CHAPTER 25
Emmett
I STAND IN THE middle of The Ranch, watching the crew as they set up cameras for the episode. It smells like Lysol, and cheesy western-themed art hangs on the walls.
The entire place is straight-up… cowboy cosplay.
Hell, the patrons are even dressed like it’s Halloween, though I’m sure the vast majority of them never stepped foot on a ranch in their lives. I can tell by their boots. Just a little too much polish, no lines in the leather from wear. Barely broken in. They attempt to act natural, like they’re just enjoying their night, while
we set up in a cordoned area.
But mostly they gawk.
I pat myself on the back for not ruining The Sugar Saloon with this shit. The fact that I already fucking hate this place makes being here a little easier. But it doesn’t stop me from beating myself up for volunteering for this exercise in embarrassment.
It’s for the money, I remind myself again. Because that’s the only thing keeping me going at this point.
I groan and turn toward the bar, thinking a drink might help take the edge off.
Seeing that the drink special tonight is “Pornstar Shots” fills me with dread.
And nausea. I turn away and see Dick Wad chatting with Teri. His loud laugh is like nails on a chalkboard—it’s the same one he’d hit me with when I confronted him about how my name got leaked.
I turn again. The women giggle from their rounded booth on the corner of the dance floor, shooting furtive glances my way. The kind that make me want to run until my legs give out.
I glance longingly at the front door, seriously considering my options. Ever since the news got wind of this, I’ve been dreading filming.
It’s for the money.
Then light slices through the dark bar as the door opens. Julia walks into The Ranch looking like she owns the fucking place. A denim dress paired with flat strappy sandals and those curls out in full force have me standing and staring with a dry mouth.
Because while I hate everything about this moment, I very much do not hate her.
Still, a part of me wishes she weren’t here, watching me do this thing. I wish I weren’t so damn tangled up over her.
But I am. And we’re both skirting the issue.
At the ice cream shop, I was immediately excited to see her. Then reality had sunk in. I’d immediately felt awkward as hell at our unexpected encounter and then covered for it by antagonizing her brother like a cocky teenager.
Overall, Julia Silva has me acting like a feral dog, and I’m at a loss for how to get myself back under control.
I never wanted this—I specifically never wanted to feel like this.
But I do. And it stresses me the fuck out.
I scrub a hand over my face, wiping the light dusting of perspiration from my forehead as Richard greets the table of daters. They all brighten at his approach, except Catherine, who eyes him as though he might be a secret serial killer.
And who knows? At this point I wouldn’t put it past the guy.
“So tonight…” He launches into how he wants the episode to play out, and I have to work to keep my eyes from rolling as I listen in on the directions he’s giving them. Jada must be on the same page because she glances over her shoulder at me before subtly lifting her hand and miming a dramatic yawn—clearly she’s hating this too. And it doesn’t surprise me at all that the women are figuring out that this might be the least organic dating show of all time. The women are coached and produced endlessly, and I’m awkward as hell in front of the cameras.
Plus, right now, all I can think about is Julia.
The scent of her perfume hits me as she approaches. My gaze trails the line of silver buttons climbing from the hemline of her dress to the neckline where the tops of her breasts swell subtly.
Images flash in my mind. My hand on her chest. My fingers making quick work of those buttons. Who am I kidding? Those look like too much work. I’d
tug that dress up and get right to making her scream my name.
“Emmett.” She nods her head in a casual greeting, as if we didn’t share the most memorable kiss of my life. Which is saying something because, well, it’s not as though I’ve been precious about the women in my life.
But something tells me that kiss will be the standard that everyone else will fall short of.
“Jules,” I murmur, playing it equally cool. Especially since Richard has turned to watch us. I hope to god he didn’t see me eye-fucking her from across the bar.
“Julia,” he announces. “Good. You’re here. Paperwork all signed?”
He quirks a condescending brow at her, and guilt assaults me for changing the bar without telling her. But I’d spent two nights tossing and turning over the time I spent with her at The Sugar Saloon. And try as I might, I couldn’t convince myself it was nothing. It was a happy little bubble. And I was the one to burst it.
But I wanted to be the one to fix it too.
So here we are at the Disneyland of country bars instead.
I can’t explain it, and I don’t want to overanalyze it. I’m just working on instinct—the one that is dragging me kicking and screaming after Julia fucking Silva at every turn.
“Yep! Permits are all set,” she chirps, holding a yellow folder up triumphantly.
