Reality Girl: Episode Two (Behind the Scenes #2) Read online

  I hated to admit it, but he was right. I was far too hopeful that I was going to find my soulmate that I paid very little – if any – attention to Rhett’s true personality traits. When it came to his character, I saw what I wanted to see. His muscles and SEAL experience were all that I seemed to really care about.

  Well, that, and his cock size.

  “You’re right.” I sighed. “I couldn’t see past his pecs.”

  “You want to know if a man’s good or bad? Tell him you’ve got a friend who has a litter of pups and ask him if he’d help you place ‘em in good homes. If he just says no, walk away. If he tries to help you out, he’s at least worth a second date.”

  I chuckled. “Puppies?”

  “It’s about being compassionate.”

  “Do you have dogs at home?”

  He shook his head. “Sure don’t. Wouldn’t be fair. I don’t have time for ‘em. But, if I found an abandoned litter on the side of the road, I’d take ‘em with me and make sure each one of ‘em had a good home.”

  “I like you,” I said. “You’re nice.”

  “Appreciate it. Jury’s still out on you,” he said without an ounce of emotion. “But I’ll let you know what I think in two weeks.”

  I had gone from a self-centered prick to a brutally honest biker. If Kelli was doing nothing else, she was keeping the show interesting. If my suspicions about Kelli – and the show – were correct, there had to be more to Les than a Zen attitude and a Harley.

  Much more.

  And, I was intrigued to find out just what that might be.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The five hours spent on the motorcycle was the most relaxing time that I could remember ever having. At least from what immediately came to mind. Upon arriving at the beach house that night, everyone was asleep. I told myself nothing would come of the unsanctioned donut incident, but I really knew better. The next day, halfway through our first cup of coffee, Kelli arrived.

  “It’s too fucking late to argue about it now.” She wagged her finger at Les as she spoke. “But you knew exactly what I meant.”

  Les pressed his hands against his hips. “Yeah. You made yourself clear. But so did I. I said I don’t fly. You said your contract’s clear. I got the fucker out and read it, and I found a loophole. Your wording didn’t say I had to fly, it said I had to meet the driver. So, I met your guy at LAX. And, you might have told her your stupid rule about riding everywhere in the SUV, but you didn’t tell me.”

  Mocking her, he playfully cocked his hip and waited for her response.

  The three of us were standing in the kitchen, and Bobby nervously stood on the other side of the doorway. Kelli was dressed in a black skirt and a flowing white top that did little to hide her massive tits. Les seemed to lack interest in her attitude, her obvious cleavage, or what she had to say – and was merely egging her on.

  For once, I was the innocent bystander.

  “Well, smart ass.” She shot him her signature glare. “I’m telling you now.”

  “And I’m telling you I don’t ride in SUVs. My contract doesn’t say anything about transportation. So I’ll ride my bike, thank you very much.”

  She pointed at me. “Her contract’s clear. She’s got to abide by my decision.”

  “Fine. She can ride in your fucking SUV, and I’ll follow ‘em on the bike.”

  “That’ll make for a really interesting show,” she said sarcastically. “You can ride with them.”

  “I’ll ride that bike right back to fucking Henderson. I’ll tell you one more time, I don’t ride in SUVs. Or cars. Or airplanes. I’ll ride my bike. My contract doesn’t have any language in it that says I’ve got to do otherwise.”

  “You prick,” she huffed.

  Holy shit, this is good stuff.

  She spun toward me and wrinkled her brow. “What are you smiling about? I’ll start on you when I’m done with him. You two fucked up last night’s scheduled shoot.”

  “Sorry,” I squeaked.

  “Either she rides with me, and you figure out a way to film it, or I follow them wherever she decides to go. Those are your options,” Les said dryly.

  She folded her arms beneath her boobs and sighed. “Filming a bike on a set is easy. Filming it in a populated city takes more time, additional equipment, and costs a lot of money. Money that I don’t have scheduled.”

