12. Staged
12
STAGED
SOPHIE
The nightclub was pure chaos for the cast party.
Strobe lights stabbed through the dark like lightning strikes, and a bass-heavy beat thudded so hard under my feet I could almost taste its vibration. Sweat and sprayed perfume permeated the air.
The Brewed for Love production crew and cast, complete with a velvet-roped VIP section, had taken the entire place over, branded cocktails, and cameras poised to catch every scandalous second.
I squeezed Keaton’s arm until my knuckles went white. He glanced down, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You good?” he asked, leaning in past the roar of the music.
“This place is insane.”
He grinned with the worldly charm of a guy who’d weathered more than one of these parties. “Welcome to real-time, reality-TV nightlife.”
My pulse spiked. I’d watched these parties on my laptop back home—so glossy, so staged—but being here, shoulder-to-shoulder with the players, turned out way more emotionally dangerous than it appeared on screen.
I spied Starla holding court, her hair a platinum halo, pointed fingernails slicing through the air as she argued with that girl from season one who she ended up mud wrestling to fight to keep Keaton. I’d have done the same. He’s worth it.
Melanie hovered nearby with a hand on her hip and an eager smile, her camera crew poised like sharks.
Keaton must’ve caught my stiff posture, because he urged us on. “Let’s keep moving.”
He guided us in the opposite direction, away from the spotlight. The casual press of his hand on my lower back so possessive and welcomed now, but I reminded myself it was just friendly. All for show, nothing more, as we traveled through the throngs of people.
A neon-lit cooler caught my eye, and so did the rows of Holly Creek Hops cans stacked beneath a crisp banner. I tugged on his sleeve. “Look at that placement. Right by the bar. And see that couple? The bartender just handed them two cans.”
He followed my gaze, nodding, happy. “Guess my new marketing expert knows her stuff.”
“Damn right she does.” I laughed, relief mingling with pride, my brain buzzing with strategies: foot traffic, brand visibility, on-camera product placements.
We ordered two cans and settled into a corner, the bass still rumbling. Then, as if the universe were trying to kill me with good timing, my favorite song from the brewery back home came on, the one we’d danced to at the Hops.
Keaton’s brow quirked. “Did you plan this?”
I sipped, trying to act blasé. “Maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” He let the words hang, playful doubt in his voice. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
He pulled me out onto the dance floor. The lights spun, the beat hooked me by the ribs, and before I knew it, my shoulders were loose, getting into it. Keaton’s arms drifted around my waist, pulling me closer as the song built. Then he spun me once—light as a feather—bringing us chest to chest. He nuzzled my neck, his warm breath tickling my ear, although the music muted his words
He swept me up in his arms, twirling me like I weighed nothing, and I clung to him, breathless. He kissed me in full view of flashing cameras, onlookers, and a dozen Instagram live streams.
The room spun for a whole new reason. The world was watching. Maybe that’s what wrecked me most—that I didn’t care if they were.
His mouth pursued me, warm and unhurried, insistent but gentle, like he used every second to burn the memory into my bones. My knees weakened. The situation blurred into something sweeter, sharper.
Our reality and my dreamworld collided.
When we finally parted, the air felt thin. My chest fluttered so hard I thought I might pass out.
“That was...” I couldn’t finish. Good for the cameras? Unbelievably real?
He brushed a stray hair from my face. “Yeah, it was.”
He offered his hand, steady and sure, leading me back toward the VIP lounge.
Every nerve ending tingled. I needed space to sort out this rush of something dangerously like hope, suddenly more raw and real than pretending. I slipped away into the ladies’ room, where gold-plated faucets gleamed under a chandelier, and velvet couches begged for a moment’s rest, so I collapsed onto one of them, remembering to breathe normally.
Before I could collect myself, I heard, “Sophie, right?”
Vanessa and Cassandra stood by the mirrored counter, retouching their makeup. Impossibly polished, they’d stepped off a glossy ad in a magazine.
“That’s me,” I said, forcing a smile.
“You and Keaton are adorable,” she exclaimed with a fake-syrupy tone while eyes flicked over me in judgement.
Cassandra tossed her hair. “Seriously, he’s a catch. Sexy, genuine, and all.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting a sudden flare of irritation. I wasn’t here to be a prop. “Thanks.”
Vanessa’s grin widened. “He’s the guy every girl hopes won’t settle down, so they’ll get a chance at him.”
Cassandra sighed, flicking at her smoky eyeshadow. “We still text all the time. If only he lived closer to me. Pretty sure we’d be married by now.”
They floated out without a backward glance, leaving me with a storm of jealousy and self-doubt. I pressed my palm to my chest. I should’ve known better. Of course a guy like Keaton still had ties to women like her from the show.
