Fever Dream (Emerald Lake, #1)(67)

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.”