F*CK Reality: Take One Read online

  Her eyes roll again, but a small smile plays at her lips. “A drink is what got us into this.”

  “Maybe,” I test. “But, from what I heard, you’re still pining over your first-ever one-night stand, remember?”

  Those beautiful eyes I saw my reflection in last night stare back at me, making it impossible to walk away. So, rather than do so, I wait.

  Finally, she agrees. “I’ll text you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mary Ann should keep her hands to herself.

  Brooke

  -

  Two hours later, I’m fidgeting as I stand outside Brock’s penthouse suite. The marble floor may as well be a creaking, old, wooden plank that’s walking me to future heartache. My hands are shaking, and my heart is beating faster than it did after finding out he was the millionaire bachelor.

  I haven’t given much thought to how Brock’s made his millions and it doesn’t matter. I don’t care about money as a lot of women do. I never did. I only wanted to experience the adventure I promised my dad I would. Though, this isn’t quite the adventure he probably wished for his only daughter to have. Admittedly, so far, I’ve enjoyed it just the same.

  “Fuckin’ finally,” Brock greets, looking winded and a little exasperated as his door swings open. “Jesus Christ, what took so long?”

  As he steps to the side, allowing me to pass, I don’t take my eyes off him. I can’t. Brock’s rugged appearance makes my mouth water and my stomach flutter.

  His hair is damp, his chest shining with drops of water he missed after his shower. The hickey I gave him last night stands out, and I smirk to myself in memory of how it came to be there. He’s wearing a pair of black running pants with two thin, white lines running up the sides, and his feet are bare. He also smells like fresh soap and sandalwood.

  Mesmerizing. He’s managed to intoxicate me and I haven’t had a drink.

  “Gettin’ a good look?” he quips, a knowing smile playing on his full red lips. “I don’t mind, but—”

  “I’m here,” I press, trying to stay focused, “to talk.”

  Stepping in front of me, close, he looks down. His hand comes up to move the hair from my eyes, then he trails his finger down my temple to the apple of my cheek. His touch is soft and sweet. My eyes close, and my head tilts for added connection.

  His lips touch the side of mine once, then pulls back to touch them again on the other. When I draw my mouth open to greet him properly, his tongue enters. Small thrusts of teasing twirls battle with mine in contest. Only a few seconds pass before his patience wanes, and his hand comes to hold the back of my head, clutching it tightly before I concede control and he takes over. Aggressively, he drives his tongue in and out as subtle moans emit from both of us. He tastes like beer. Foolishly, I’m lost in the moment, as if it’s last night all over again.

  “What took you so fucking long?” he breathes after pulling back, eying me with suspicion. “Two hours?”

  He’s been watching the clock.

  I don’t answer his ridiculous question. Instead, I follow his silent steps into the living room of his suite. I note his temporary place is much bigger than I remember and definitely brighter with the lights on. The main room’s television is muted, but turned to the same channel it had been on last night in his room. Baseball stats run along the ticker at the bottom.

  “Brock?” I call out, but he keeps walking, saying nothing.

  The view of his back, sleek and powerful, emits another flutter. This time, not to my stomach, but between my legs. Once he’s made it to the kitchenette, Brock rounds the breakfast bar and stops behind it.

  This is good. I can’t think clearly without maintaining at least some distance.

  Doing all I can not to focus on his alluring presence, I set my purse down and get comfortable in one of the wooden stools across from where he stands.

  “I may or may not owe you an apology,” I start, picking up from where we left off downstairs.

  His head tips to the side as though he’s thinking; the same way he did when he saw me from across the room.

  Regardless of how intimate I find his gesture, I power on. “I should’ve told you why I was in L.A.”

  “I’ll accept your apology,” he casually replies. Bracing both hands against the bar, he leans in to get closer. “And I’ll apologize for whatever else you want me to, except last night. I won’t be sorry for that.”

