Reality of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Marika Ray

  We can’t all walk like ballerinas, beyotch.

  I pulled up the rear, entering the massage room last. Lavender dropped her robe and sauntered over to one of the tables, climbing up like one of those goats Frank loved so much. It was a sight I didn’t need to see. The lighting was low, but even so, I didn’t relish the idea of being naked in front of virtual strangers, and especially not the camera crew of three men walking around the small room. What happened to individual massage rooms? You know, ones that had some goddamn privacy?

  From the side of my eye, I could see Natalia removing her robe like we were filming a striptease. While the cameramen were distracted by her, I ran to my padded massage table—which wasn’t easy while keeping your toes up in the air, mind you—and made a dive for it. My soft spa-issued robe nearly had me crashing to the floor on the other side of the slick table, but I gripped the sides with all my might and hung on like a city girl astride a mechanical bull. Crisis averted, I let go to wiggle my hands between my body and the table. Once my robe was untied, I allowed myself to relax my face into the donut-shaped face cushion.

  Relaxing spa music played in the background, helping me unwind despite the lack of privacy. Everyone must have gotten settled as I heard the door open and soon after I felt a presence by my side.

  “Welcome. Today we will work out all your sore muscles.”

  The voice was masculine, which had me tensing up. I specifically asked for a female, figuring that would be an easier person to relax in front of while I was half-naked.

  “Excuse me—”

  “Shh!” Kitty shushed me before I even got my question out. “No talking during the massage, dear.”

  Which was all fine and good because a second later, my robe was ripped from my body in one fell swoop. Words, if I’d had any to say, were lost and gone forever in a blanket of shock and shame, with a sidecar of shivers. I tensed, my face coming out of the donut pillow, which belatedly, I realized then exposed my breasts. What felt like a warm blanket covered my ass and I lay back down to reassess. Do I say something? Get up and leave? Suck it up and stay?

  Warm oil being drizzled down my back convinced me to stay and shut up. Then strong hands smoothed that oil, along with my muscles and I never wanted to leave. That is, until his thumbs began to dig into those tiny, perpetually tight muscles next to my shoulder blades. Pain streaked through my body.

  Again, I bowed my back and my face came out of the donut pillow, exposing my breasts. His elbow pushed down on the back of my head and down I went like a naughty child. The pain was bearable if I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to ten over and over again. Eventually, the thumbs retracted and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  And then the ass massage began.

  By the time the masseuses left the room, I was wound tighter than an asshole in a prison shower. I sat up to run for safety while covering my breasts, but my robe was nowhere to be found. I had a tough decision to make. With cameras catching the action, should I use the tiny towel the masseuse left on my body to cover my breasts or my nether regions while I ran out of the room?

  The south won the battle and after strategically placing the scrap of fabric, I hustled from the room, boobs a’ bouncin’.

  My locker was easy to find since I didn’t close it properly and half my bra was sticking out the bottom. I didn’t bother wiping off the oil or going to the steam room to try to unknot the muscles screaming in my neck and shoulders. In a crisis, you do what’s necessary for survival, and right now, that meant getting the hell out of there and going home.

  Once I was safely in the car, I texted Lily-Marie.

  I lived up to my vow to be crazy. I looked like a beached seal on that damn massage table, begging for a fish. I was begging for mercy. Tell me it’ll get better.

  She didn’t respond right away, so I put my phone away and drove home, rather excited to be spending the evening with Rhett and not those lunatics from the show. If I was lucky, there might even be another Big Willy sighting. A girl could dream…

  11

  Rhett

  Gabby snookered in deeper into my embrace while she slept, oblivious to all the boundaries being crossed. She was so careful when we went to bed to keep to her side. She looked stiff as a board over there, but who was I to remind her we’d get twisted up during the night anyway. I’d woken that morning to something clinging to me and in the early morning light, I’d been delighted to see it was Gabby. I didn’t want to wake her or risk her jumping away from me the second she gained consciousness, so I didn’t move a muscle. Instead, I gazed down at her sleeping, her face relaxed and carefree while she dreamed of who knows what.

