Fever Dream (Emerald Lake, #1)(68)

“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.