F*CK Reality: Take One

by Raegan Matthews

  “Matt mentioned Kate again this morning. He asked that I encourage you to take her out, just the two of you. He doesn’t feel she got a fair shot since she went to lunch with you and that Leslie.”

  Yes, that Leslie.

  Kate’s a sweetheart. I talked to her again last night after we wrapped up the ‘Are you ready to face your family?’ segment of the taping. She told me she wanted another opportunity for us to get to know each other better. Even though life around here has been chaotic, by all rights, if it wasn’t Brooke, it’d be Kate I’d choose to spend more time with.

  “I’ll think about it. For now, though—”

  “Scratch Joelle.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “So, all that’s left is Kate, Ryleigh, Kylee, Emilee, and Brooke. All good women with solid ratings with the audience,” he summarizes. “With four gone for certain, I’d say you’re narrowing your choices down quite nicely.”

  Sure he’d say this. He’s not the one stewing under the collar about every decision he’s made so far. Matt told me to go with my gut and not to overthink. I’m doing just as he’s instructed. Mary Ann, Joelle, Leslie, and Nancy aren’t in the running.

  Nancy was the only girl I didn’t have to so much as speak to before I casted her out. She’s a badass. I’m not a wimp, but I don’t find women who have the same size chest and back as mine attractive.

  Looking around the room, most likely noting I have nowhere to go, he asks, “Want me to bring up dinner? You didn’t get a chance to eat.”

  Shrugging away his offer, hoping Brooke will handle it, I advise, “No. I’m good. I’ll watch the game and order room service later.”

  Moving forward, he advises, “You’ll be going home this weekend. Will you be happy to see your friends and family?”

  Will I?

  I’m not sure. I’m not happy about having to be away from Brooke for a week. She’ll go home, get comfortable, and possibly rethink being here. She’s told me she wanted an adventure. My fear is she’ll realize this adventure turned into more than what she thought it would and bail.

  I don’t admit any of this. If Jerry or anyone here knew what Brooke and I have been up to, I imagine our covert actions would be frowned upon.

  On the other hand, I am looking forward to seeing my friends again, as well as my sister and my parents.

  “It’ll be nice not to have Clive hanging around so much,” I joke. “He probably feels the same.”

  “It’s his job,” Jerry reassures. “It’s everyone’s job. But yes, we’ll enjoy the break, too.” As he heads for the door, he turns quickly and tells me, “Three weeks and you’ll be a married man.”

  I wish he wouldn’t have said that. A simple goodbye would’ve sufficed.

  As soon as he closes the door behind him, my cell phone rings. Hoping it’s Brooke, I grab it quickly to answer.

  It’s not her, though. It’s my mother.

  Christ.

  Letting it go to voicemail won’t do any good. When my mother desires my attention, she tends to get creative. If I don’t take the call, she’s likely to call the network. If they don’t answer, she’d likely try the president of the network. Martin has contacts, ones she’d have no shame in using.

  “Hey,” I answer cautiously, masking the pain exuding from my ankle. Mom’s always seem to know what’s up. If I told mine that I was hurt, she’d come here to help, or worse. She could send Tate in her place.

  “Brock, honey, you sound different,” she observes first. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, Mom. I’m fine.”

  “Tate said you texted her your flight information and you’ll be back here Sunday evening.”

  Tele-Tate relay system is still a go, I see. “That’s right.”

  “I’m looking forward to hearing how things are going for you so far. We’ve been watching. Last night’s airing, you were sitting at lunch with two of those women.”

  “Leslie and Kate.”

  “Yes. Any interest in either?”

  Nope. Not really.

  Rather than have to explain why, I go with, “We’ll see. Still early.”

  “That host, what’s his name?”

  “Matt Sutton.”

  “Right. He mentioned you’ve narrowed your choices. Does your mother get to hear the inside scoop?”

  Already exhausted from my day on ice, I placate her by saying, “I’ll explain more when I get home. How’s that?”