  Nodding my agreement, I say nothing. I won’t apologize for that either. And, if I’m being honest, being that this adventure already has a predetermined expiration date, I’m willing to spend more time with him, doing the same thing we did last night. Again and again, if he’s so inclined.

  “So, you’re here to find a husband,” he smirks at my expense. “How’s that even possible?”

  “I’m not necessarily here to find a husband,” I correct. “And how’s what possible?”

  “You’re not here to find a husband?”

  “No,” I admit. “I came here because Addie talked me into it. I’ve never been spontaneous.”

  “Got that,” he smarts. “You told me this repeatedly last night.”

  “Yeah.” I wince. I was an idiot for running my mouth, admitting my inexperience.

  “You’re pretty,” he compliments. “And fun.”

  When he stops talking, I choose to do the same. The smug way he’s biting down on his bottom lip is a clear indication he’s not finished making fun.

  “Say what you’re thinking,” I demand. “Go ahead.”

  I hate guessing games. I’d rather just hear whatever he’s pondering behind those beautiful brown eyes.

  “You’re hot as fuck in bed, too. One touch and you all but explode.”

  Scratch that, I didn’t need to hear what he was thinking.

  “Thanks?” That’s all I’ve got. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  He laughs, and it’s loud. His smile is wide, and his eyes are dancing.

  When he brings his focus back to me, he continues with, “Jesus Christ, you don’t have a clue, do you?”

  No, apparently I don’t. “A clue about what?”

  “Nothing.”

  Staring at each other from across the small kitchen bar, he says nothing, and neither do I. This entire situation screams ridiculous. I’ve already had sex with the star of the show, the man who is here to pick a wife. Carelessly, we’ve crossed a line we can’t uncross. I wouldn’t want to, anyway. I had a lot of fun.

  “I’m taking Mary Ann Steiner out Friday night for the first date,” he informs me. “It was the girl Jerry suggested I use to ‘get my feet wet,’ whatever the hell that means.”

  A slight pang of jealousy knocks. The knock should go unanswered because, of course, he’s taking Mary Ann on a date, as well as all those other women.

  “Say something about it,” he prods. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “Say what? What am I supposed to say? Of course you’re taking her out. All those women are all here for you.”

  Walking around the bar, Brock prowls toward me. With his chest on full display, I barely hold my concentration. That small pang of jealousy turns to an unfounded rush of greed the minute both his hands touch my thighs. Then he spreads them, making room for his large body to lean in closer.

  “Tell me, Brooke,” he whispers, running his hands roughly against my jeans; back and forth, inflaming every inch he covers. “What did last night mean?”

  “What did it mean?”

  Hell if I know exactly what it meant. I’ve been listening to Addie, which has confused the ever-loving crap out of me. Her response to my first one-night stand, then the ‘after’ that concluded it, left me spinning.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do,” he counters. “I had a good time.”

  “I did, too,” I answer immediately. It’s the truth.

  “This is so fucked,” he breathes, touching his forehead to mine. “I’ve been here just over a day and I don’t want
to take the first girl out.”

  Mary Ann is gorgeous. She was one of the first women here I noticed. Her long, red hair is her most startling feature. No way it’s colored, either, as her eyebrows are a perfect match. I can only imagine the other parts of her are a match, as well. And to think Brock might...

  “She’s very pretty,” I tell him, downplaying my absurd jealousy. “She’s a veterinarian, too.”

  “I like dogs, Brooke. They’re the only animal which appeals to me in any way.”

  “Dogs?”

  Shit, this figures. I love dogs. Not cats. They scare me.

  “Cats creep me out,” he advises.

  Well, of course.

  “And don’t get me started on rodents.”

  “So, you go on your date, have fun, and you talk about dogs.”

  “She’s from Missouri.”

  I hadn’t known this. His knowing implies he’s talked to her already, small talk or not. Again, that same jealousy flows to the surface. I quickly remind myself he’s not mine. He owes me nothing.