  Les shrugged. “Should have thought of that before you drafted my contract, I suppose. It’s not negotiable.”

  Kelli continued her laser sharp glare.

  He chuckled and turned away. “Find yourself another biker.”

  Oh shit.

  He walked toward the back room, made a little noise, and then promptly returned with his duffel bag. “I’m out of here.”

  “Hold on, Lesley,” she said in condescending tone. “If you walk out of here, you--”

  He paused and turned around. “I what?”

  With pursed lips and eyes that were filled with anger, she stared.

  He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder. “Say it. I what?”

  With her arms still folded across her chest, she took a deep breath. Her breasts rose as she inhaled, and then fell when she released it. Amazed by her boob perfection, but more enthralled by Les and his transportation convictions, I stood in wait for her response. She continued to glare for a moment, and then sighed heavily.

  “Fine,” she snarled. “Put your bag up. Ride your fucking Harley with her on the back, but all departures are going to be scheduled, and you don’t go without the crew following you. Understood?”

  He shrugged. “Fine with me.”

  “And you?” She glanced in my direction. “You knew better. We’ve been over this several times, haven’t we?”

  There was no sense in her beating a dead horse. The conversation was meaningless now. It was settled, we were going to be riding on the motorcycle. “It doesn’t matter much now, does it? Looks like we’ll be riding on his bike.”

  “Last night’s filming didn’t happen, Lou. Had you refused to get on the bike, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? I repeat, we’ve discussed this on multiple occasions, and I’m not going to keep--”

  I cleared my throat, interrupting her mid-sentence. “I asked you not to raise your voice at me,” I said. “I’m not a teenager, so don’t treat me like one or talk to me like one.”

  She glanced at Les, then at me. After a few long seconds, she shifted her eyes back to him. “After dark, you’ll arrive again on your bike. Reenact what happened last night. We’ll film it and run with it.”

  Les dropped his bag on the floor and rubbed his hands together like an eager child. “Want us to ride back up to LA?”

  “No,” she scoffed. “I don’t want you to ride to LA. I…” She shook her head. “Fuck. You two make my head hurt.”

  “You make my nuts itch if it’s any consolation,” Les said. “I’m doing my best just to keep from digging at ‘em right now. True story.”

  I laughed out loud. I knew it wouldn’t get me any brownie points, but I couldn’t help it.

  Kelli shot me a glare and then looked at Les. “Get her to scratch them. On film, if possible.”

  Fuck you.

  He thrust his hips toward her. “I’d prefer you do it.”

  She glanced at his crotch, paused, and then shifted her eyes to meet his. “Bikers are good for ratings.” She grabbed her purse. “But personally, I think you’re all gross.”

  She began to saunter toward the door. Her walk seemed more thought out, and far less natural. I wondered as she walked away if she truly thought bikers were gross, or if the nut scratching comment made her feel uncomfortably horny.

  She yanked the door open, took one last glance at Les, and slammed the door behind her.

  Uncomfortably horny, I decided.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When evening came around, we decided to lounge at the pool. Sprawled out side by side on lounge chairs in our swimsuits, I felt an odd comfort I didn
’t feel with Rhett. I attributed it to Les’ carefree attitude.

  I took a sip of my margarita and admired his body while he peered out at the ocean. Much to my surprise, Les was void of any body hair – with the exception of his face. Despite his fondness for donuts, the muscles in his abdomen, chest, and legs were clearly defined.

  Be it from learning my lesson with Rhett or for other reasons I wasn’t quite sure of, my mind didn’t immediately dash off to thoughts of sex when I looked at him – at least not yet. I did, however, find him to be quite attractive.

  He tilted his head toward me. “So. Brothers? Sisters? The bio they gave me didn’t say. It just said you were from somewhere in Kansas. The population was 3,500 or something ridiculous.” He took a drink of his margarita and then lowered the glass. “Oh, and it mentioned you were a college graduate. That’s about it.”

