A million awful scenarios flit through my mind as I enter the studio and head toward Rebel’s office. The last time Brewer and I had to meet with Bear and Rebel, I ended up with a signed contract to get fucked in the ass by Brewer. I can’t decide if whatever they have to talk to us about today could possibly be worse.

It has me a little unsettled that they ended up leaving a few strange moments in the last scene, like Brewer giggling when my bite tickled him. I figured they would edit that out like they edited out Brewer accidentally calling me grizzly bear.

I knock on the door and Rebel calls out for me to come in. Brewer is already sitting in a chair across from Rebel and Bear, looking sexy as hell but just as nervous as I am. It’s not obvious, but his hair is a little askew like he was tugging at it before he came in, and his bottom lip is puffy.

I ease down into the empty chair beside Brewer, cross my arms, and stare down Rebel as I wait for whatever bomb he’s likely about to drop.

“Thanks for coming in guys,” Rebel says with a cheerful smile.

“Yeah, yeah. Can we just skip the niceties and get to it.”

“Check your attitude, Tank,” Bear admonishes, and Brewer snickers at me being scolded.

“Here’s the deal, guys,” Rebel fixes me with a look and then turns to Brewer. “You know the viewers love you. This series we’ve been filming with the two of you is the most popular yet. And they’re all salivating to see you finally bottom, Tank.”

I grunt in acknowledgement. Although my bottoming scene was supposed to occur sooner, Rebel had decided to push it back and build the anticipation a bit more. At least, that was his explanation. For some reason, I get the feeling there was more to it, based on the look that passed between him and Brewer when he told us.

“Are you adding more clauses or wanting more than ten scenes?” Brewer guesses.

“Something like that,” Rebel smiles nervously and then looks over to Bear who holds his hands up like he’s telling Rebel to leave him out of this. “The thing is, I’ve been doing a lot of market research, and I think there’s untapped potential. Apparently, many viewers love seeing real life couples on screen. And after we left in some of the raw, playful moments in the last scene, people are pretty sure the two of you are together. Hashtag Trewer is trending.”

My stomach drops.

“Oh, hell no.” I shake my head and fix my expression into a glare. “No fucking way, Rebel.”

“Not even for an extra ten thousand each?”

I deflate and cast a look at Brewer.

“Wait, an extra ten thousand for what exactly?” Brewer asks.

“He wants us to pretend to be boyfriends in real life,” I fill Brewer in.

“What?” Brewer frowns. “What exactly would we have to do?”

“Not much,” Rebel hurries to reassure us. “Post a few pics on Instagram, hold hands in public a little. Aside from that, leave all the social media buzz to me,” Rebel explains. “Oh, and you can’t tell anyone that it’s a ruse. Not even the other guys, just in case anyone were to slip up or something.”

I shift in my seat and peek at Brewer again. That doesn’t sound like too much trouble for as much money as they’re offering.

“You can’t fuck around while we’re boyfriends,” I point out to Brewer, my voice rougher than intended.

Brewer narrows his eyes at me.

“Then neither can you.”

“Hey, no problem,” I hold my hands up. “I’m not the one fucking a different guy every weekend. Half the time you can’t even bother to take them home, you just fuck them in the bathroom at the club.”

“Excuse the hell out of me. I didn’t realize you were my fucking mother,” Brewer snaps.

I stand up quickly, my chair clattering loudly to the floor behind me.

“Guys,” Bear shouts as Brewer shoots out of his chair as well. “This isn’t going to work if you can’t pretend to like each other.”

Brewer’s expression morphs from pissed off to a sugary smile.

“That’s no problem. What’s not to love about my big ol’ grizzly man?” Brewer teases, reaching out and sneaking his hand up my shirt. His fingers stroke through the patch of dark hair on my stomach, and I suppress a shiver. “You do realize that if I’m not allowed to fuck anyone else, that means you’ll have to take care of me off camera.”

“Is your right hand broken?” I challenge.

“That’s the deal, teddy bear, take it or leave it.” Brewer stares me down with challenge in his eyes.

“Give me the damn paper to sign,” I demand, holding my hand out toward Rebel.

He pushes the papers toward us and both Brewer and I sign quickly.

“This is going to be fun, sugar lips,” Brewer teases.

“Oh yeah, loads of fun.”

“Why don’t you two take your bonus checks and go do something together in public?” Bear suggests. “And play nice.”

We exit the studio together and Brewer reaches for my hand. I yank it away instinctively before I remember that he’s supposed to be my boyfriend now.

“Wait up a second, grizzly,” Brewer says, tugging me to a stop.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and then crooks his finger at me to get me to lean closer.

“What are we doing?” I ask, eyeing his phone.

“Earning that fat paycheck we both just got. Just try to look happy to be with me, okay?”

I grunt a response and he holds the phone out in front of us and then kisses my cheek as he snaps a picture. A little spark of something jolts through me at the casual contact.

The other guys never seem to have a problem being affectionate with each other, always kissing and touching each other outside of shoots. Nothing necessarily sexual, just comfortable familiarity with each other. But no one has ever been brave enough to try it with me. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if Pixie ever tried to come in for a quick peck on the lips like he does with Heart and Brewer.

It’s strange to have someone touching me in such a sweet way, as Brewer does a few more poses and takes more pictures. Even my ex-boyfriends weren’t the most touchy-feely guys.

By the time the impromptu photo op ends, I’m feeling oddly off balance.

“Are we about done?” I grunt.

“Yeah, just let me post these, and then we can go grab lunch together.” Brewer taps out a post on his phone, and I look over his shoulder to see what he’s putting in the description of the pictures.

He hits the post button and then puts his phone away.

“Want to take my bike?” I suggest.

“Hell, yeah,” Brewer agrees.