 by Raleigh Ruebins.jpg)
Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I’m awful at following the rules.
One minute I was a nobody in a small Colorado town, getting by on contract work, home renovations, and a dumpster fire of a dating life—and then suddenly, my life was on TV. Fixer Brothers Construction is getting its own home renovation TV show, and I’m on camera, giving the film crew an all-access pass to my life.
The kicker: fans think I’m sleeping with Jax, my favorite, hotter-than-hell frat boy bartender at the brewery. He’s young, straight, and just a friend. But rumors spread like wildfire. Now I’m faking it with Jax, 24/7—and we don’t leave much to the imagination when we’re in front of a camera.
The fans want what they want, right?
And I want things, too. Every kiss was fake until the one that definitely wasn’t, on a night too scorching for TV. Jax has helped me through the worst time in my life as a friend, and I never let myself wish for more. But I'm only human, and when we’re together, it’s fire.
I’m addicted. And I know I’m going to get hurt. But behind closed doors, it feels so real.
And I’m desperate to know what makes this frat boy tick.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
CHARLIE
I gripped my phone, squinting down at the screen in the afternoon sunlight. Two new texts stared back at me like two middle fingers raised up right to my face. My camera crew surrounded me, waiting for me to do another take. But all I could do was read the two messages over and over, my chest tightening.
One was from my recent hookup.
>>Kitt: Yeah, I don’t think this thing between us is going to work out. Take good care, Charlie. We had a fun few weeks.
The other text was worse. A lot worse. And it was from someone I never thought I’d hear from again.
>>Unknown: Charlie. Baby. It’s me. Miss you, my little punk rock plaything. You look cute on TV, you know. Things are different for me these days. If you come over, we can talk it through. Please don’t ignore this message. -Jim
The nerve on him to still call me baby.
My stomach churned. I was going to be sick. A breeze rustled through the trees, and I realized that the air was finally turning chilly now at this time of year.
Fuck me.
I was supposed to love fall. I was supposed to be drinking pumpkin-spiced coffee, hand in hand with my boyfriend, walking under a canopy of red, gold, and yellow leaves.
But now it was official. It was my favorite time of year, and I’d gotten dumped again.
I crushed my thumb over the phone’s lock button and shoved it into my back pocket. My toxic ex messaging me at the same time was just the rotten cherry on top. It looked like he’d gotten a shiny new phone number just to try to worm his way back into my life. I’d blocked him months ago, and was just starting to claw my way out from under the mountain of shit he’d buried me in.
“All good?” one of the cameramen asked me, shattering the invisible bubble that it felt like I was trapped inside.
“Oh.” My voice felt strangely heavy. “Um, yes. Right. Good.” I barely knew what any of those words even meant right now.
Another gust of wind shuddered through the trees, hitting my skin. I was outside Jade Brewery, on the wooden front steps that were usually my version of heaven—especially with the golden sunlight gently filtering through the oak and spruce trees like it was this afternoon. But now it felt like a straitjacket was tightening around me.
I was getting the message, loud and clear: I just wasn’t meant for love. No matter how hard I wished for it. No matter how many guys I dated. No matter how good of a boyfriend I tried to be. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to throw up or scream or chuck my phone into an industrial-grade incinerator.
Something had to change.
I glanced up, heart pounding as I looked around at three gigantic black TV cameras surrounding me, waiting for me.
We were filming the first teaser promotional material for our upcoming Fixer Brothers Construction show, and they needed shots of me doing “real life things.” I’d even dressed nicely for this, which for me meant wearing the only dark jeans I owned that didn’t have holes in them and tossing a leather jacket over my shirt.
“Okay, Charlie, let’s do one more take,” one of the cameramen shouted to me, squinting into the late afternoon sun. “Remember: cool, calm, and casual.”
Screw it. If I was going to be lonely for the rest of my life, I may as well look hot while doing it.
I saw the red light appear on the front of the cameras as they started filming. I cleared my throat, saying the same thing I’d already said on the last three takes. The words felt weird coming out of my mouth now, but I forced them out anyway.
“And after a long day of hard work on a construction site,” I said, “there’s only one place I’m headed. Jade Brewery, baby. Come on in with me.”
I turned and walked up the old steps onto the brewery’s front deck, reaching for one of the double doors and swinging it open.
“Great,” the camera guy told me, his scarf blowing in the wind. “Lighting was perfect in that one. I think we’ve got it. Let’s head on in. Maybe get some shots of you drinking beers, chatting with locals, whatever.”
“Or shots of you doing shots,” another crew member said, waggling his eyebrows at me. “How’s some tequila sound?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, stepping inside the bar. “Oh. I’ve, uh, actually been trying to avoid alcohol these days—”
“Charlie!” a voice called from the bar, the moment I stepped inside the brewery. I walked over to the young woman who was beaming at me, a huge smile plastered on her face. “Oh my God. You were my favorite on Life of Tomlin. Can I get a selfie with you?”