  “Evasive answer,” she accuses. “I didn’t love you going there in the first place. The least you could do is tell me you foresee good things to come.”

  I do foresee good things; however, she’s not in front of me at the moment. I clench my jaw, hoping to hell she doesn’t plan to be gone the entire evening. We haven’t spent a night apart in weeks, and I have no interest in being alone on this one.

  “Yes. Good things,” I lie. “How’s Dad?”

  “Tickled pink,” she says, smiling through her words. “He couldn’t be happier to see you have so many good ones to choose from.”

  Good ones? Obviously, he has no idea what I’m dealing with.

  “His favorite is that small Mexican-American girl. What’s her name?”

  “Emilee,” I inform. “Emilee Cruz.”

  “Ah, yes. She’s cute. I like the tall, red-haired woman myself. She’s seems smart.”

  “Mary Ann?”

  “Yes.”

  Mary Ann is smart, but she’s a not. My family shamelessly devours small animals at every meal. Mary Ann would be done with us all before dessert ever hit the table.

  How is she a farmer’s daughter, anyway?

  “You’re coming here for Sunday dinner, right?”

  “I’ll be there. Flight gets in at five.”

  “Good,” she returns. “I look forward to hearing more about Mary Ann.”

  Jesus.

  “See you then.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Okay, I’m doing this. I am. I don’t have to be the woman the man I’m sleeping with is dating.

  Brooke

  -

  “Again, tell me how you managed to do this to yourself,” I groan, pulling off Brock’s shoe and tossing it into the corner with his other one. “If you knew you couldn’t ice skate, why try to impress her?”

  “I wasn’t skating to impress her, Brooke,” he bites back through a clenched jaw. “What else was I supposed to do?”

  Why do men lie?

  Obviously, Brock was, at the very least, inspired after seeing the way Joelle carried herself, which was understandable. After, for whatever reason, he felt compelled to show her what he could do to impress her. Which, as it turns out, was nothing.

  The last week has flown by, so I haven’t had much time with him. Between mid-season contestant interviews and spending time with Addie, I haven’t had a lot of time alone to think. So while he was out on another date, I found myself hating how much I missed him.

  By the time I filed out of the interviews, Brock was waiting at the front entrance of the hotel, where he was bidding his goodbye to Jo, and doing so with a severe limp. He didn’t offer me a second glance. I hated how much his passive behavior hurt. Since discussing this relationship, going about it as we said we would, the only time we spend together is in his room are those very early hours of the morning.

  Oddly, Ryleigh has continued to either ignore or not pry into my mysterious whereabouts. Addie said she has it covered, so I’m trusting she does.

  “What do you think the others would say if they knew we were sleeping together?” I question, not so carefully lifting his sprained ankle to sit on my lap before grabbing the bandage to wrap it.

  “I don’t know. I imagine they’d be pissed,” he replies with a wince. His focus is obviously on the pain shooting through his leg, not the conversation I’m trying to have.

  He didn’t suffer a bad sprain, but still one I’d say he deserves. He was showing off. At the very least, he was trying to prove to himself he could
ice skate.

  Men are so stupid.

  “But we’re not ending this, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he warns once I have his ankle secured on my lap. “I like fucking you,” he then confesses with a smile.

  “If the other girls find out about me, there wouldn’t be much left to fuck. Those women are here for you, and they’re a catty bunch, Brock.”

  Resting the back of his head on his arm beneath it, he looks to the ceiling. He keeps his leg still to let me work. I’m not a nurse, and I’ve never wrapped a wounded ankle, but I think he’s overreacting to the pain, if only to get sympathy.

  “They want to see Brooke swim with the fishes,” he jokes.

  Flicking his big toe with my finger, I visualize this to be true. The Godfather, Michael Corleone himself, would gut me for my traitorous acts.

  “Not funny. I’m serious.”

  “They are here for me, yes,” he agrees, “but I don’t know any of them.”