  She’d had a rough day at the spa, which I thought was bizarre. Spa days were for relaxing, right? The only logic was simply I didn’t understand girl stuff. She told me about everything that had happened while I fed her the dinner I’d made. She almost seemed surprised I could cook. A man didn’t survive by takeout alone. Besides, her fancy cooktop nearly made the meal itself.

  I’d gotten a good laugh from her exaggerated tale of being beaten up by the masseuse, but I’d also gotten quite a visual. A naked, oiled-up Gabby running from the room was surely a sight to see. Maybe the camera guy could give me the unedited footage.

  “Mmm…” Gabby murmured in her sleep.

  I could smell her scent when we found ourselves entwined every morning. She didn’t wear heavy perfume like the other ladies on the show, so snuggling in the morning or in front of the camera was the only time I really got to smell her. Which sounded weird, but then again, Frank said even the goats liked to smell each other. Something primal about wanting to sniff your mate, and God, did Gabby smell good.

  “Rhett?” Gabby’s sleepy voice drifted up from where her head lay perched on my chest.

  “Yes, Snookums?” She secretly loved that name, I just knew it.

  “Why are you petting my hair?”

  I stilled, not even realizing I’d been running my fingers through the long strands. “I like your hair.” Simple as that.

  “Rhett?”

  “Yes, Snookums?”

  “I’m so glad I get to work today and you have to hang with the crazies.” She paused. “And I like you playing with my hair.”

  She could probably tell by my heartbeat increasing below her ear, but she made me feel like this whole farce had a bigger purpose. One I couldn’t bring up to Gabby yet, but one I couldn’t keep denying to myself. I liked Gabby. And if this was the way we had to meet to be brought together, I was glad for it.

  I really needed to ask her about Hewitt and what had happened there. I just couldn’t imagine the Gabby I knew being with that jackass. She was soft and sweet one minute, fierce and no nonsense the next. My half-brother wouldn’t know how to handle an enigmatic woman like that.

  “Gabby?”

  “Yes, Rhett?”

  “You really need to work on finding a nickname for me.”

  Surprisingly, she shifted, but didn’t leave my arms. “How about Red?”

  I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see me. “Predictable.”

  “Honey?”

  “Boring.”

  “Bae?”

  I snorted. “Too lame.”

  “Willy!” She threw her fist in the air.

  I jerked, surprised she remembered. “Not a chance in hell.”

  She snickered and poked me in the stomach. “I’ve got it! Tesoro!”

  I looked down at her upturned, excited face. “What’s tesoro?”

  “You have to say it with the accent. It’s Italian for treasure. My grandfather used to call my grandmother Tesoro.”

  That racing heart came back with a vengeance, this time accompanying a feeling of warmth that felt suspiciously like belonging. I grinned at her. “Damn, woman, I like it.”

  She grinned back and we had a moment. A moment of time where all was as it should be. No cameras. No pretending. No half-brother ex-boyfriend. Just two people enjoying each other’s company.


  The doorbell rang and we both froze.

  “Oh shit, that must be the camera crew already.” Gabby started flailing arms and legs everywhere, trying to get untangled from both me and the sheets. I blocked the goods and waited until she successfully climbed out of bed. She looked a rumpled mess, hair everywhere, left boob almost slipping out of her tank top, and little short shorts riding up that delicious ass of hers.

  She was gorgeous.

  She stood by the bed, motionless, just staring at me.

  “You gonna get the door, Snookums?”

  She blinked and finally started moving again. “Oh. Yeah. I was just waiting for you to join me.”

  “Oh, um. Could you get it and I’ll be down in a sec? Gotta do my morning stretches.” Which was as lame as it sounded. What was I? Eighty? But there was no way I was getting out of this bed in my present condition. The Big Johnson thought Gabby was pretty too.

