F*CK Reality: Take One Page 13

  “I did like him. I mean, I do. He’s really sweet and a lot of fun.”

  “A lot of fun,” she repeats.

  I wish she’d stop doing that. Her reaction to last night is disturbing.

  Addie smiles with excitement, stands, grabs my hands, shakes them roughly, and bends her face toward mine. “Brooke, we have work to do!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I just need a minute.

  Brock

  -

  “Initially, all of this can seem a little overwhelming.” Willow Ellis states at my side as I stand in the valet lane of the hotel driveway. “I understand.”

  Desperately in need of a breath of fresh air, I escaped the barrage of questions those women were callously throwing at me.

  Do you own a house in Italy?

  Do you spend winters in Vale?

  Do you drive a fast car or luxury sedan?

  Do you have a maid?

  There were a decent few who stayed quiet, but even those women were using the apparent leaders of the group as mouthpieces. I’m not sure which was worse, the boldness of those who pried for information, or those who sat back and listened.

  “Yes, overwhelming,” I confirm, because it’s true. The whole night could be described as insanity.

  “The girls will settle. Right now they’re all scattering, trying to figure out if they have what it takes.”

  “Or figuring out the number of bills in my wallet,” I return with sarcasm.

  Willow laughs. “Being a woman myself, I can attest to the degree of strength it takes in competing with others. It’s a process.”

  “A process?”

  “Yes,” she assures. “They’re doubting themselves. All of them want something out of this or they wouldn’t be here.”

  “I guess,” I acknowledge. “Men don’t act like this.”

  “Don’t they?” she replies. “I think they do. Next year, if the show makes it, we’re going to try your theory out. We’ll have a woman in your place.”

  I don’t care about next year, or this one, for that matter. My mind hasn’t been on any of these girls. I’m still pondering over the one who ran out of my room this morning as fast as both her feet could carry her.

  “That’ll be interesting,” I reply with disinterest. “Good luck with that.”

  “I heard some of them talking after you walked out,” she tells me.

  I can still hear them talking because they never fucking stop. I don’t advise this; however, I do take some satisfaction in thinking it to myself.

  “A few said you’re everything they’d hoped you’d be.”

  Well, none of them were anything I’d hoped for. Sure, a few are hot, but nothing more than I’ve had at home. A couple were uncomfortable and shy; two were impossibly so.

  Kylee Simmons seems to be the group’s already self-proclaimed winner. When I walked in, she recognized me immediately. She walked to me like a lion would—circling her prey, playing with its food. I disregarded her every challenge and question. Ignoring her took effort and every bit of my patience. I don’t lose my temper often, but in the face of that she-devil, it would be time well spent.

  “The meet and greet is over in a few minutes, but there’s one more girl.”

  Great, another girl.

  “She sent a text earlier, asking that I excuse her, but I can’t do that.”

  “You can,” I assure her. I’ve had enough.

  “I won’t,” she counters. “She’ll be down soon.”

  Turning in place, Willow scans my face for a reaction. I don’t have one, so she continues searching.

  “Taping begins tomorrow. You have to decide who your first date will be. It wouldn’t be fair to her if you didn’t at least get to meet her as you did the others.”

  “I’ll be back in. I just need a few more minutes.”

  Before turning around to leave, she smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t be frustrated. Today’s the first of many to come. Matt’s here to help you with anything you need.”

  “And you?”

  Willow nods. “I’m here, too. I’m for them, though.” She points to the door before turning in place and walking in the direction of it.

  Once I know she’s gone, I lean my back against the building and close my eyes, thinking how nice it would be to be anywhere but here.

  Do you go around saving helpless women being hit on by creepy men often?

  I don’t. But when your friend gave me an in, I took it.

  Fuck, this is painful.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nine girls + one guy = drama.

  Brooke

  -

  “Finally!” Jerry, the man I met earlier, meets me at the door to the room I was rushing toward. “Brooke, you were due here an hour ago,” he scolds.

  First indication tells me he’s not only the facilitator for tonight’s event, but a high-strung human being at that. His eyebrows are decorated in beads of sweat, and his thinning hair shines against a bald head with a glimpse of secretion as well. Though he’s dressed in a suit, he’s not attractive. My mailman has better features, and he’s got to be at least fifty-five. This man can’t be a day over forty.

  “I’m here,” I happily reply. “I talked to Willow this evening. She knew I was running behind.”

  “Willow,” he sneers, his top lip curling as he does. “Well, you’re here now, so let’s head inside.”

  When I follow him into the area where I know Brock will be, my body rocks in place.

  The women, contestants and otherwise, have separated themselves into two groups. On one end of the room, Ryleigh has made herself comfortable at a table with Emilee and a few of the other girls I remember thinking were nice.

  The other table are those I didn’t care for at all.

  Kylee is first to see me arrive. She tosses out a dirty look, then bends to whisper into the ear of another plastic woman who I haven’t met. Kylee’s red dress, black stilettos, and heavy makeup scream slut, but I’m not one to judge. After last night, I’ll never judge again.

  Both Willow and Matt are standing near the bar, cuddling together, as if they’re not amidst the chaos the rest of us are left to suffer in.

