Fever dream

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 a

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 showru

“That’s a bold—”

“Way for you to make a lot of money?” Richard finishes for me, his expression fully loaded with i

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 fu

“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, a

“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.