He’d dressed her down, but she’d just taken that as a challenge to prove him wrong.
I admire that about her. That drive. That toughness. That’s why her confession about trusting me hit so damn hard. She’d been vulnerable with me, and I’d shut down.
And then I’d kissed her. Like that would fix everything. I scrub a hand over my stubble and groan inwardly, because I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. I might as well be stumbling around in the dark for how out of my element I am right now.
Dick Wad claps once before striding toward her. “Attagirl,” he says, leering just enough to make me want to rip his fucking head off. Instead, I settle for meandering in their direction.
He takes the folder and flips it open, thumbing through the pages and nodding. “Good. Well, Emmett, you’ve got a date set with Evelyn during the top
three week at an art gallery and then another, where you’ll go zip-lining, and you can take whoever you want.”
I cross my arms, growing tired of Richard’s obsession with Evelyn. “Top three week? I haven’t even made my choice for eliminations tonight.”
The showrunner hits me with a smarmy smile. “Well, taking one out of the mix for entertainment value won’t hurt anything. She stays. End of conversation.”
“That’s a bold—”
“Way for you to make a lot of money?” Richard finishes for me, his expression fully loaded with innuendo. Because unfortunately, he knows how badly my family and I need this extra income.
My molars clamp together, and I force myself not to look at Julia.
“It’s been suggested to the girls that they should try to move their relationship with you to the next level,” Dick Wad continues flippantly.
Relationship.
Laughable.
What’s not funny is that for the first time in my life, guaranteed female attention makes me uneasy.
“So do me a solid and lay some pipe or something. Ha!” He laughs so loudly as he slaps my shoulder that Julia flinches beside me.
“All right,” she interjects without sparing me a single glance. “I’m going to go check in with the manager, make sure everything is in line before we get started.”
As she walks away, I watch. Wishing I could talk to her, but not sure what I’d say. I don’t know what to do in this situation. I’m torn between knowing I need to follow through with this show and not wanting to because… I don’t want to hurt her.
When I tear my eyes away, I find Richard regarding me coolly. “Careful with letting that problem get in the way of the show,” he says. “Or I’ll fix it for you.”
Richard’s threat has had me walking on eggshells all night. I dance with each of the women, feeling more like a marionette than a man. I’m dodging stray hands
left and right, and I can tell by the scowl on Dick Wad’s face that my lack of enthusiasm is pissing him off.
I can’t bring myself to look at Julia, though I know she’s here.
Because I’m not an actor. I’m just a guy who has always excelled at keeping things casual. And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel casual at all.
It’s fucking confusing.
I’m dancing with Cookie now. She’s been detailing her skincare routine for the past several minutes. I’m pretending to pay attention, while wondering how the fuck I—a world-class athlete—ended up getting paid to dance with a woman
named Cookie.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
“Then I have to lock it all in to maintain my moisture barrier, so for that I like to use—”
“My turn,” Evelyn—a.k.a., the fucking worst—cuts in out of the blue.
“This song isn’t over,” Cookie says as she’s jostled back by Evelyn’s shove.
“You’ve already had one-on-one time during the hiking date.”
“Right. Which is how I know you’re putting the poor guy to sleep.” Evelyn twists her lips into a cruel smile. “He needs someone with a higher IQ than yours to entertain him.”
I stop, slightly shaken by the aggression in her voice.
Cookie steps forward, eyes blazing as she jabs a finger toward Evelyn. “What the fuck did you just say to me, you uppity bitch?”
Evelyn looks pleased as she crosses her arms. “At least you recognize that I’m superior.”
Cookie’s laughs, incredulous. “You strut around the house bragging about kissing Emmett, bragging about your job. Babe, we all know you’re a fake life coach sponsored by Mommy and Daddy.”
Evelyn’s dark eyes narrow, a spiteful expression morphing her features.
I take another step back.
“No one in their right mind would hire you. You can’t even coach yourself into success. You’re just here to be an actress—but you’ll fail at that, too.”
I hold a fist up to my mouth, stifling the disbelieving laugh that threatens to lurch from my lips. Because, fuck, this is vicious.
I take another step away, just in time to avoid Evelyn’s hand darting out to… yank Cookie’s hair. Then it’s a blur of curses and swinging arms.
It reminds me of Parker and Riley as children. Small, wild, annoying children.
And I’m in the middle, an active participant in so many ways. A night that already felt embarrassing has tipped straight into humiliating.
