F*CK Reality: Take One Read online

  “Don’t be that way,” Drew whines. “Even if you lose, you win. Daddy Warbucks will be happy you’re coming to your senses and seriously looking to get hitched.”

  “Fuck you,” I reply, holding up a two of hearts and six of clubs.

  The hand is weak—I’m fucked.

  Tossing in the useless waste, I wait for the others to finish. During this time, I debate on whether I should walk away, leaving them to their game for six months without me. This oath we have to the dare isn’t one anyone here takes lightly. We’ve seen men, far better players than us, be led out by pride and never to return because they couldn’t handle even the smallest hit to their egos should they lose.

  “Sweet,” Nick drawls, pulling the stack of chips in front of him. “You wanna win, Brock, you’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “Game’s not over, dick.”

  All heads move toward the door, so I turn in my seat as well to find my sister Tate. She’s dressed down, thankfully, and as her eyes round the table, a look of cutting condensation pierces the room.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  It’s not surprising she’s here. Through the years, it was occasionally my duty to watch over her when my parents insisted they spend time together, and the evening happened to fall on a game night. In order to not miss a play, I’d pack my sister’s bag and bring her with me. She would bitch and moan, then threaten to tell our parents I was gambling. As long as I didn’t drink and I kept the language at the table as clean as I could, she never ratted me out.

  “How’d you get here?” I ask. All the others, except for Nick, ignore her and focus on the game.

  “Jess is using the restroom. We’re on our way to her house, and she didn’t want to use a public bathroom on the way. We let ourselves in. Hope that’s okay, Cody.”

  Cody nods. He’s used to my sister’s pushy and demanding disposition.

  Nick’s eyes widen. “Jess is here?”

  Jessica Landry is Tate’s older, more physically matured friend. That’s to say she’s still only eighteen. She’s been a family friend since our dad hired hers at Merritt. She’s a nice girl—albeit not so bright—and though I may go to hell for so much as thinking this, she’s also hot as fuck.

  “She just had a birthday, right?” Nick asks.

  Tate’s eyes narrow. She really doesn’t have much love for my friends.

  “Yeah, she did. So?”

  “Nothing,” Drew interjects, clearly seeing where this conversation is headed.

  Setting the cards down, I turn further around in my chair to inquire, “You have a ride home from Jess’s in the morning?”

  “Yep. Dad’s picking me up early and taking me to a job interview.”

  This surprises me, given that both my parents keep Tate on an extremely short leash. “Where’s the interview?”

  “Piney Hill Golf Course,” she answers with an overly exaggerated smile.

  “Why are you excited about working there, Tate? It’ll be hot as hell,” Cody responds, looking over at Tate. Seeing her animated expression, he raises his hand up to stop her from talking. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”

  She ignores his plea and answers anyway. “Young guys out in the sun all day. All tan and sweaty—so hot.”

  “See? I didn’t need to hear that,” Cody moans.

  Scoring my sister with a dirty look, I remind her, “No parties tonight.”

  Jess steps up from behind Tate and when I turn my gaze to Nick, it appears he has one thing on his mind, and it’s not good.

  “Cards!” Jess exclaims, looking over Tate’s shoulder. “Can we play?”

  The young girl is wearing next to nothing; a tight concert T-shirt, which displays her ample cleavage, as well as a short skirt, which showcases her long, athletic legs.

  Nick continues to gape, so I tell her, “No.”

  “Your brother’s playing for his life,” Drew lets on.

  Tate, though being a brat, clues in on what’s off and doesn’t take well to his tone.

  Sibling protection hails. “Wait, what? What’s that mean?”

  “That show, the one with all those girls trying to get the one guy to marry them will be in town next week. Monday, I think,” Cody explains before taking a drink of his beer.

  “Shut up!” Jess exclaims. “Marry a millionaire! You’d rock that shit, Brock. You’re perfect!”

  Approval from an eighteen-year-old girl who’d probably qualify as a contestant. Fuck.