Emerging into the hallway, I nearly collided with Starla. She crossed her arms, voice low and wicked. “How convenient that Keaton shows up with you just in time for the reunion weekend.”
I said nothing. Partly because I was too busy reminding myself not to let her get to me. And partly because of the camera operator discreetly zooming in.
Starla’s lips curved. “I don’t think this little act will last. Keaton and I have history. If he wants to deny it, fine, but if I get him alone, I’ll make sure he remembers.”
She swept off, leaving my anger flared, but so did a fresh wave of doubt. What the hell was I doing here? I watched reality TV, not starred in it. I marched through the crowd, hunting for Keaton.
I found him at the edge of the dance floor—but not alone. Cassandra’s hands were on his lapels, and his hands rested lightly at her waist. The sight was a punch to the gut.
My voice went icicle-cold. “Excuse me. Am I interrupting something?”
They jumped apart as I stormed forward. A cameraman caught how Keaton’s face went chalk white. “Sophie, wait?—”
But I whirled away, heart hammering. What a fool I’d been, thinking I was here to help him, but maybe I was just his pawn in his effort to make Cassandra jealous. Every moment of doubt those women had planted had sprung roots.
Keaton caught up with me outside, where the air suffocated me. “That wasn’t what it looked like.”
“It sure looked like she was all over you,” I snapped. “And you didn’t push her away until I showed up.”
“You’re reading this all wrong. She was drunk. I was stepping back, but she kept leaning in.”
I folded my arms, raising one eyebrow. “Do you still have feelings for her? Wonder what could’ve been if you’d moved to Denver?”
He stared at me like I’d broken his heart. “No. There’s only one place I want to live—Holly Creek.”
“What am I even doing here, Keaton?” I exhaled, the leftover tension rolling out on my ribs. I wanted to believe him. But everything about this night felt staged. Every kiss, every glance. How could I know what was real anymore?
He softened, lowering his voice. “You’re my date, not to mention you’re also in charge of making sure my brand is visible this weekend.”
I flinched. “I didn’t sign up for all this drama.”
“Most of it’s manufactured,” he said, eyes earnest. “Mel loves stirring the pot. Starla’s scorn, the Cassandra mess—it’s ratings. It doesn’t mean I like it. The only woman I care about is standing in front of me.”
Then he kissed me again—urgent, electric, leaving no room for doubt. My knees buckled as he pulled me close. Until?—
A dry cough cracked the air.
Melanie. Camera rolling. Grinning wolfishly. “You two are magic,” she purred. “The audience is going to devour this.”
She swept away, leaving us alone.
Breathing hard, I looked into Keaton’s eyes. The adrenaline ebbed, leaving a pool of raw emotion in my chest. My head spun with images of flashing lights, laughing onlookers, my reflection staring back from cameras I couldn’t switch off.
I stepped back, voice shaking. “Did you know she was here? That they were filming? Grabbed me for another kiss to make it look good?”
He reached for my hand, but I dodged it. “No. Of course not.”
“Forget this.” I stalked off only he came up behind me. His arms encircled me, caging me to him. I didn’t fight his closeness.
His whisper, like a desperate plea in my ear, said, “I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I want you, Soph. Not the show. Not the cameras. You. “
My heart twanged between longing and fear. Finally, I whispered, “Do you have to go back in there?”
“No. Why? Would you rather we go find our own party? This is Vegas, and not the only party in town, you know.”
“You’d do that for me? Leave all this behind tonight and just hang with me?” I turned in his arms to face him.
“Hell yeah I would, Soph. You’re the only woman I want to be with tonight. In fact, I know a great place, way off the strip. You’d love it.”
We took a car ride to a brewery—of course—where Keaton and I tested several flavors of their brews, critiquing each and laughing at their names while soaking up the atmosphere. The more we talked and joked around and played pool, the more my heart filled, the more I knew it’d be harder and harder to walk away from him when my consultancy finished. Could I make it out with my heart intact?
In the back seat of the car on the ride to the hotel, we kissed and my world narrowed to the taste of him and the thrum of my heartbeat.
“Mm. Keaton,” I purred. “Your kisses are even better when we’re alone.”
“Sophie, you need to know how much I fucking want you.”
“Spontaneously, or is this something we should negotiate?”
“Let’s leave it open, see what happens, and find out.” His thumb brushed my lips as he stared deeply into my eyes.
Only once we hit the elevator, exhaustion hit me like a tidal wave. My eyelids fluttered shut against the swirl of the world, spinning. I sagged against his chest, and he ended up carrying me to our room. My last coherent thought was relief that I’d survived reality-TV initiation—before sleep claimed me completely.