My brother gives him a cocky wink. “Oh, yeah, Emmett? Whose would it be? One of the ten girls getting paid to date you?”

To his credit, Emmett laughs. But then he comes closer, brushing his shoulder against Theo’s, using those extra couple of inches to his advantage when he bends to murmur in his ear. “Nah. It’d definitely be your sister’s.” With that, he tosses me a wink and strides away, calling out, “Later, Jules.”

“Come to family breakfast again soon, Julia!” Evan adds casually before he follows behind Emmett, a thoroughly amused tilt to his lips.

Theo’s mouth opens as though he’s going to try to get the last word in, but I think he’s too shocked to keep up. Instead, he says, “Please tell me you aren’t giving that sleaze the time of day.”

“He’s been nothing but polite.” Okay, that’s a stretch, but there’s always a playful edge to Emmett. I feel nothing but safe with him, and I have stellar qualifications to judge if a guy is a true sleaze. “And I adore his family.”

“Ha! Your professionalism knows no bounds. Good for you for toeing the line when we both know he’s a raging douchebag. You’re a better person than I.”

I don’t respond to that. It’s not the time or the place.

In line, Theo recounts another unpleasant story about Emmett on the road as we place our order and take our number, but I’m not really listening.

Instead, I’m worrying about the man in question.

When we get back to the table with everyone’s ice creams, Theo shoots me a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry that you have to work with him every day.”

And he means it. There’s a genuine apology in his voice, but I don’t feel right accepting it.

So I just shrug and pull out my phone to check if the bar owner has texted me. Again.

And he has.

Relief courses through me as I type my response and mutter, “He’s not as bad as you make him out to be.”

Theo laughs at me right as Harvey starts to fuss. It draws his attention away, and I wince, realizing what I’ve just said out loud.

But when I look back up from my phone, it’s my mom and Winter who are both eyeing me up with matching quirked brows.

Looks like they heard me loud and clear.

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

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.