  “Yep. And if Brock loses tonight’s game, he’s going to audition,” Mark interjects, like he hasn’t a care in the world. “Apparently, tonight we’re playing for potential nuptials, not money,” he complains, throwing his cards on the table while watching Nick rake in another stack.

  Back to business, Cody dismisses the girls. “Let’s move this along. Kids, you gotta go.”

  “Right. See ya,” Jess replies.

  Tate freezes. Standing rigid, her eyes don’t leave mine. “Mom told me what Dad’s making you do, and I think it’s bullshit,” she snaps. “She also told me you agreed. Don’t agree to do something stupid, Brock. Okay?”

  “I won’t. Go have fun, but be safe.”

  Without saying another word, her and Jess file out, leaving me alone with the assholes who may have my best interest at heart, but don’t have a clue as to how much I wish they didn’t.

  Chapter Four

  And the next contestant is...

  Brooke

  -

  “Christ, this place is packed!” Addie shouts out over the music, while pulling her purse in closer. “Look at all these people.”

  “What the hell is happening?” I ask, coming up to stand between my friends to get a better look.

  “I have no idea,” Sam replies. She’s staring into the crowd with eyes wide as saucers. I don’t think she’s blinked once since we walked in. “Is someone having a party?”

  On an average night, the one bar we have in town can be considered busy. This isn’t that. Cub’s Bar and Grill is busy.

  More than half the faces looking back at us are unrecognizable. No way, the people of this rowdy and boisterous crowd hail from our small town. The band, which I assume is about to play, is setting up their equipment on the small stage toward the back of the room.

  Both Monica and Valerie, Cub’s wait staff on duty, appear to be running themselves ragged. Monica’s red hair is thrown up with the sides threatening to fall from its clip, and Valerie’s normally pale face is flushed as she bends to listen to the man who appears to be ordering a drink. He’s also gazing down at her cleavage. I shudder to myself on her behalf.

  “We should go. We can try the bowling alley. It won’t be nearly as crowded,” I decide.

  “Not yet,” Addie objects. “Wait.”

  “We won’t get a table. If we do, there won’t be enough room for everyone,” I encourage, still hoping to persuade them to leave.

  Sam jumps up and down in place, waving her hands around in the air, and smiles. “Look! There’s Morgan and Amber. They found a table.”

  Damn it.

  We were close to leaving, I know we were. Obviously, the rest of the group has arrived before us and secured a table near the back. After Addie turns back to me and gives me a ‘don’t complain, just go with the flow,’ look, I follow closely behind.

  I’ve known my best friend long enough to understand each and every expression she uses to spear me in these instances.

  Addie’s hand clutches mine forcefully, ensuring she doesn’t lose me in the crowd. The brief glimpse of her other hand has her holding Sam’s in the same brutal manner. We’re single filing through the masses of dancing, laughing, and cheering patrons.

  I’m, of course, still clueless as to why they’re all here.

  “Can you believe this place?” Morgan queries, smiling up at all of us as we stand around the table. No one’s about to answer; we’re all lost in our own thoughts of unorganized chaos.

  The wall t
he table is backed against makes it a tight fit. There’s an emergency exit behind where Morgan and Amber remain seated. Being that I hate crowds, Addie hates people, and Sam hates not being the center of attention at her own party, I suspect I could jar it open and make a break for it. I don’t, though, only because Addie pulls my arm and I’m forced to take the open seat next to her. My back is to the crowd, so at least I don’t have to focus on what may or may not be happening within it.

  “What’s going on?” Sam leans down to ask Amber, while pulling a chair out at the end of the table to sit.

  “Do you know who Willow Ellis is?” Amber immediately questions back, looking first to Sam who shakes her head. After, her eyes move across the table to Addie who does the same.

  I do know who Willow Ellis is. If I’m being honest, I consider myself somewhat of a stalker.

  While working at my family’s inn, I’m sometimes required to fill in for a variety of employee’s shifts. This can entail working late evenings into the night, which is also when television’s primetime shows are on.

