ve monumentally screwed up.
“We could kill the guy.” My heart is racing for completely different reasons to five minutes ago. My breaths are shallow and I’m afraid I won’t be able to maintain this barely-calm state much longer. I need to get out from under him. I need to get out of here. My stomach twists into a tight knot.
She shrugs. “Potentially, but he’s a big guy. No doubt whatever we’ve given him won’t do too much damage.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “If that’s the case then why is he out cold? And by the way, I’m pretty uncomfortable here. It would be great if we could try and move him soon.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “You’ve seen the size of him, right? How are we supposed to move him?”
“You should have thought about that when you trusted a stranger to help drug someone,” I snipe back.
“Yeah, yeah. Stop bitching.” She spins around, observing our surroundings, as if it’s likely she’ll be able to find something that will be able to help … in a public restroom.
“We need to get him out of here before anyone else comes in. I don’t fancy going to jail for drugging an NFL player. I don’t know why I even agreed to this. There’s getting a story and then there’s this,” I mutter the last part under my breath.
It wasn’t quiet enough, and she snaps back, “You need to chill. You wanna be a big shot reporter? Sometimes you gotta do things you don’t like to work your way up the ladder. This is just one of those steps. No one said it was going to be easy or that you would like what you have to do to get to the top.”
She might be pissing me off, but I know what she’s saying is true. “You’ve made your point. Can we just try and get him out of here?” I look down at the giant football-playing lump slumped against me, to reinforce who I’m referring to, as if it could be anyone else.
“Fine. Wait here.”
“Where are you going?”
“To create a diversion. There’s no way we’re getting that out of here without being noticed. Lucky for us the bar is getting busy. Give me five.”
She walks out and I remain stuck on the washbasin with Becket. The minutes pass by and I try my hardest to ignore the smell of his hair and aftershave that, even in this ridiculous scenario, are doing funny things to my insides.
My head flies up when I hear a large crash from outside the door and then shouting. A lot of shouting.
Leigh stalks back in with a look of determination, and says, “We’re gonna have to drag him. Between the two of us we might manage to get him out of here. The initial hit of the drugs shouldn’t last too long. When he starts to come round, we can get on with the plan.”
The plan. The way she says it, makes it sound so carefree and easy, not like we’re about to screw over this guy we barely know for our own gain. Everyone says Becket’s the asshole but maybe we’re worse.
I signal for Leigh to help move him back to break the connection. The more space there is between us, the better. She somehow manages to pull his hulk-like frame away from mine, supporting his weight while I quickly jump down from the countertop. Without missing a beat, I assist her with supporting him, before she loses her balance under his weight. We both let out a deep breath when we’re lodged under his armpits, and the risk of him hitting the deck is gone.
When we reach the door, before stepping out, Leigh asks, “Ready?”
It’s a simple question, but my mind reads more into it. I’m not. I’m not ready for the way the rest of the night is about to unfold. I nod even though I don’t want to and she swings the restroom door open. My jaw drops when my eyes adjust to the sight in front of us in the dimly-lit bar.
Leigh started a goddamn brawl.
People charge at each other, glasses smash. The noise is almost deafening.
“What did you do?” I exclaim, frozen on the spot.
“Created a distraction. Come on, move.” She walks forward, dragging me and Becket with her.
It’s not surprising we make it out unnoticed, even with Becket slumped over us, his head lolling from side to side, the bar has turned into a sideshow and we’re the least of the bartenders’ worries.
Ten minutes and a lot of huffing and puffing later, we manage to get Becket settled in the back of the hire car. I slide into the front passenger seat, clicking my belt in place. “Where to now?” I ask.
“Georgia,” Leigh replies, not expanding further.
I frown and look at her. “We’re going to a different state. Why?”
She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “He’s a big shot here. The plan won’t work because wherever we go, his die-hard fans will come to his rescue. They could have done it in there. We need to be somewhere people don’t care.”
“The whole world knows who he is. Jumping state isn’t going to make the attention any less.”
“No,” she agrees starting the car, “but they’re less likely to come to his rescue. Quite the opposite. They’d throw him under the bus if the opportunity arose.” She pulls out onto the road and drives into the night.
What she’s saying makes sense, but I don’t want it to. We were only meant to gain some inside scoop. Little did I know Leigh had every intention of decimating his career.
***
Hours later, one shit show after another, all of which we caught on video on our cells, I stand in the distance watching as Becket slurs his words to a beautiful brunette. A brunette who looks just like his ex-girlfriend back in New York—Abby West.
“Are you ok?” asks Leigh, as she walks up beside me after disappearing for a while to meet with ‘The Source’.
I’m furious that she would trust this random stranger again after what they’ve already done to Becket. When I take in her face, I realize it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t need to trust them because she simply doesn’t care. She’s ruthless, especially when it comes to bettering her career, even if it’s at the expense of someone else’s. The only reason I haven’t deserted her is so I can keep an eye on Becket and make sure he doesn’t end up in even more trouble.