  “Three brothers,” I said. “No sisters. My dad raised me. Mom was out of the picture since I was little. What about you?”

  “Only child. I grew up in a home where everything was etched in stone. There was what was right, and what was wrong. I knew which side of the line everything was on, and I toed the line of what was good. My parents were killed in a car wreck when I was twenty-one, and I inherited the home I grew up in. Been living there ever since.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t be. They were good people. They did a good job of raising me, and I’m doing my best to live life based on what they taught me. I think they’d be proud of me. You know, if they were still here.”

  I raised my glass. “You’re super funny, and I think you’re really nice. I’m sure they’re pretty happy with who you’ve become.”

  He raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that. Thanks.”

  We each took a drink, and then I stared at what remained in the glass. “It’s a damned good margarita for not being fruity.”

  “Fruity margaritas aren’t margaritas; they should call ‘em something else. A real margarita is tequila, orange liqueur, lime juice, and simple syrup. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Well, it’s good, that’s for sure.”

  He raised his glass again. “Thanks.”

  “So how’d they find you?”

  “How’d who find me?”

  “The show,” I said. “How’d they find you? Did you have to audition? The asshole Navy guy said they found him in his sandwich shop.”

  “Long story. You ready?”

  I liked his stories. I nodded eagerly. “Sure.”

  He took another drink, and then set his glass on the table that separated our chairs. “There’s this agent in Vegas that I met one night at the Cosmopolitan. He thought he could use me in a few things he was doing, and one thing led to another. The next thing I know, he’s representing me.”

  “Oh wow,” I said. “As a model?”

  “I’ve modeled tee shirts, motorcycles, guns, beer, and boots. Anyway. So, I love Disneyland--”

  “Wait a minute. Disneyland? Like Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck?”

  “Have you ever been?”

  “No. Sorry, I was just making sure I was hearing you right. You went from guns to Disneyland. Go ahead.”

  He chuckled. “Disneyland lets anyone become – or stay – young.”

  His eyes were filled with excitement. Witnessing his intensity about something like Disneyland caused me to view him a little differently. He quickly went from being a funny biker to being adorable.

  “Anyway,” he said. “Back to the story. So the photographer for the tee shirt line and I became friends. I asked him to do a shoot at Disney with me add some depth to my portfolio. He agreed, and while we were there shooting, a little boy came past us. He was scared, obviously separated from his parents, and crying. I took him by the hand and led him to one of the park’s employees, and he cried even harder.” He grinned, and then seemed to become emotional. After a long pause, he continued.

  “He didn’t want me to leave him. For whatever reason, he trusted me. I uhhm. I put him up on my shoulders, and we walked around the park looking for his parents. The entire time, Reggie was shooting pictures of us. Candid – or impromptu – photographs are what Reggie excels at, and we were providing him with quite an opportunity. I guess. So, after fifteen minutes or so, the kid saw his mother and started screaming.”

  He paused again, and reached for his drink. I could see that his lower lip was quivering, and realized it wasn’t easy for him to tell the story. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen next.

  “His parents came running up to us, and of course, his mother was elated that he was okay. His father? A totally different story. He started pushing me and claiming that I had taken the boy…it was ugly.”

  “What happened?”

  “People who witnessed the entire thing told him otherwise, and eventually he apologized. But it just kind of ruined everything. What should have been a joyous event turned into a display of hatred and anger. At Disneyland, of all places. Okay, so that’s not the story, this is. After everything settled down, some woman came up and was asking us questions. I never gave it much thought; I was still shaken up about the father being a dick. But, the next Sunday?”

  He widened his eyes.

  “What?”

  “I’m on the front page of the LA Times with the little boy on my shoulders. An article about humanity.”

  “Holy crap. That’s awesome.”

  “Kelli ended up calling Reggie, who got credit for the newspaper’s photo. Reggie sent her to Lucas, my agent, and Lucas called me. I interviewed, was accepted, and here I am.”