  She looked at me funny but left the room anyway. I tracked those cheeks bouncing right out the door, which didn’t help my situation any. I needed to think of something heinous, something so disgusting I went limp in three seconds flat.

  Hewitt.

  Yep, that did it.

  Finally getting out of bed to the sounds of our cameraman shooting the shit with Gabby, I threw on a shirt and board shorts before running my hands through my hair and calling it good. The guy was laughing and so was Gabby. I came down the stairs, getting close enough to hear what they were saying. Seemed a little overkill for so early in the morning. Who tells jokes like a stand-up comedian before coffee has been consumed?

  Skirting behind the jokester, I put my arm around Gabby’s waist and hauled her up against me, her soft curves fitting to my body like we were made for each other. Oh shit, think about the day Hewitt told you your mom was a cunt. Just like that, everything was back under control.

  “Can I make you some coffee, Snookums?” I nuzzled behind her ear and grinned at the shiver I felt run through her body. Snuggling and shivering this morning. All good signs.

  Of what or for what, I didn’t know. I just knew I liked it when she responded to me. When she showed signs of feeling something for me that was real and not just for the cameras.

  “Yes, please,” she breathed. How she woke up and didn’t even have morning breath was beyond me, but then again, she seemed too put together to have a normal human issue like that. Not that I thought she was perfect, just that I bet she did everything the dentist suggested for good oral hygiene like brushing after every meal, or God help me, flossing daily. Actually, now that I thought about it, only sociopaths did that, right?

  The cameraman already had his camera on his shoulder, but from this angle I couldn’t see if it was recording. Oh well. It wasn’t a chore to act like I was crazy in love with Gabby. I could see myself falling for a girl like her. Not actually Gabby, but someone just like her. I stepped away, but not before I slapped her on the ass, earning me a gasp and a dirty look that lit a fire in my chest. Damn, this girl is fun.

  I went into the kitchen and started the Keurig, mentally going over what I had to do today. I had the golf outing with the guys, but I also bought a domain name yesterday and intended to get my new surf board website up and running. College taught me one wasn’t really in business unless one had a website. Who knew if that was how it played out in the real world, but I wasn’t taking any chances with my business endeavor.

  Once we had coffee, chatting quietly while the cameraman tried to blend into the background, which didn’t really happen because he tripped over a stool and nearly took out Gabby with his camera, I went upstairs and got ready. Thankfully, Gabby had some forethought about the clothes a wealthy socialite man wears and there was a golf outfit waiting for me in the closet from our shopping haul.

  I kissed her on the cheek as I left, the camera guy coming with me in the car. I really needed to chat with her about the kissing thing. We had yet to kiss on the lips and I thought that might be getting a bit suspicious. Natalia and Frank practically made a baby there in front of us the other night. We needed to step up our game. I, for one, was all for it.

  “Whatcha grinning about? Excited for golf?” the cameraman asked me from the passenger seat of Gabby’s Mercedes as I drove up the long driveway to the country club in Beverly Hills the guys had selected. Not surprisingly, Jasper—I mean, Lord Jasper—was a member.

  “Nah, just thinking of the board I’m working on right now. She’s going to be a beauty. Wait till you see her.” I grinned at the camera lens, proud of myself for pimping my business. That clip would probably end up on the editing room floor, but I had to try. This could be my opportunity to get the word out about my business. In a city the size of LA, you had to shout to be heard.

  I pulled into the first parking space I saw, which meant we had quite the hike to the lobby area of the golf club. Playing the part of a socialite and then instinctually doing the things a socialite would do, were two different things, I was finding out. I could have valeted it, but I had two functioning legs, so why bother?

  By the time we got to the top of the hill, Frank and John had both driven by us with a honk and a wave on their way to the valet. My cameraman’s breathing became labored a few yards in, but I figured his clogged up heart valves would thank me for the much needed exercise.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. Our carts are all set up. Come right this way.” Jasper—dammit, Lord Jasper—showed us to our carts, each of us getting our own to allow room for the cameramen, personal caddies, and golf clubs.