  “Missouri sounds nice,” I offer, again in an attempt to hide my baseless hurt.

  He studies my reaction, maybe waiting for me to admit there was more about last night than there truly was. It was random, a chance encounter which hundreds of people experience all the time. That was it. Nothing more.

  Right?

  “I should go.” I start to stand.

  After I’ve grabbed my purse from the counter, Brock steps forward, pressing his body flush with mine.

  “When you walked in here tonight, you let me kiss you,” he observes, “and you sure as hell kissed me back.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Gratuitously,” he adds with a smug smirk.

  “Gratuitously?”

  “If I would’ve put my hand up your skirt, bet you would’ve been ready for a lot more than my mouth on yours,” he huskily decrees.

  Sadly, maybe pathetically even, knowing he’s here to date eight other women, he’s still right. I don’t admit this, but instead remain quiet.

  “You like my mouth on you.” He breathes the words against my lips.

  Of course I do. I like how he puts his lips on me. The slow and sensual building of the kiss starts before diving into the heat and passion. I also like the way he touches me, his fingertips warm, leaving their prints to seep into every pore of my body in a way it misses him when he’s gone.

  “And I like having my mouth on you,” he whispers, now against my ear. The shivers trailing down my spine incite the warm flutters of need I haven’t been able to forget or deny. “Admit it.”

  Playing it off, I rear my head back. He straightens his so we’re nearly eye-to-eye. “Yeah? I like to kiss.”

  Annoyed by my response, he steps back, running his fingers through his still damp hair. “You’re not at the very least annoyed with any of this?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Yes, I’m annoyed because I like him.

  And no, I’m not, because we’ve just met, and there hasn’t been much, other than sex and small conversation to speak of.

  “I don’t like that answer.”

  “It’s all I have to give.”

  A soothing calm washes over him before he steps back into me. My back hits the kitchenette’s counter as his body presses into mine. This time, I don’t close my eyes to avoid him. This time, I meet mine with his and wait.

  “Stay here tonight,” he whispers softly, his nose grazing the apple of my cheek. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

  The palms of both his hands expand around my waist, his thumbs igniting trails of heat as they each caress the base of my chest. The now violent flutters in my stomach and the tingling between my legs cause me to sway. My breath hitches, and my thighs quiver in remembrance.

  “If I do, it won’t mean anything more than it did last night,” I insist, convincing only myself. He’s made no promises for more than sex, and I don’t expect him to, being the reason he’s here in the first place and all.

  “It will mean something, Brooke,” he corrects, whispering in my ear. “It’ll mean I get to listen to you moan my name as I sink my cock into you again.”

  When I stop breathing all together, he smiles. The feel of his lips forming a grin against my cheek is evident. He’s making it even harder to walk away.

  Brock is sexy and playful. He’s a beautiful man, in all ways. He’s friendly, fun, and charming. He’s boyishly adorable. He’s also an inexperienced woman’s personal cocktail for disaster.

  And, of course, I’m already craving another drink.

  So, I’m staying the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rest in peace, Miss Piggy.

  Brock

  -

  The last time I was on a date similar to this one, I was a senior in high school. My ever-enthusiastic, matchmaking mother had just met a woman her age at the state fair. The same woman turned out to be a lot like my mother. The two hit it off like women often do, thus immediately delving into deep discussions about their children and what they think they know to be best. This is where my mother insisted I take her new friend’s daughter out on a date for sushi because Charlotte,—I think that was her name—had never been.

  Without feeling any guilt, I’ll admit that Mary Ann is a nice girl. And, I’ll give her this, she’s also very pretty. She’s successful in every way my father would appreciate, and sweet enough for my mother to adore. I’m sure Jerry chose her first for those very reasons. I’ll admit, I thought if I enjoyed her company, then this date would lead to possibilities of becoming more.

  Unfortunately, I’ve found I’m not the least bit interested.

  “Sometimes, I get called out to the farms to birth them. My job is rewarding and also important.”