I continue watching him flirt with the brunette and say, “I’m fine … Well, as fine as one can be considering the shit we’ve put this guy through.’
“We’re not done yet.” She smirks.
I turn to her, eyes narrowed. “How much more can there be? We’ve got enough coverage for the magazine.”
She shakes her head. “We agreed to do whatever it takes. We need to finish big.”
I close my eyes and let out a deep sigh. “What’s the plan?”
She smirks again but this time there’s a glint in her eye that can only be described as evil. I listen horrified as she rattles off what the next part of the night entails.
“I can’t do this.” I hold up my hands and start walking backwards, away from him. I’m out—there’s no way I’m taking part in the rest, it’s too much.
“You’re already in too deep. What would be the point in backing out now?” Leigh asks.
I know she has a point. If I give up now, everything we did will be on my conscience and for nothing. She nods in Becket’s direction and we watch as he leans in and begins kissing the brunette.
“Looks like he’s already forgotten all about you.”
She’s trying to play on my insecurities, and I have to bite back the response that he won’t just forget me, he’ll forget everything. She’s right though, I’m in too deep and Becket isn’t an idiot. Eventually he will piece everything together and all paths lead back to me. At least if I follow this through to the end, there’s a glimmer of hope that I can leave my past behind.
It’s only later as I sit in the car, watching the feed on the monitor of the camera we’ve set up in his motel room, watching as he pounds into another woman, that jealousy threatens to consume me. Everything I felt on the plane and in the restroom was real.
“Do we know who she is?” I ask Leigh. I don’t know why I need to know her name, it doesn’t change anything.
Leigh doesn’t even question why I want to know before replying, “Yeah her name’s Lola Fisher.”
“Right. Whatever.” I look blankly out the window and decide if we’re going to sit here like we are, I might as well jot some notes down. I look through my bag, but there’s nothing there. “Have you seen my notebook?”
Leigh doesn’t bother turning to look at me. “What notebook?”
“You know, the one I use to jot everything down. I can’t find it …”
“I don’t know what you think I do all day, but my time isn’t spent keeping tabs on you and your things. Check again.”
I look, but the book in which I wrote down all of Becket’s secrets during our drive to Georgia, his name clearly tagged beside them, is gone.
It may not be long until Becket’s secrets aren’t secret anymore.
***
Britney 6 weeks later
I didn’t sign up for this.
Standing at the kitchenette in my less-than sub-standard living space, I pour a large glass of wine, down it in one gulp, then fill it again, exhaling loudly. This wasn’t meant to happen. It’s all too much.
When Fiona dragged me into her office, never did I imagine this is where we would end up. Videos are all over YouTube of Becket pissing off a rooftop into a pool, grinding against a stop sign, stripping in the middle of a club to the YMCA. Of course, they went viral, it was like watching a real-life version of The Hangover, and even I’ll admit they were a little bit funny. What wasn’t funny, however, was that it didn’t end there.
I groan and bring my wine glass to my lips, taking another large drink as I turn on the television, praying the noise will stop my mind from going over and over all the headlines: Drug fiend, Cheat, Heartbroken Wreck. Just a few that have taken over the tabloids in the past few days, and of course, Michael Becket Assault Case. It was Leigh, it had to have been. I never would have taken things this far; I never wanted to do any of this to begin with.
My phone vibrates across the shabby counter. I could ignore it and wait for my takeout to reheat in the microwave. One more day and it will be inedible. I sigh. I’ve gone longer without food. When my phone vibrates again, I admit defeat, abandon the takeout and head to the couch with my wine and phone in hand. I read the texts:
Jess: How are you doing?
Jess: Have you thought anymore about the offer?
The offer. Another job, away from Fiona and Leigh. One I’ve been ready to snap Jess’ hand off for, but I can’t. I have to keep an eye on what they’re up to, for Becket. There’s more to come, I know it. I’ve seen them speaking together in hushed voices, in Fiona’s office when they think I’m distracted, but I’m never distracted. I’m always watching, waiting.
Me: I’m still thinking about it.
The voice of the news anchor fills the small room, “Breaking news just in—”
Choosing to ignore it, I read Jess’ reply:
Jess: The position is going to be filled soon. You need to make a decision.
I’m about to reply, my fingers hovering above my phone’s screen, when the sounds of a woman moaning and flesh slapping together reach my ears. Fuck, what have they done? I look up to find the distorted image of the video Leigh and I made, at the same moment I hear Becket cry out, “Yeah, baby, just like that. You know how I like it. So good.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I don’t know what to do. I freeze, staring at the screen, eyes wide with horror. They did this, not me. But I still had a part to play. It’s the last time though, because now I have an out, and they’ve burnt through every reason I had to stay.
Me: Set me up an interview. I need a new job.
