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Remy knows me well. Except for the whole falling into bed with a stranger just because I’m having trouble coping with my new environment.
“Just tell me the truth,” he pleads.
“I am telling you the truth!” Shit, I can’t have Jordan or someone else overhear me. I lower my voice. “I’m not you—I don’t need to fuck every skank who strokes my ego. I can’t believe after all these years you think I’d fucking lie to you. Especially about this.”
“The way it was edited…It sounded like you. Then the voice-over…”
“What exactly did you see?”
“They showed you and Kiki stumbling to your door. Then it cut to a commercial break. All week long the show was advertising some ‘big bad thing’ happening in the romance department.”
“Christ,” I groan. “As soon as those girls showed up, I knew this was fucked. No one ever told us they were adding the weird dating angle. I thought it was all about the fighting and training.”
“I hate to break it to you, but the fights are nothing but fluff. The focus is the drama in the house. A little bit about the rivalry between the two groups the fighters have split into. Otherwise, there’s very little about the fighting or training—except for a lot of shirtless beefcake shots.”
“Well, that I expected.”
“It’s more like a reality soap opera with some fighting for background noise.”
“Really?” On my end, it’s hard to tell because we’re constantly filming. If the film crew isn’t around, the hidden cameras capture every moment. Every time I leave my room, I have to make sure my mic pack is strapped on, and some assistant stops me to check the sound. “Okay, so then what happened?”
A twist in my gut warns that whatever else Remy has to say will alter my life in an extremely bad way.
“When they came back after the commercial break, there were two people in a bedroom.”
At least he said “a” bedroom and not “your” bedroom. Small distinction but I’m grasping at straws here. “And?”
“It was a guy and girl, in bed together. Clearly fucking.”
“Bullshit!” I explode out of the chair and pace as far as the ancient, corded phone allows. “It wasn’t me.”
“Well, the implication was that it was you. Moans, groans, and nails digging into your back. It was dark, grainy, hidden-camera footage but two people fucking.”
My heart stops.
Just fucking stops.
Molly saw that. She saw “me” in bed with another woman on television. Watched it with her friends. And her brother.
My sweet, shy girl who needed months to be comfortable enough to get that intimate with me, thinks I betrayed her in the most humiliating way possible.
I did my research after Diane first approached me. Watched a few shows this company produced. I figured they’d use tricks to manipulate the footage—but I thought they’d rig the fights, not fuck with relationships outside of the show.
I guess I should’ve done better research.
“Where’s Molly now?” Defeat colors my question.
Remy sighs. “Gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Let me finish. After the hidden-camera fucking, they cut to a clip of Kiki bragging about how happy she is and how much she wants this to last beyond the show. Griff, it really looked like?—”
“I think I’m starting to understand what they made it look like,” I groan.
“I don’t think you do,” he snaps in his shut-the-fuck-up tone. “After Kiki, they interviewed you.”
“Me? Saying what?”