  “Wow. Good story.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, that’s how they found you, but why are you here?” I asked. “What are you after?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, acknowledged Bobby, and then turned to face me. “I’ll tell you later.”

  I chuckled. “Hard to get used to, huh?”

  “The cameras?”

  “Yeah. They’re everywhere.”

  “We agreed to be filmed,” he said. “He’s just doing his job.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Want to finish these and go get some tacos?”

  I grabbed my drink. “On the bike?”

  He laughed. “You must not have heard what I told Kelli this morning.”

  “I heard you,” I said. “Loud and clear.”

  “Then you know the answer.”

  “I’d love to,” I said.

  He cleared his throat, then looked at Bobby. “Robert,” he said. “Assemble the crew, we’ll be going for tacos.”

  I finished my drink, stood up, and grabbed my towel.

  “We’re going to be honest, right? Like completely?”

  I nodded. “Absolutely. What’s up?”

  He stood, then draped his arm over my shoulder. “You have the nicest little ass...in fact, I think it’s the best butt I’ve ever seen on a woman. Ever. I just thought I’d share that with you.”

  It wasn’t a pick up line, nor was it sexual. He said it in a matter-of-fact tone that was playful, and nothing more. As soon as he finished speaking, he began to walk toward the door. With his arm still loosely draped over my shoulder, I walked at his side, surprised that he wasn’t at all what I expected him to be.

  So far, I liked everything about Les, and had no reason to believe he was going to do anything to change my opinion of him.

  And, that worried me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  We rode fifteen minutes south of San Diego, almost to the border of Mexico. Chula Vista sat on the edge of the San Diego Bay, just ten minutes from Tijuana, Mexico. The ride there was interesting, to say the least. A specially outfitted Suburban followed us – and filmed us – every inch of the way.

  When we arrived at Roberto’s Taco Shop, I laughed to myself. The taco shop equivalence of the LA donut shop we had patronized on the previous day, Roberto’s was equally as small, old, and unique – all it lacked
was a huge roof-mounted taco. It did, however, have a mustached man on the sign who was wearing a disproportionately large sombrero.

  As soon as he rolled to a stop, I removed my helmet. “Don’t tell me, you’ve been here, too.”

  “Quite a few times.”

  “But you live five hours from here?”

  “Five or six. Yeah. But the tacos are fucking good.”

  He hung his helmet on the handlebars and got off the motorcycle. Dressed in jeans, a wife beater, and boots, he looked like an outlaw. I couldn’t help but wonder what everyone else thought when they saw him for the first time.

  The SUV pulled alongside the motorcycle and parked, blocking our view of the restaurant.

  “Any of you fuckers speak Spanish?” Les asked the crew.

  The three of them looked at each other, then at Les. “No.”

  Les nodded, grinned, and then stepped to my side. “Ready?”

  I wondered about his Spanish comment, but didn’t ask. We walked around the Suburban and across the parking lot toward the front door. His swagger was undeniable, and only added to his charisma, giving him a mysterious and dark edge. I walked beside him with an odd sense of pride, probably from knowing things about his softer side that no one else in his presence did. Halfway to the door, he raised his right hand and flipped off the camera crew.

  He opened the door and held it for me, which I liked.

  “Thank you.”

  The Hispanic man at the counter looked nervous. He shook his head as we studied the menu. “No habla ingles.”

  “Nombre?” Les asked.

  “Juan,” he said with a grin.

  His name was Juan. I chuckled.

  “Mi nombre es Les,” Les said. “Mi gusta que el papas fritas con carne y queso, dos tacos al pastor con tortillas de maiz, y lo prefiere a la dama.”

  I’d like the French fries with cheese and meat, two pork tacos, and whatever the lady wants.

  The man grinned, nodded his head and then looked at me.

  “You speak Spanish really well,” I said. “I took it in school, but I don’t speak it worth a shit. I can understand it, kind if, but that’s about it. What’s good?”

  “Do you want me to order for you?”