  So this was how the rich and famous played a round of golf. I actually wouldn’t know how a poor person played golf either since I’d never tried golfing before. Basketball and volleyball were my sports. Golf just seemed so boring with the white pants and endless practice swings.

  We got out at the first hole and I watched what the others did, taking my cues from them.

  “Hey, listen, buddy. I’ve never played before so just whisper to me what to do, would ya?” I kept my voice as low as possible, hoping my caddy would understand my situation. His head whipped to the side to look at my face and see if I was joking. When he realized I wasn’t, his eyes went wide, but he nodded in agreement. He handed me a club and off I went to swing that sucker as a warm-up.

  “What’s your handicap, Rhett?” John slapped me on the back, an easy smile on his face.

  What the hell was he talking about? “Uhh, don’t have one, John.”

  “Oh, wow, that’s awesome! Didn’t know we had a Tiger on our hands.” John whooped it up, his loud voice ringing out over the quiet course. “Guys, did you hear that? No handicap for our boy, Rhett.”

  Everyone gave me high fives and slaps on the back. I was thoroughly bewildered. I knew who Tiger was—I wasn’t that much a golf idiot—but what the hell was up with the handicap thing and why was he comparing me to one of golf’s greats? An unsettling feeling began to grow in my stomach. I looked over at my caddy, who had his hand over his mouth and wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

  That wasn’t a good sign.

  “Okay, I’ll start, followed by Frank, then John, and finally Rhett.” Jasper took his place at the tee, placing his ball on the stick thing and doing even more practice swings.

  Jesus Christ, just hit the damn ball already.

  He finally took a tiny step to the ball, readjusted his grip, and then pulled back before unleashing on the golf ball. A pleasant ting echoed out and that ball soared off into the air, right toward the flag.

  “Hard to follow that, but I’ll do my best.” Frank took Jasper’s place and did the whole practice swing routine, readjusting his grip, and then finally hit the ball, sending it almost to the exact same spot as Jasper’s.

  I was feeling better already. How hard could this be if they were all hitting it to the same basic spot with very little effort? John got up there and hit his ball a little shorter than the other two, but in the same general direction. It was my turn finally.

  I stepped up to the t
ee and placed my ball on the stick tee thing, where it fell off immediately. That was weird. I put it back on and it wobbled a second before finally staying put. I backed up and swung the club the caddy had handed to me earlier. It felt foreign in my hands, the swing a bit clunky and stiff. I was young. I was strong. I was generally coordinated. I got this.

  Taking the same tiny step up to the ball I’d seen the guys do, I readjusted my grip and pulled the club back. I gave it a mighty swing and almost spun myself around in a circle. That was odd. I hadn’t heard that ting noise. In horror, I looked down and saw my ball sitting on the grass next to the freaking stick again, a big chunk of sod missing right by the tee. Dammit, I’d missed the ball entirely.

  I chuckled, the other guys joining in after an awkward beat.

  “Always have to get that one out of the way right at the start, huh, Rhett?” John was being kind, trying to smooth over my mistake. For that I was grateful.

  I nodded sheepishly and approached the ball again, setting it on the tee carefully. I took a deep breath and wound up my swing. Keeping my eyes on that fucking ball like my life depended on it, I swung. This time I felt the club connect, that reverberation in my hands the sweetest feeling on the planet. The ting was more of a whack, but any noise meant I’d connected.

  Shadowing my eyes, I tracked the ball through the bright morning sky.

  Right into a dense cropping of trees.

  “Ho! That clump of grass went farther than your ball!” Frank burst out laughing, the guys all joining in.

  “Better luck next time, buddy.” Jasper clapped me on the back and they all took off in their carts, zooming off to their balls lying next to the green.

  I plopped down in my cart and looked at my caddy, who wasn’t even trying to hide the grin this time.

  “This is gonna be bad, isn’t it?”

  He busted out laughing as he drove toward the trees and even though it was my reputation on the line for all of America to see once the show aired, I had to laugh with him. This shit was going to be funny.