  “If you had to make a choice today, though,” I query, unsure if I’m ready to hear his answer. If he has one, it’ll give me a face to despise, a woman I wish to sleep with the fishes. Not nice, I know. “Who would you choose?”

  His chin dips to his chest, and he looks down to aim his eyes at me. “You.”

  “I’m still not in love with you, Romeo,” I tell him.

  “Why not? I’m a catch.”

  Over the last week, we’ve found humor in each girl’s enthusiasm, or lack thereof, in being here. Kate still swears she’s his perfect match. Consequently, she’s been letting everyone know what a catch she thinks him to be.

  “Besides, Brooke, who am I coming back to every night?”

  “You mean when you’re not dating other women?” I smirk. His argument holds very little weight as far as our situation goes. “You’re cheating on me every day.”

  With the increased schedule, Brock’s been out most afternoons with a different girl. Whether they go to lunch or sit on set, cameras rolling, he’s not been with me.

  Shaking my head and focusing on the bandage, I explain, “I came here because I wanted to get out of Peace Hope for a while. My life at home was too quiet.”

  “So you chose a reality show to spice things up?” he laughs. “I still don’t get that.”

  He’s taken the news of my not being in love him well. Too well.

  “Do you have a second choice? In case if you asked me today and I refused?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  My spine steels, and my heart feels heavy. This second place decision is obviously something he’s given thought to. I can’t blame him, being that it’s his future at stake.

  “I like Kate.”

  Kate. The name incites me without warning. Of all the girls, it would be her. Perfect little faces, perfect little images of what he and Kate’s kids would look like sully my train of thought.

  “Why her?”

  “I’ve talked to her a few times,” he swiftly replies. “Kate’s sweet, and she’s already told me she hopes she’s my ‘one.’”

  I laugh, but it’s fake as he lifts his hands and uses his finger to gesture air quotes around ‘the one.’

  “She’s pretty, too,” I add.

  “You’re pretty,” he returns to my surprise. “Matt wants me to consider taking her out again.”

  “You did already.”

  “Lunch,” he reminds me. “It wasn’t a formal date.”

  “She really likes you,” I tell him, though it hurts to be the one to tell him what he probably already knows.

  With a knowing smirk, he counters, “But I like you. And I’m already fucking you, so—”

  Ass.

  Pinching his wounded ankle, I let out a feminine growl as I set it down and start to stand.

  Looking down at him so helpless on the bed, I chastise myself for asking the question. I’m not Kate. I’m not exotic, cute, or sweet. I’m me. I’m light, fun, and a lot of times a wreck. Suddenly, the idea of sleeping in his bed, in his arms tonight feels small.

  Gathering my posture, along with my courage, I advise, “You’re all set to heal. I’m going to leave you to it.”

  His elbows adjust beneath him, giving him support from the bed. The tight abs I’ve come to love viewing, touching, and licking, mock me from where I stand. They’re baiting me to come back for more.

  “You’re leaving me?”

  “Yes, twinkle toes. For now.”

  His concern is evident, but I don’t let it stop me from walking toward the door.

  Glancing back, concern turns to hurt. The same hurt I feel. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours with more ice and dinner. Even wannabe ice skaters gotta eat.”

  “Even beautiful girls who deny their feelings have to admit them sooner or later,” he snaps back.

  My mouth slams shut; I have nothing to return. His laugh breaks the tension, so I quickly shut the door to avoid hearing it. I wish I found humor in this, but I don’t.

  Whatever we have between us is getting more complicated with each ‘date’ that passes.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I’m his pick.

  Brooke

  -

  “No more for me,” I insist, pushing my plate away and leaning my back against Brock’s headboard.

  I don’t have an appetite for anything. The two beers I had downstairs with Addie didn’t taste good, either.

  After we packed our bags to go home for the week, Brock texted, asking me to come back to his room. For whatever reason, being with him, knowing all this will remain casual, taints everything I once loved about it. I didn’t expect to feel this jealous or annoyed. At the time, I thought discussing what we had was a good thing.

