Page 35

SOPHIE
The nightclub waspure 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 mywaist, 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?”