  I’m sure it is, if you’re a pig in desperate need of a mid-wife.

  When Jerry advised I’d be taking Mary Ann to Deangelo’s Italian Bistro for dinner, I wasn’t overly enthused. Of course he noticed, then quickly went on to explain Deangelo’s is a quiet family-owned restaurant outside of the city. Thus, I knew ahead of time the forty-five-minute commute would most likely encourage conversation, as I’m sure all upcoming dates will. However, it ended up being forty-five minutes of awkward silence.

  Between this afternoon’s full-on meet and greet, which ended up feeling like speed dating and was taped with the cameras’ lens in our faces, I’m already exhausted. Not to mention, I was given specific instructions on what I could and couldn’t say or do during tonight’s dinner.

  You can’t ask her about her past relationships.

  You can’t inquire if she’s been tested for any transmitted diseases, sexual or otherwise.

  You can’t reveal any of your personal fetishes.

  I’m not sure who put this list of dos and don’ts together, but whoever did has to be single, living alone, and caring for eight cats.

  I meant what I told Brooke about cats. They’re creepy.

  “How many kids do you see yourself having?” Mary Ann asks the question before sucking in another noodle of her vegetarian dish of eggplant spaghetti.

  Looking down at my plate of Italian sausage, I woefully recount her sorrowed story in regards to how viciously poor, wee piglets are treated before being led to their final resting place—a slaughterhouse.

  Mary Ann’s graphic description entailed how they must feel as they’re taken to be destroyed. Not to mention her award winning play-by-play regarding the process of how blood is drained from their stiffened carcasses before they’re laid out to be cut up into small pieces.

  Yeah.

  I push my plate away, wondering how to make a garden grow before responding, “Haven’t given it much thought, I guess. Two? Maybe three?”

  Her well-groomed eyebrow cocks. “That’s all?”

  “I didn’t come from a big family,” I explain, which is something she already knows.

  I do know she came from a big family, though. She’s told me about e
ach and every one of her seven extremely successful siblings who are set to take over the farm this fall as soon as the youngest graduates from business school. They plan to diversify, expanding into crops, as well as more cattle.

  Dear God, can carrots be drained of their juices before being brutalized then murdered?

  Taking a healthy drink of wine, my thoughts wander to what Brooke could be up to tonight. When I said goodbye to her at my door this morning, she was distracted. She was too worried about being caught on my floor to give me the goodbye I wanted. Not so much as a kiss. I didn’t like that. At all. And it won’t happen again.

  After we had sex last night, I didn’t let her leave. Of course I didn’t force her to stay, but I may have used my mouth to coerce her into coming back to me when she did make the attempt to get away.

  I like her in my bed, and I want her there again tonight.

  “Will you excuse me for a minute?” I ask, abruptly.

  Mary Ann nods with a simple, “Sure.”

  Once standing, I turn to walk away. The one-man camera crew Jerry informed would be accompanying us tonight comes up slowly from behind. The onlookers of the restaurant don’t hide their gawking stares as we walk from the dining room out into the small hallway near the back.

  “Give me a few minutes?” I request, looking at Clive, the cameraman.

  The relieved look he returns is immediate. Along with explaining that Clive would be accompanying us, Jerry also added that when either my date, or myself, requested cameras to be shut off, it was to be done so immediately. However, we weren’t to insist this happen unless we truly desired absolute privacy. I don’t know what qualifies as ‘desire for privacy,’ but I’ll be using and abusing this privilege often.

  “Any problem if I break for a quick drink at the bar?” Clive queries with a hopeful expression.

  “None,” I gladly permit. “I’ll find you when we’re ready.”

  He smiles, looks down, then raises his eyes to me. “I thought tonight was gonna go a lot differently, since you’re so popular with the ladies and all. Glad it didn’t.”

  “Hazards of the job, huh?” I joke. He’s probably seen more than his fair share of outrageous behavior.