  “Do you have plans for your visit home?” he asks, moving the tray of dishes from the bed and making himself comfortable at my side. His foot is propped up on a pillow. The wrapping I’d done earlier has held.

  “Not really. I told Dad I’d help get him caught up at the Inn, but other than that, I don’t have anything going on.”

  “You’ll text me next week?”

  “I might,” I reply.

  I’m certain, of course, that I will.

  “You’re upset about something,” he accuses. “What is it?”

  “I’m not upset,” I lie. “I’m just ready for a break.”

  A tense expression blankets his face. “From what?”

  Sighing, I admit, “All of this. I miss home. I miss my friends and family.”

  Grabbing my hand, Brock brings it to his lap, where he caresses the top of it. “Before you leave in the morning, I need you to know I’m choosing you.” When I pull back my hand and attempt to interrupt, he squeezes and keeps it close. “Whether you tell me no or not, I’ve already made up my mind.”

  “This was sex,” I recall. “We agreed.”

  Nodding, but not looking at me as he does, he informs me, “We also agreed we liked each other. I know you like me. Or parts of me,” he adds suggestively.

  This time I pull my hand and he frees it. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know enough. I know you can be stubborn, and that you’re jealous of those other women when you shouldn’t be. You’re a smartass.”

  “If those are compliments, they’re not complimentary.”

  Clearing his throat, he adjusts his position and turns to look at me while being careful not to move his ankle.

  “I also know you love your family, and you feel bad about what we’re doing.”

  “I do,” I agree. “Both.”

  “I’m going to choose you, Brooke. I’m not going to ask if you’ll say yes, either. That’s how positive I am. I’ll risk you throwing me to the wolves.”

  Turning my eyes from his, I study the blank television across the room. He’s so sure he’d be happiest with me, and he’s willing to risk it if I refuse.

  “I should go. Addie’s waiting. Our flight leaves at six in the morning.”

  “Okay,” he concedes. “I won’t beg you to sta
y.”

  This is a first, so much different than all the nights before. How odd it is I’ve never spent a night without him since I’ve been here. Ryleigh won’t know what to do if she wakes in the morning to find me there.

  “What are you smiling at? You’re leaving me here with a bad ankle, and you’re smiling.”

  Shaking my head, I stand. “Nothing’s funny. I’m gonna go.” Bending down and closing the distance between us, I kiss his cheek, then start to straighten.

  His hand wraps around my neck, pulling me to him closely before his mouth crashes against mine. The kiss isn’t seductive or sweet, but rather punishing. My leaving irritates him. I’d be full of crap if I didn’t admit I like this, even after hearing I’m his pick.

  I need time to think.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I think he missed me.

  Brooke

  -

  “Fucking hell, I’ve missed you.” My response gets lost as Brock’s mouth takes mine.

  I’ve missed him, too. His smell, taste, the sound of his voice, and his hands as they aggressively explore my body.

  The six-day visit home wasn’t all I’d hoped it to be. My concentration wasn’t on my family and friends. There was no way it could’ve been. Between Brock texting all hours of the day, then calling at random hours during the night, he held my focus.

  And, just to say, phone sex is hot. At least it was with him.

  By the time I started repacking to come back, my body was hanging in a precarious balance of emotional torment and heated desire. Thoughts of being with him again, not only to sate ourselves, but to hang out as we had before, caused me to pack faster and with a lot less care than I had the first time Addie and I flew to L.A.

  “Tell me you finally get it, Brooke,” Brock encourages, taking off my shirt and discarding it to the floor next to his. “We’re supposed to be together.”

  On the plane ride back, I rehearsed the speech I was certain would withstand Brock’s temptations. However, when he opened the door to his suite, I was at a complete loss. None of the words came out. Rather, they buried themselves so deep, I lost what I was determined to say.