  Willow Ellis and Matt Sutton are considered America’s television sweethearts who run the show, ‘Marry A...’.

  Each year, the show is based on a variety of everyday people who are committed to wed during its season finale. When I say everyday people, I mean just that. Doctors, lawyers, beauticians, etc. Last season failed in ratings because the plumber they chose looked so much like Mario the gaming character it was uncanny. And a little creepy.

  The bride he ended up choosing flat refused to marry him and later became a celebrity for all the wrong reasons. Mario went home broken hearted, yet the blonde bombshell—I genuinely believe he fell in love with—went on to date, then marry a rich Italian playboy from New York.

  As such, I’m waiting not so patiently for karma to catch on and kick her ass. Not only that, I want to see it play out on the small black and white television I watch from the reception desk at the inn.

  “What about the show?” Addie inquires, her interest obviously piqued as Morgan had went on to explain without my hearing her.

  “Well, they’re here!” Amber exclaims, clapping her hands in front of her face like the cheerleader she most certainly was in high school. Her green eyes dance with excitement, and her blonde ponytail swooshes to her animated movement when she further explains, “They were supposed to scout the last female contestant in Des Moines this weekend, but word got out they were coming and it became too much for the camera men and staff. They all threatened to quit. So, they moved everything here!”

  Oh God.

  I’d like to roll my eyes in the face of her excitement, but I don’t get the chance.

  Addie turns in her chair, braces her hand on my forearm and declares, “We’re applying.”

  No freaking way did I hear her correctly. “Oh no, Addison Tindal, we are not.”

  She smiles, reaches across the table to Amber’s place, and yanks away the poor woman’s only shot. She brings it to her mouth, smiles before downing it, then looks back at me.

  “Live crazy, right? I mean, I’ve been telling you this forever.”

  “No,” I flatly refuse, sitting back in my chair, and pushing my hands between us.

  Standing up, Addie scans the crowd. I assume my crazy friend is looking for Willow and her group.

  I’m not moving.

  It’s not happening.

  The last thing I need to do is audition for a position on a show that could potentially set me up with some idiot I’d then have to seriously consider marrying.

  No way.

  “They aren’t accepting any more applications,” Morgan tells us. Her expression is one of pure defeat. She must have already tried to get in and was refused. “They’re only here now to celebrate and wrap up before heading back to California.”

  “Pity,” I smart, finally relaxing as I take in and exhale a needed breath.

  “This is nuts,” Sam exclaims. “Look!”

  In unison, our heads turn in the direction of the stage. A woman I vaguely recognize is standing front and center. There’s a short bald man holding a camera on his shoulders in the corner of the room. His camera’s lens is aimed at her.

  The woman walks back and forth, licking her lips for the crowd to appreciate. The gesture brings them to their feet, and shortly after, they start to cheer her on. Her long, red hair and pale skin come into contrast under the bright lights of the stage.

  “Oh my God,” Amber screams. “She’s gonna strip.”

  “These people are crazy,” I breathe. I squint, still unsure where I’ve seen her.

  “Why does she look so familiar?” Addie questions quietly in my ear. “Did we go to school with her?”

  Maybe that’s it. Although, she looks a few years younger than any of us.

  “Possibly?”

  “Brooke!” I vaguely hear my name being called from behind me, but continue trying to place the stripper as she removes her shirt.

  Her abs are tight. They’re also decorated heavily in an array of colorful floral tattoos. She swings the shirt above her head before tossing it out into the crowd. The cameraman turns in sync with the crowd of onlookers before a group toward the middle quickly makes an attempt to grab it.

  “Brooke!” another voice yells, this time louder, so I turn.

  “Oh, fucking hell,” I hear Addie hiss as we both turn to find my ex-boyfriend Jason walking in our direction.

  “No,” I mutter, but it’s to myself. No way the others caught my hesitation. “He can’t be here.”

  “The woman,” Addie states. I turn to her as she continues, “That’s the woman he was with...”

  No.