“Ladies!” Akira attempts to push her way between them. “Have a little fucking self-respect. You’re both too good for this!”
But they don’t seem to hear her. They just keep at it.
I watch in horror, jaw slack, hands clasped behind my neck. When I move to intervene, I feel Teri’s hand on my arm. “Not yet,” she murmurs, observing them raptly.
I step away from her to take in the scene before me. The chaos. The spectacle.
Women fighting, cameras recording, Richard grinning like a kid on Christmas morning—my self-loathing hits an all-time high.
For the first time in weeks, I give in to the instinct to run. I slip off the dance floor, mostly unnoticed—thanks to the chaos erupting around me—and make a beeline for the front door.
I stride into the night air, past the row of cars out front, and around the corner to a shadowed spot. Quiet surrounds me as I lean against the wall, tip my head back, and let my eyes fall shut, drawing long, slow breaths to ease my rising tension.
Within moments, quick footsteps approach, as though someone is jogging in my direction. They round the corner, and I don’t open my eyes. I’m reverting to that thing little kids do, where they seem to believe that if they can’t see you, you can’t see them.
“Emmett,” Julia’s usually smooth voice practically hisses. “What are you doing? You need to be in there, dealing with this in front of the cameras.” She steps closer, and I smell her. Patchouli and green grass. “Look at me.”
I don’t want to open my eyes because I know how fucking hot she looks in that stupid denim dress, and the minute I lay eyes on her, I’m going to do
something I shouldn’t.
Trouble.
She steps closer, nudging the toe of my boot with her foot. “I don’t know what kind of meltdown you’re having at the moment, but you can snap out of it anytime now. Richard is breathing down my neck. He’s got his eye on you and on me. You do know that, right?”
I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut tighter. Yes, I know all of this.
And none of it matters. Not as much as— “Emmett! This is what you signed up for.” Her voice cracks, and the sound splinters my chest. I can hear the hurt in her tone. “Your family is depending on you. You need this money. You need—”
My eyes snap open. “Need? You know what I fucking need?”
I don’t give her a chance to respond. My hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around her slender neck as we collide. I swallow her surprised gasp as I take her mouth.
If our first kiss was tentative or careful, this one is chaos. It’s throwing caution to the wind. It’s need and desperation and regret all wrapped up in one rough package.
Her fists twist in my shirt as though she’d like to shove me away, but instead
she pulls me closer.
She kisses me back.
Lips working, tongues tangling—we clash. Behind the world’s lamest country bar, under a moonlit sky, I kiss the only girl in the world I actually want.
My free hand slips up the metal buttons of her dress. I cup her breast, thumb the outline of her nipple through the dense material.
She moans into my mouth as her palms slide over my ribs.
A shiver races down my spine at her touch, the reality of her kissing me back.
I’ve never felt lucky to be kissed.
Until now.
I count my lucky fucking stars that Julia Silva is even giving me the time of day.
Gripping her hip, I wedge a leg between hers and push her down onto my thigh. A desperate gasp zips between us when the heat of her cunt presses against me.
“You like that?” I murmur against her damp lips.
She peeks back at me from under heavy lids, then grinds herself against me.
That’s all the assurance I need.
I flip us and press her back against the wall. “Your turn is over, Jules. Now we do this the way I want.” I rock my hips just enough to press my leg against her, watching her eyes flutter shut for a beat. “And what I want is to feel you saddle up and ride m—”
“Hey, Emmett? You out here?” Teri calls out into the parking lot, which freezes us in place.
We’re both panting, drugged eyes turning bright and aware in a matter of seconds. My hands don’t move, but my mind is flying a mile a minute.
“Shit.” I can hear the panic in Julia’s whisper. “I’m so fucked.”
I step away, holding my hands up. I don’t know much, but I know I don’t
want to be the reason for her demise.
“Go.”
“What?” She straightens, dusting her hands over her dress.
“Around the back. Go. Get out of here.”
I lean in to drop a quick kiss on her forehead and stride away, not wanting Teri to get around the corner and see Julia.
Then I call back, “Be right there!” as I walk straight back into the fire without a second thought. Something that is out of character for me, because I am certainly not known for my selflessness in most circles.
As I walk, I consider the number of times I’ve put someone else’s comfort ahead of my own.
And I realize that outside of my immediate family, I haven’t.
I’ve always rationalized that I suffered quite enough early in life. That now, as an adult, I’m entitled to avoid it at all costs.
Which is weird. Because for her? I’d burn.