  “Come,” Jerry instructs. “Follow me. Brock’s waiting.”

  Brock.

  The initial confirmation of his attendance binds me into place. My feet are heavy, and my head is spinning. I haven’t seen him since I fled, and there’s no telling what his reaction to seeing me again will be.

  I don’t have to question this long because when I look away from Jerry pushing at my back, Brock rounds the corner. He’s wearing another suit, this one better than the last. I find this one fits better, most likely because I know what’s under it.

  Damn it.

  Along with the reminders of seeing him again, comes the memory of the way he smelled, the taste of his lips, and the thrust of his...

  “There he is!” Jerry yells. Turning to me, he whispers, “I’m Jerry, by the way. We met just briefly this morning. I’m Brock’s, for lack of a better term, bitch. For the next several weeks, I’m his bodyguard, fetch boy, and chauffeur.”

  I don’t respond, or even get the chance because Jerry lifts his hand to his mouth, using his fingers to whistle loudly. When he does, he gets the room’s attention.

  Willow should try that.

  Brock turns his head. His eyes narrow at Jerry, but when they come to mine, something else happens. As I stand across the room, surrounded by the exotic beauty of the others, I suddenly feel just as beautiful. Brock’s eyes soften, and his head tilts to the side. His lips form the same subtle and boyish grin he had this morning as he stood in the doorway after his shower.

  A small, pathetic wave of my hand greets him. Once I do, his grin morphs into a ridiculous smile. Initially, me showing up may have stumped him, but maybe he’s happy I’m here.

  “Wait here,” Jerry instructs. “And take this,” he says next, handing me a drink.

 
The gold liquid contents inside the red plastic cup holds zero appeal. After my drunken stupor last night, I’m thankful I didn’t wake up sick. I dutifully hold it, though. It’s giving me something to concentrate on.

  Ryleigh stands from her table, leaving Emilee behind as she rushes to my side and emits a breathy, “Oh my God, girl. You clean up nice!”

  I really don’t. Addie did this to me.

  My best friend insisted on not only what I should wear, but also how to fix my hair. It’s swept up with small pins, decorated with diamond studs at the end. Long, wistful strands of it fall from the updo, framing my face and neck.

  My vote of jeans and sweatshirt was immediately denied. Thus, this outfit isn’t mine, it’s hers. As cliché as it may sound, Addie borrowed me her favorite ‘little black dress,’ which thankfully fit me to a tee. It’s not, in any way, risky or revealing. Rather it’s simply stated and modestly elegant.

  “Thank you,” I respond.

  A compliment given by her, dressed to the nines in her pale pink evening dress, says a lot, and in the face of this uncertain approach, I appreciate her for it.

  “It’s so busy in here,” I observe, keeping focus on my new friend, rather than fall to intimidation with the stares coming from the rest of the crowd, namely Brock.

  “I met him,” Ryleigh whispers, bending close to do so in my ear. “He’s hot.”

  A small sliver of possessiveness comes first, followed by a blistering bout of jealousy I have no right to feel.

  “He’s not much of a talker, though. He’s hardly said a word to any of us.”

  The blistering jealousy morphs to irrational relief.

  “And he’s not sticking around here long. He told Willow he’s ready to head up to his room. He’s staying in the penthouse.”

  This I already know, but I play it off with, “Nice.”

  “The girls love him already,” she tells me. “I don’t think any of us really believed he’d be much to look at, but he is.”

  “This is good,” I casually return.

  “They’re going to be announcing his first date choice in the morning. I feel for the woman already.”

  Curiously, I ask, “Why’s that?”

  “First blood drawn,” she replies. “These girls may be oh-so-pretty, but I’ve heard some of them talk about the others. Not nice,” she tsks.

  Oh God, I can imagine. Nine women, vying for the same man—a man who looks like Brock and has money. This is college cattiness 101. I’ve already taken the course, hated it, and assuredly dropped the class that followed.

  “Well, at least you like him,” I confirm, having nothing else to say. “That’s something.”

  Ryleigh’s eyebrows furrow. “You don’t sound excited to be here,” she observes. Her hands move to her hips, and she stares down at me with disappointment. “Are you still pining over your first-ever one-night stand?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Did you hear that? Brooke pined.

  Brock

  -

  “Interesting question.” I step in to stand behind Brooke as to interrupt the conversation between the two chatty women. “Are you still pining over your first-ever one-night stand?”

  Ryleigh’s eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open before Brooke can answer.

  When Brooke turns in place, I’m standing close. Too close. Without caring about the attention of the others who can see, my hand touches her hip and I hold it there as if I’ve done so a thousand times.

  Her body heat burns my palm.

  Her tremble scores my fingertips.

  Her sweet smile cements to my memory.

  “Hi,” she whispers between us, then swallows hard.

  Her eyes, shining with relief, look up at me before one side of her lips tip up into a knowing grin. She’s busted. Her reasons for leaving my room this morning weren’t just about me being here and why, but also her.

  The first time I laid eyes on her tonight, standing across the room, nothing mattered. Her hypocritical leave from my room this morning was forgotten. The accusations held in her disappointed stare were meaningless.