  It figures. I mean, it really would. My pathetic social life is coming to surmise my fate as the jilted lover of a man who left me for an apparent stripper. How lucky am I to get to deal with this mess face to face, again.

  “Christ, I want to go home,” I insist to my best friend, now standing even closer to me than she was.

  “You’re not going anywhere. Fuck that.”

  “Addie, please.”

  “Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Sam questions. Her face is red from the body heat being generated in here. Crowds don’t bode well for her anxiety, or mine.

  “I want to go,” I say again, grabbing my purse from the table.

  By the time I turn back around, I’m too late. Jason’s made his way to us.

  His long sleeve shirt is free of wrinkles, surprisingly so, considering this chaotic crowd. His hair is neatly in place, as per usual. Unfortunately, so is his sweet smile I once believed was only for me.

  The anger of rejection he recently exposed me to rises to the surface. My chest tightens, so I attempt to breathe deeply. My hands ball into fists at my sides as I turn to look at Addie. Her position is mirroring mine; a true friend standing by as back up.

  “What are you doing here?” I snap, but I don’t give him a chance to answer. “Seriously, Jason? You left me for a stripper?”

  His jaw ticks and his eyes grow dark, no longer the sweet man I once loved. Now he’s the adulterous man-child I hate.

  “No, Brooke. Cheryl’s not a fucking stripper. She’s having fun.”

  “Fun?”

  I point my finger in her direction as a gesture to prove this, being how she’s removed her skirt and is prancing up and down on the stage wearing next to nothing. Her lace bra doesn’t hide what’s underneath, and her thong is hanging on by mere threads—literally.

  “You cheated on then left me for fun?”

  “I didn’t leave you, Brooke. We grew apart.”

  He did not just say that.

  “Did he just...” Addie’s words get lost in my fury.

  “I loved you!” I scream, loud and above the music, just enough to attract a small audience. “I loved you, and you had sex with that woman...” I point to the stage for emphasis. “You left me for a freaking stripper!”

  “Calm down, Brooke,” he placates, raising his han
ds in surrender. “I just wanted to talk.”

  My eyes fill with unshed tears that are begging to fall. “Talk?” I shriek. “Now? I gave you four years, Jason. I thought we’d—”

  “We’d what?” he clips. “Get married? Have kids? Live the boring life your parents do?”

  Oh no. He didn’t.

  Looking down, Jason’s hand touches his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...” When he looks up to watch me turn in place he pleads, “Brooke, wait.”

  He must think I’m leaving. I’m not.

  As he takes two steps closer, his hand clutches my arm. I spring into a complete irrational reaction. The half-full glass of beer I’m holding shakes in my hand as I draw it closer to him. I take a deep breath before tossing its entire contents in his face. His eyes slam shut as the random drops continue spilling down his neck and onto his perfectly pressed shirt.

  “She just...” Sam’s speechless. This is new. “Oh shit.”

  Using his hand to clean the beer from his face, he opens his eyes.

  “I hate you!” I yell, not caring about those witnessing my ridiculous behavior. “I hate what you did! Jesus, you two deserve each other.”

  The crowd around us steps in closer. The women are cheering me on, while the men are booing at what I’ve done. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I need air.

  Pushing past Jason as he says nothing, my shoulder meets his, and I hit it hard. I meant to.

  “I don’t want to see you again,” I hiss into his ear. “You make me sick.”

  On the way to the bathroom, I hear footsteps drawing closer from behind. I recognize the click clack of high heel shoes and hope it’s someone from our group. Then pray like hell it’s really only Addie.

  “Brooke,” Addie calls from where she stands. “It’s okay. No one’s pissed. No one blames you for being pissed.”

  “I’m not pissed, Addie,” I explain, now gripping the white porcelain of the sink so hard my knuckles start to burn. “I’m hurt. I’m humiliated.”

  She doesn’t say anything other than, “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you see the woman he’s with now?” My voice comes through with agitation. After only three weeks, the hurt is still so raw. “She’s everything I’m not, Add. Everything I’ll never be.”