Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Or maybe it would give me the chance to repair my image. Instead of the “dumb virgin slut” the show painted me as, I can present myself on the show as a composed, intelligent college girl.
“Did you tell Remy?” I ask.
“No.” He frowns. “It’s your decision. Not his.”
Well, at least that’s something. A couple of months ago he probably would’ve asked Remy’s permission before even telling me about it.
“I wanted to talk it over with you first,” he adds.
“But you also know there’s no way he’d be okay with it.”
“The decision is yours. Not Remy’s. Not mine.” He shakes his head. “I’m not comfortable with it.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Why wouldn’t I tell you? It’s a lot of money. It would be shitty to lie to you about something like that.”
“What if we hadn’t gotten back together?”
“We were always getting back together.” He tilts his head and stares at me. “We were never ‘apart’ as far as I’m concerned.” His steady gaze never wavers, as if he’s daring me to deny it.
“I’m serious.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up in the most irresistible way.
Focus. Don’t get distracted.
“One of the producers probably would’ve contacted you directly and asked you to come on the show.” He lifts one shoulder. “Hell, maybe they’d offer even more money.”
“This feels so unfair. They know we’re broke. All those fighters in the house needed a way to support their families in one way or another and these sick freaks are basically dangling bananas in front of us and cooing ‘dance monkey dance.’ It’s insulting.”
He blinks. “That’s nothing new. Rich men have exploited lower classes for blood sports since Roman times.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re not low class.”
“You know what I mean.” He sighs. “You don’t have to do it.”
I sense there’s something he’s holding back. “Do you want me to?”
“I don’t want you around those people. I don’t want to expose you to any more of this. Not after what you’ve already been through.”
There’s a catch or hesitation in his denials. “I sense a but.”
He lets out another sigh and rubs his hand over my arm. “I want you with me,” he admits in a voice almost too low to hear.
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do.” His eyes meet mine. “I really do. And I know that’s selfish as fuck.”
“Why?” My voice wobbles but I force the question out.
“Because. They tried to break us, and I want to show them we’re unbreakable.”
I love him so much for saying that.
But we both know it’s a lie.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Griff
I finally have my girl back in my arms.
And I told her about the reunion show.
While she said she wants to come with me, sadness lingers in her expression. It hadn’t been there when I woke up and found her staring at me. No, I put it there, by bringing up the damn show again. Worse, I practically guilted her into going.
“Molly, you really don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Fuck, that sounds hollow after I all but whined that I want her with me.
“I thought you wanted me by your side?” Hurt bleeds into her voice.
“I do. But I’m worried.” I roll my eyes. “Except for Venom, Woolly, and Bear Trap, and maybe Hammer Fists and Thunder, the rest of the guys are real assholes. Immature, sloppy drunks and dirty fighters.”
Her lips purse into a thoughtful pout. “Maybe that’s the role the show ‘assigned’ them?”
I consider that for a second. She’s sweet for suggesting it as a possibility. “Nah, it’s probably why the show recruited them. Trust me, none of them were good enough actors.”
She chuckles. “Well, I only watched until…you know, the episode—”
“Baby, I am so—”
“Do not apologize again.” Her fierce, scolding tone is way hotter than it should be.
“Yes, ma’am,” I tease.
“I’m serious.” Her expression turns thoughtful. “But they really did want to stick everyone in a certain box.” She holds her hands up and forms a square with her fingers. “Even the ring girls.” She wrinkles her nose as if it bothers her to defend any of them. “Since they were filming, what, twenty-four hours a day, I guess they had lots of time to cherry-pick their footage.”
“They definitely orchestrated certain events. There was no script or anything, but they’d set things up and sort of push us into situations, then run in with the cameras to catch the reactions. They’d even arrange us a certain way to make it look real.” Finally, I’m able share all of my experiences from the show with someone.
The last someone I thought would ever want to hear these stories.
But Molly listens intently to every word. I haven’t felt comfortable talking about this stuff with anyone else. The show is such a sore subject with Remy and the guys, I’ve rarely mentioned it. I didn’t realize how much I’d stored away until everything starts pouring out of me like a faucet I can’t turn off. Molly’s right here with me. She laughs, sympathizes, or offers her thoughtful commentary but mostly she lets me purge it all from my system.