  She’s here now, and I couldn’t be happier to see her.

  “Hi,” I return, just as quietly as she did.

  “This is Brooke,” Ryleigh stutters, but gets herself together to finish introductions. “Brooke, this is Brock.”

  I’d spoken to Ryleigh earlier. Our less than cordial conversation was not her fault. As she chattered on about her family back in Louisiana, I stayed quiet. I missed what she was saying because I was sulking over an amber-eyed woman who made me laugh with her wit, smile with her awkwardness, and ache to touch her body.

  “Hi,” I say again, for lack of anything better.

  As I stand close, the familiar vanilla scent of her hair, the delicate smell of her skin, and sweet musk of her perfume takes me in. Visions of her lying next to me in my bed come easy.

  “Good! You’ve met.” Jerry pops up at our side.

  Taking a small step back, I keep my eyes on Brooke, and she does the same.

  “We have met,” I admit, in more ways than one. “Brooke...”

  “Malloy.” Jerry finishes before she can, then quickly admonishes, “You have her file. Did you not review that one either?”

  “I didn’t,” I admit sharply, then press further in fun, in an effort to make Brooke uncomfortable. “I had a very late night and woke to a pain in the ass morning. I didn’t get the chance to review anything.”

  Brooke’s lips get tight, and her eyes narrow. Her look of disdain shouldn’t be hot, but it is. I’m enjoying her pout.

  “You have to read all the material I give you, Brock,” Jerry drones. “There’s information in those files that is important.”

  Taking my eyes off Brooke for the first time, I shift an icy glare in Jerry’s direction. His incessant requests are wearing me down. As he takes in my expression, his face pales.

  “Can I have a word with her?” I clip, turning back to Brooke and still not giving two shits about those who could be in witness. “Alone.”

  Ryleigh replies, “Sure,” at the same time Jerry returns, “By all means, you’re the boss.”

  The two of them walk off in the direction of the crowd, leaving Brooke and I standing alone near the hotel door. My hand wraps around her wrist, and with not so careful steps, I lead us out into the foyer of the lounge.

  “You owe me an apology,” I start once we’re clear of all others.

  Her eyes narrow again. “A what?”

  “You beat feet so fast out of my room this morning, I got lost in the dust.”

  Smiling, Brooke says, “Beat feet?”

  Unable to control my urge to touch her, I take a step closer. Her back is near the wall, and if I keep pushing, I’ll have her trapped.

  “You left me,” I accuse.

  “I did,” she returns. “The night was over.”

  “It didn’t have to be,” I insist. “I wanted to have breakfast with you.”

  The gears in her mind spin. She looks beyond my shoulder, rather than at me.

  Reaching toward her, my hand holds her waist. When her back hits the wall behind her, our chests meet. I’m not about to give her too much room to think, at least not until I figure out what the hell is happening and how I feel about all of it.

  Slowly, my eyes scan her face. My attention’s captured when her pink tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip. Seeing this, I move my gaze to her neck, just in time for her to swallow. Her high heels add another four inches to her average frame, making her still shorter than me, but not by much.

  “Come to my room,” I insist, still looking down between us. When Brooke says nothing, I raise my head and push, “After this is over. I want you to come to my room.”

  Looking around the foyer, we both notice a few of the girls have started to file out of the lounge. No one but Ryleigh, followed closely by Kylee, offers us a second glance.

  Rolling her eyes, probably at Kylee, she turns to ans
wer with a stern, “No.”

  “Now you say no,” I bait. “You weren’t saying no last night.”

  She laughs, but it’s not real. I sense contempt and maybe a little hurt. “You’re here to pick a woman to marry. I’m not her.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do, considering you’ve already...” Her face turns a shade of pink, and she pauses before biting her bottom lip.

  I’m already well aware that Brooke’s not good with dirty talk. Her attempt last night was humorous, not erotic. I like that about her.

  “We’ve already...”

  “Fucked?” I charge.

  “Yeah.” The ire in her tone for my label isn’t lost on me. “We’ve fucked.”

  Looking around again, we both notice more than a few of the girls are staring. I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks. I only care about what the woman in front of me does. I’m suddenly aware, I want the chance I deserve.

  “We have a lot to do tomorrow. I should hang with Addie.”

  “The taping.” I remember. “Come to my room for a drink. That’s it. We’ll talk about whatever you want.”

  My offer is tempting, and again, I note the thoughts are spinning behind her eyes.

  Without giving another moment for her to contemplate turning my offer down, I demand, “Give me your phone.”

  “My phone?”

  “I’m putting my number in it for you to text me later.”

  “You’re bossy,” she snaps, but she pulls the cell phone from her purse.

  Checking the time first, she holds it between us. It’s already closing in on eight. With any luck, we’ll both be out of here within the hour.

  I grab the phone from her grasp, where I find a picture of someone who could be her Dad and her. I study the image, framing her smile to memory, as well as the loving expression her father has as he holds her close at his side. I never had that, so I look at it with appreciation that she does.

  Once I’ve finished adding my contact, I send a text to my number to ensure I have hers. “Will you come up for a drink?”